The voices in my head don't think they're imaginary

In Indigo Springs, a small town in Oregon, a magical apocalypse is brewing, and three young people are right smack-dab in the middle of it. Astrid, the book’s protagonist, has inherited a lovely old blue house from her ne’er-do-well father. She doesn’t even have all the moving boxes unpacked when her manipulative friend Sierra, fleeing a broken relationship, shows on her doorstep, cat in hand (because hey, nothing says “hey, let’s catch up on old times!” like “hey, let me move in rent free!”) Astrid, however, seems thrilled to see Sierra (because she had a huge crush on her in high school) and is all like, “Hella to the yeah! Mi casa, su casa! Take the nicest bedroom! Can I rub your feet? How about a muffin? Can I get you a muffin?”

The house is also home to sweet and sexy Jacks, son of the local fire chief and Astrid’s step-brother. Jacks doesn’t like Sierra (which made me like him immediately) but he *does* like Astrid (who kinda likes him back, because he’s totally hot in that scruffy Oregon backpacking whitewater rafting guy who lets his chocolate lab ride in the back of his 1990 Toyota pickup with the peeling-off Phish stickers kind of way) … so you can see where the sparks are going to start to fly.

Me, I was rooting for Jacks all the way, not because I’m a flaming hetero partisan, but because I just did NOT like Sierra. I’ve known people like Sierra. They make my teeth ache. But for much of the book, Astrid carries a Lady-Liberty size torch for the girl. I hate it when a character I like goes all silly over a character I don’t like. It makes me want to shake my little fists in rage. Which is probably *exactly* what author A.M. Dellamonica intended.

It shows just what an expert Dellamonica is at managing reader emotions. Even though I didn’t *like* Astrid’s feelings for Sierra, I *understood* them. I happily stayed to watch the train wreck, even though I felt so powerfully for the characters that I wished it could be avoided.

While I’d say INDIGO SPRINGS is really a character-driven book, it’s also tightly plotted, and kept me reading with its fascinating intersection of the magical with the mundane. In the book, mysteries pile on mysteries, and finding the answer to anything just leads to more questions. By the end of the book, Dellamonica ties everything up quite neatly, but also takes the lid off several bigger mysteries which (one guesses) will be tackled in later books in the trilogy.

While this book has been called an “eco-fantasy,” don’t let that put you off (if, like me, you are completely unable to separate the term “eco-fantasy” from the 1980s movie “Ferngully”). It does, indeed, make subtle connections between the magical apocalypse facing the town of Indigo Springs with the ones we face on a global scale, but not in a preachy or pedantic way.

Overall, I thought INDIGO SPRINGS was a really powerful debut from an author who’s talent I greatly respect and admire. I’m looking forward to the next book in the series, BLUE MAGIC!

P.S.

TEAM JACKS!

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

So I was going to write a review of A.M. Dellamonica’s INDIGO SPRINGS this weekend, but time got away from me. Therefore, instead of the raw, incisive social commentary you’ve come to expect from this blog, you’ll have to be content with this super awesome steampunk-ish boot I found while cruising the J.C. Penny online store. I can just see these babies with black stockings under a frilly crinoline, can’t you? They’re  strong enough for a man, but made for an adventuresome female!

Maybe I’m just boot obsessed. But these are *totally* going on my wish list.

In other news … SyFy channel’s “Alice.” Oh, boy. I cannot WAIT for the Genevieve Valentine beatdown on this show. Thanksgiving may be over, but there’s still one turkey that needs to be carved.

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

• Today, I tripped over a piece of wood and knocked my own wind out with an elbow to my own midsection. I'm kind of impressed with myself. #

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Forget that silly surprised kitten that’s making the rounds. Embrace the pickle surprise! (Totally ganked from my pickle mentor tuber_x)

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• College's too-fat-to-graduate rule under fire – http://bit.ly/5UJEjp #cnn #
• Gee! There were a lot of cool people following me that I wasn't following back. My apologies, I just rectified that. LMK if I missed you. #
• An interview with my agent that includes a shoutout for the awesome @tinaconnolly! Q&A: Literary Agent Ginger Clark – http://shar.es/aE7k9 #
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• Had a great time at Orycon and the subsequent book signing at Powell’s. Home now, watching a “Bleach” movie with daughter & eating brownies. #

