I liked this book, but I didn't love this book. At first I was amused by the pervasive metaphors and similes. I was even quite fond of the one in the middle of chapter eight: Dead men are heavier than broken hearts. But after a while, I found myself wading through them, and then swimming in them, and finally drowning from them. (See? I can do it, too.) They made the narration feel like it was escaping through the side of the mouth, past a gasper.
I've never practiced legerdemain, but I do know misdirection when I see it. If you take away the picturesque phrases and the gritty narration, you are left with an adequate, maybe even a good, but not a brilliant, story.