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Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

Orycon is very enjoyable this year. I am confident the new hotel (which, as Orycon oldtimers will remind me, is actually the *old* hotel, as Orycon #1 & 2 were held there) will grow on me, even though I’m finding it pretty disorienting at the moment. But it has several distinct advantages (free parking! MAX right across the street! Small conference rooms for the Writers Workshop! Lots of free WiFi!) And there are a lot of great people here which makes up for any navigational difficulties I’ve encountered. I was thinking that this might be a kind of low-attendance year, given that the event was being held the weekend after Thanksgiving, but it seems to be quite well attended. Lots of great costuming (I missed the Masquerade, darn it), and some really good panels. Seriously, all the panels I’ve been on or attended have been top-notch this year.

Speaking of top-notch panels, my daughter was on her first-ever panel this year! She got a little stage-fright, but I was very proud of her. And all the kids did wonderful. It was great to hear them talk so eloquently on the life of a child in a fascist dictatorship in a creative environment.

The Broad Universe reading, especially, went better than it’s gone in many a year. Everyone brought pieces of exactly the right length, which made my moderation job easy, and we got quite a good turnout. I’ve recorded it for podcasting purposes, and you’ll be able to listen to (most) of the pieces on the BU Website. My tactic of reading last (and hopefully not having to read at all, if the other pieces went long) backfired, and I actually had to *read* something! I did a snippet of a short story that I’ve been working on for ages, that has problems in the end but the first 1000 words are OK, so …

The Jay Lake reading and fundraiser for the Clayton Memorial Medical Fund was very well attended, and as far as I could tell, we raised a lot of money. It was an enthusiastic and supportive audience (all of whom were wearing INSANELY bright Hawaiian shirts!) and the radio-style recording was incredibly fun. I think more readings should be group affairs, actually. Anyway, it was recorded and we’ll be sending the recording to Jay. Even though the story we read had to do with heat transfer, it was water transfer that ruled the evening, with a huge dripping leak coming from the ceiling behind the readers through most of the reading. There were *3* leaks by the end of the reading, prompting me to comment, “maybe we should evacuate this room before the ceiling caves in.” I didn’t mean to stampede the herd, but people did start exiting the room rather quickly.

2 more panels today, then off to Powell’s to hear the readings. I’ll be twittering as I go, but for some reason Twitter Tools isn’t posting a twitter digest to my blog automagically like it was before. One more thing to troubleshoot. Sigh.

Have a great Sunday, everyone!

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

If you’re like me, you’ve seen this iconic Norman Rockwell image hundreds of thousands of bo-zillions of times. It’s a nice little picture; I don’t quite know what to make of the plate of celery in the middle of the table, it hardly seems a traditional Thanksgiving side dish, but whatever. This is not the bone I come to pick.

Looking at my fList this morning as I was mentally preparing myself to do battle with the ginormous 24lb turkey we have sitting in the fridge, I came upon this picture. And for the first time, I realized just how completely and utterly improbable and gravitationally wrong it is. Jesus God, how the hell is the sweet old woman in the blue dress and the white apron DOING that? She’s half-bent at the waist, holding a turkey that—unless it’s made of styrofoam—has to be a good 40 pounder, not even counting stuffing! I like giant turkeys, I roast giant turkeys, and my friends, that giant turkey she’s holding so daintily is way more giant than any bird I’ve ever tried to tackle.

And yet look at her. Her face shows no strain, only placid pride and even a kind of sweet boredom (”Oh, how many huge turkeys I’ve roasted over the years!”) But she should have some Schwarzenegger-size guns bulging out underneath those pretty rick-racked cap sleeves. (Especially that left arm bent at the elbow. Kee-ripes!)

I’m sure some among you will argue, “hey, she’s been caught in mid-motion.” But that opens a whole other can of worms, because if that is the case, then that woman has no control over that turkey, and what we’re NOT seeing is the disaster a split-second later, when that plate of bird crashes down on the table, knocks over all the glassware, startles all those bent-in heads into rearing back precipitously (some people falling backwards in their chairs, one imagines) and the celery flying. And granny shouting, “There! THERE’S your damn turkey!”

So we have three options:

1) Granny’s an atomic mutant superwoman.

2) The bird is carefully crafted of styrofoam. She’s decided to play a funny joke on her family this year. The bird is fake, and all they’re getting for Thanksgiving dinner is celery.

3) This picture captures the “the calm before the storm,” catching a glimpse of a family about to be in tumultuous uproar.

I certainly can’t tell which it is. (But the guy in the lower right corner of the painting? HE knows. Look at those eyes, people. He knows.) Any one of these interpretations, however, reveals hidden, subversive depths in Norman Rockwell that I never thought existed. I shall now have to go look at that painting of the cop and the runaway kid eating ice cream and see what kind of subtext I’ve missed there. Oh, and also put the turkey in the oven.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

I’ve posted this recipe near the holidays for several years now, and I have no idea if anyone’s ever actually made it, but I’ll keep posting it because it’s a damn good pie that I’ve refined over the years. I work, you win! So, without further ado, I give you:

Perfect Bourbon Pecan Pie

INGREDIENTS:

• ¾ stick unsalted butter
• 3 jumbo eggs
• 1 cup dark brown sugar
• 2 tablespoons vanilla-ed bourbon*
• ¾ teaspoon salt
• ½ cup dark corn syrup (Karo)
• ¼ cup light corn syrup (Karo)
• 2 cups pecan halves
• 1 9-inch pie crust, unbaked

PREP:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
2. Throw butter into a large saucepan, melt butter gently and slowly. (Just above low heat)
3. Break 3 eggs into a large bowl. Beat those suckers good. Whisk thoroughly to a lovely homogenous froth. Let sit while you work on the sugar mix.
4. Place 1 cup dark brown sugar in a bowl. Over this sugar pour your 2 tablespoons of vanilla-ed bourbon. Sprinkle on salt. Mix it all up well and good.
5. Add the sugar mix to the melted butter. Stir until smooth and lump-free
6. Add corn syrups. Stir gently, scraping sides of saucepan with spatula. You want a lovely, smooth, sweet, creamy mix.
7. Turn off the stove. Let this sugar mix cool. Go back and give your eggs another whuppin’ just to wake them up. Then, get out your pie crust. Take about 2 handfuls and a pinch (about 1 cup) of pecans (you want enough pecans to cover the bottom of the crust nicely). Now the fun begins (assuming, of course, that you haven’t been positively giggling with glee up to this point.) Start crushing these whole pecans with your hands. A chopper won’t do, that’s too uniform and mechanical. You have to use the strength of your hands, and crush the pecans until they’re coarse and there are no whole ones left.
8. Now, take the sugar mix (it should be no warmer than body temperature — you should be able to stick your finger in it comfortably) and pour it very slowly into the eggs while whisking vigorously. You want to incorporate the warm sugar mix slowly so that you don’t cook the eggs. Whisk, pour, whisk. Finally, you will have a lovely smooth custard base. Add the hand-crushed nuts. Mix well.
9. Pour this mix into your pie crust. Then, arrange whole pecans on the top of the pie in concentric circles. If you place the wide shoulders of the pecans toward the outside of the pie, they’ll fit better. (You’d think this would be intuitive, but it’s not.)
10. Bake for 45-50 minutes, or until the pie is puffed and deep golden brown.
11. Cool WELL before serving. This pie is much better if you let it sit for a day before serving. It all hardens and congeals and is just magnificent.
12. Serve with whipped cream. I have discovered that if you make whipped cream with corn syrup, it holds the whip for a long time, and whips up faster, too. One very nice way to make whipped cream for this pie is to use the dark corn syrup. Very rich!

And that’s it! Enjoy!

---

*To make vanilla-ed bourbon, get one vanilla bean. Split lengthwise, put into a container with about 1-2 cups of bourbon. Add about 1 tablespoon of good vanilla extract. Of course, the longer you let it sit, the stronger it will be, but whatever. An hour or so will get most of the flavor.</p>

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

Hey hey! Orycon 31 is almost upon us. I’ve already posted my schedule here, but I also wanted to call attention to the Broad Universe Tea Party and Rapid Fire Reading on Saturday from 5 to 6 p.m. Click on the poster to see our fantastic lineup of readers. Come support Broad Universe, hear great snippets of fiction, and enjoy dainty delicacies along with a nice civilized cup of tea.

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

• At the mall, waiting to see "New Moon" with my daughter and her friend. I am choosing to view this positively, as a "teachable moment." Oy. #
• Sitting in the food court. Girls are off to get Orange Julius. There's an adorkable 17(?) year old boy sitting behind me, reading Hesse. #
• Somebody spilled a Coke. The mall rent-a-cop is standing watch as the cleaning ladies mop it up with rags. Yay, democracy! #
• "New Moon" over, thank God. My aspiration to be a feminist mentor to the girls may be hampered by the fact that I kept dozing off. #
• Said to me by one of the 11 year olds when discussing "New Moon": "You have obviously never experienced the emotion love." Zing!! #
• Dude! Now a totally *different* rent-a-cop is eyeing me from afar because I have my feet up on one of those mall coffee tables! #
• This all should teach me, I just don't belong in malls. #

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Today’s mail brought quite a lovely shower of books, as I got a delivery from Amazon.com and one from PS Publishing. The PS Publishing one contained my contributor’s copies for Postscripts 19, “The Enemy of the Good” and man, are they pretty. Amazing quality binding, paper, art, everything. And I think this is the first time I’ve ever had a story appear in a hardcover! Woo!

My Amazon shipment contained “Indigo Springs,” by A.M. Dellamonica, which I’m going to begin to read immediately if not sooner. I also got “Hetty: The Genius and Madness of America’s First Female Tycoon” (the 1996 book, The Wealthy 100, ranked the net work of 100 wealthy Americans by the percentage of the Gross National Product their personal fortunes represented. Hetty, the only woman on the list, came in 36th, five places behind Bill Gates and three places ahead of Warren Buffett) and, finally “The Job: Interviews with William S. Burroughs.” Unfortunately, this last one was missing pages 1-10, so I must return it for exchange. How utterly annoying.

But I’ve got plenty to read until the replacement gets here. Watch this space for my thoughts on Indigo Springs soon!

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

My sister, who’s a grad student and TA at the University of Illinois, is on strike. The issue, as I understand it, is that the University Administrators are making threatening gestures towards tuition wavers (specifically out-of-state tuition waivers, which my sister gets). Shame on you, UI! You pay these kids peanuts to do much of the real teaching work while charging your students up the wazoo for their degree. And when it comes time to save a few bucks, who do you shaft? THE WORKERS!

Oh, and not for nothin’, but this looks like a pretty fun strike, what with the drumming circles and all. On the other hand, my sister says standing around in the rain in 40-degree weather isn’t so great. You can see her (at least I think it’s her) at minute 2:41 of this video; she’s in the charcoal grey hoodie with the black and white sign you can’t read because apparently she’s got the frikkin’ whole of Das Kapital printed on it or something. (Way to market your message there, Madame Mao.)

Up with the GEO! UI, you dirty bastards, you’d better cave soon or I’m on my way out to Illinois to kick some ass.

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

The authorities have notified me, via certified mail delivered by a jackbooted thug with shifty eyes, that I must let folks know what work I have available for this year’s Nebula consideration. Believe me, this is only the bayonette pressing between my shoulderblades talking.

1) Novelette, “The Warlock and the Man of the Word”, Postscripts 19, published November 2009. I don’t think many people have read this, but hopefully it’ll get a few lookie-loos before February. Peter Crowther and Nick Gevers called this one “Brilliant.” But then, they kind of have to say that, don’t they?
2) Short Story, “The Serpent Who Sleeps Beneath The Shards“, Talebones 37, published Fall 2008. I think this just squeaks in as far as nominatability.

And that’s it. I know, I suck, right? Now get that goddamn rifle out of my face, you fascist bastard. I’ve done what you asked. What’s that you say? I’m more like you than I care to admit? NO! IT’S NOT TRUE! I’LL NEVER BE LIKE YOU! (sob).

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

As mythological creatures go, I’ve always had a soft spot for cockatrices (or is it cockatrixes in the plural? I have no idea.) This is because I think roosters are incredibly pretty, and adding a snakey tail to just about anything makes it even prettier, except kittens. Or wait, maybe a kitten with a snakey tail would look prettier. I’ll have to toddle off to my lab to run some experiments on that. Anyway, this brings me to my problem. I couldn’t find any satisfactory Victorian engravings of a cockatrice for my bookplate project (of which I’ll write more at a future date) so I had to sit down and draw my own.

The key to a satisfactory cockatrice is to keep most of the beautiful features of a rooster—the gorgeous cockscomb, the extravagant tail, the powerful clawed feet—and just add a bit of snake. Not too much snake. And for heaven’s sake, no fangs! Fangs are utterly unnecessary. And finally, a satisfactory cockatrice should NOT look like a velociraptor. Just sayin’.

This little image was sketched and inked quickly (and furthermore I couldn’t find my preferred inking pens, so I had to make do with a blasted fountain pen and a dull black sharpie) so it’s rather less tight and tidy than my other black-and-white efforts. It’s supposed to look engraving-y, but the shadow lines are too random. Oh well. “Ink in haste, Photoshop at leisure.”

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

I had an epic Goodwill spree last evening that resulted in three excellent (well, excellent to ME) scores:

1) Little Wooden Box. I collect little old wooden boxes to keep things in around my office, and needed another one to hold all my eCig paraphernalia. And I scored the cutest little old cedar wooden art box with brass fittings for $2.99. Usually, this kind of find would be the extent of my Goodwill fortune. But there was to be more. MUCH more.

2) Pretty Japanese Fan. Anyone who saw me at WFC (or even just saw pictures) saw my poor battered abused Japanese fan—the one with silver on one side and gold on the other, that I bought on Miyajima back in the early ’90s. Poor thing, I rode it hard and put it away wet and it just it barely survived the con, so I decided that I needed to shop around for a replacement. And just what do you think I found at Goodwill for $1.99? Another Japanese fan, gold on one side and silver on the other, almost exactly the same as my old one (with an even prettier design, actually), and in absolutely pristine condition, strong paper, strong thread, strong glue, the works. What are the odds, people? I ask you? WHAT ARE THE ODDS? But hold onto your hats, the ride’s about to get wild.

3) Doc Martens! The capper, the cherry on the parfait, the icing on the cupcake, was the Doc Martens you see in the photo above. The reason these are such an exceptional score (besides the obvious reasons being that they’re near-new and they retail for $110) is that it was like fate reached into my mind, pulled out exactly the shoe I’ve been wanting (that is, new dog-walking shoes, the kind you can get muddy and wet with impunity, and gee, wouldn’t Doc Martens be nice?) and plopped them onto the shelf at my local Thrift Store.  In great shape, in my size. And … wait for it … FOR $7.99. That’s right, just eight American dollars. I felt almost sheepish asking the checkout lady what the color tag of the day was, because if they’d been half-price (they weren’t) I would have fallen over in a dead faint. I walked the dog in them this morning, and they were all I imagined they’d be. Warm, soft, and comfy.

I haven’t hit a Goodwill jackpot like this since I can’t remember when. All that awesomeness, for under twenty bucks. All those baby goats I sacrificed must have paid off. The Goodwill Gods are bloodthirsty, but they aren’t welchers!

Oh, and one last little bit of Friday the 13th good fortune? I was among the last to discover that one of my favorite bands, Firewater, released a new album (The Golden Hour) It is tres awesome, particular the first song, Borneo. Go give it a listen, and share in my good fortune!

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

Truepenny over at LiveJournal (that’s Sarah Monette for those of you what don’t know) reports that she’ll be changing her name for her next book. Which seems to make sense, given the common wisdom which goes that publishers like you best if you’re either a bankable superstar or an unlimited-potential debutante.

Now, there’s only so much an author can do to impact whether he/she becomes a bankable superstar. But the good news is we CAN be an unlimited potential debutante with each new book or series! Imagine this on every book you write: “A stunning debut by [insert current nom de plume here].” And if the reviews are bad, then [insert current nom de plume here] can discreetly retire into the corner to sob over her shattered dreams while a new contender slips into her place.

Anyway, I think this is an excellent strategy and I think I’m going to use a brand new writing name with each book or series I put out. Disposable identities! It’s the wave of the future!

Here are some names I’m staking a claim on, along with the use to which I shall put them:

• Scribner Q. Goldwright (historical fantasy, 19th c.)
• Taffy Trianon (historical fantasy, 18th c.)
• Anselm Dorkenschmidt (historical German Illuminati fantasy, 17th c.)
• Evangeline Heartsblood (inspirational gothic christian romance with sexy undead priests)
• Cornwall Urquhart (intellectual disquisitive fiction featuring an impassioned symbolic attack on modern mores)
• Gryffyn Stump (literary short stories about dead pets, sexual disappointment, and parents who fight)
• Welt Striker (men’s military adventure fiction, except gay)
• Bakunin Rand (paranoid libertarian conspiracy fantasy about the gold standard and maybe lizards)

Well, that’s enough for now. What are some of the names YOU’D like to stake a claim on, writers?

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

Today at the LJ group “La Mode Illustree”: Bustles!

OK, to be quite honest it’s pretty much bustles all day every day at La Mode Illustree. But the bustle shown in the picture here got me to thinking that I really need to write a story with a Victorian centaur-ess in it. Because really, can’t one imagine the development of the bustle—and its later extravagances of length and breadth—as a stylistic response to the unique fashion need of the well-dressed half-human/half horse socialite?

And I can just imagine our equine miss delicately munching on leaves from that delicious-looking bouquet she’s holding while talking to some ravishing gentleman centaur. Though I can’t quite stretch my brain around the proper attire for a Victorian male centaur. For the sake of common decency, not to mention politesse, there would simply have to be some discreet disguising around the rear end, and I would imagine it would be rather hard to get trousers to fall right around a tail. Perhaps a kilt? But no, you try to get a patriotic American robber-baron centaur into a kilt. I defy you. Hm.

I guess male Victorian centaurs just wouldn’t have gotten out much.

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

We interrupt this blog for some intensive and focused bragging on my daughter, who’s been having a bang-up year so far, as evinced by the following:

1) She made honor roll this term, for the first time in her whole elementary school career.

2) She achieved a “self manager” badge, which is actually surprisingly hard to get and keep. A “self manager” badge gives the kid who earns it lots of special privileges, including an end-of-the-year party. Again, this is a goal she’s been trying for since first grade, and I’m really proud she’s finally made it.

3) She got a t-shirt made with her art on it! My daughter’s class had this design competition, to create the t-shirts that the 6th graders will wear while working with local Head Start kids. And out of many, many entries, my daughter’s design won. So her design will appear on shirts worn by almost 100 Oregon City 6th graders.

You can see her design up there to the left. I think it’s pretty dang cute. It has kind of “Precious Moments” meets “Ziggy” vibe to it, what with the big bulbous feets poking out from under the book.

As you can tell, I am a very proud momma. Today there is a ceremony for the kids who made “self-manager.” I’ll be in the front row!

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.

At World Fantasy, there is never any shortage of wonderful new books. This year, there were a couple of “it” books which seemed to have everyone talking: N.K. Jemison’s “The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms” (excitement which was certainly fueled by N.K.’s excellent reading of a cliffhanger chapter) and “Soulless“, by Gail Carriger. Sadly, N.K. Jemison’s book won’t officially be out until February of 2010 (which resulted in me trying to stealthily steal an ARC that Naamen Tilahun was passing on to Rachel & Mike Swirsky) but Soulless (which had just been released) was everywhere — in the dealer’s room, in the party suite, in the white-gloved hands of the glamorous Ms. Carriger. Having gotten a copy of it from the Borderlands table, I had to then hide it away in my suitcase to keep myself from playing hooky from the con I’d traveled hundreds of miles to attend. This should give you an idea of what a delightful and addictive confection this book is. And rather mind-altering as well: I have never understood the appeal of werewolves, but this book single-handedly put werewolf-as-romantic-hero on the map for me. Throw in over-the-top vampires, a smart and funny heroine, and some extremely clever historical ret-conning, and you’ve got a book that steamed all my gears in just the right way. I’ll definitely have an eye peeled for the next book in the series, which comes out in March. Go parasols!

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.