Ganymede, the fourth installment in Priest's Clockwork Century series, may well mark a turning point in the setting of the series, both for Seattle and for the wider world.  Building on events in Dreadnought and Boneshaker, with possibly a reference to Clementine in there at the beginning.  Our main characters are the smuggler (or pirate, as the term seems to be in the Clockwork Century) Andan Cly and New Orleans madame Josephine Early, with Texas Ranger Horatio Korman reappearing along with Cly's crew.

The plot of Ganymede is relatively simple; Josephine, an old flame of Cly's, needs to hire him in order to get the submarine Ganymede to Union forces near New Orleans, which is held by the Republic of Texas on behalf of the Confederacy.  Complications, naturally, ensue, and there are two subplots; one to do with Cly's burgeoning relationship with Briar Wilkes, hero of Boneshaker, and his resultant plans to settle in Seattle, and the other to do with the increasing menace of the zombis in New Orleans - those affected by the gas found in Seattle; and it's this plot which returns Ranger Korman to the fray, trying to prove to his Texas superiors that the zombies are real.  The plot is mixed; there are a number of points when it moves fast, although those can move towards repetitiveness - and a certain uneventful repetitiveness too, both in the faster and slower-moving portions.  However, the faster moments are well-placed and well-paced, without losing focus or control, and with a certain stylish power to them; and the slower moments are also well-written, the romantic elements thoughtful and not overplayed, the more suspenseful moments not overblown or overplayed but adding a lot to the narrative.  The subplots don't always play the obvious role - the zombis especially being a matter of convenience, not logic, in their use, and some of the references to Cly's wish to settle down feel gratuitous, but overall it works well, and the Ganymede's role in the novel is well controlled, to bring multiple elements together.

The characters of Ganymede are perhaps the strongest point of the novel; Ranger Korman, Andan Cly and his crew we know, but Josephine Early and her employees are new, as is her brother Deaderick; and, unsurprisingly, they're all excellent characters.  Josephine continues the line of strong women that Priest seems to like (alongside the Clockwork Century, each installment of which has a strong female hero leading the case, we have Eden Moore and the Cheshire Red Reports series, both female-focused); she's thoughtfully written, with a combination of her racial politics and her care for the women who work for her making her a powerful figure whose motivations are complicated by her love for her brother.  The majority of the cast are equally interesting; they're not simple characters, but rather, people whose motivations can't be pinned down to one thing, and who have thoughts of their own, and influence the plot in well-thought out ways.

Overall, then, whilst Ganymede, like the other installments of the Clockwork Century, has its flaws, Priest does seem to be improving over time, and this is a fun, enjoyable and well-written story.
Lest Darkness Fall is one of the earliest works of alternate history, and of a time-traveller going back in time and affecting the workings of history with his foreknowledge. L. Sprague de Camp’s novel is, naturally, of its time (1939) and place (the good ol’ USA), but at the same time de Camp does turn out a fantastic piece of fiction.

Lest Darkness Fall follows one man, Martin Padway, who falls back in time to 535 AD, and the fall of Roman civilisation as the Dark Ages close in, and his attempts to forestall that darkness, through technological innovation and an increasing political and military involvement. The character of Padway is, in the end, deeply problematic; that he is an American, with American ideals, and a classical education, is not a problem, given his introduction as an archaeologist on his way to the Lebanon, but over the course of the novel he displays knowledge of all too many different subject areas; he turns out to be a genius military tactician and politician, able to invent paper, the printing press, and telegraph alone (although he can’t manage gunpowder), and a politician without flaw. The problem with all this is that Padway is a complete Gary Stu; none of his plans fail, his tactics are perfect and unbeatable by men like Belisarius, the best general of the time, and he juggles so many balls without flaw as to be truly ridiculous.

The plot suffers from de Camp’s major flaw; the consequences of Padway’s actions throughout Lest Darkness Fall end up positive and with Padway in control and command, the American always managing to lead the Goths to victory, control their simple minds by sleight of hand and trickery, or otherwise work such things into success for himself. In this way we end up without seeing more than moments of doubt which we can be assured are false, and – especially with the relatively strong refusal of de Camp to think through alternative results of actions in the period, and to credit anyone but his American hero with intelligence and ability (certainly intelligence or ability to match that granted Padway!)

In the end, this novel is saved by the historical attention to detail of its early chapters – some fantastic work there – and the writing style of de Camp, which is stronger than anything else about this novel. I’d cautiously recommend Lest Darkness Fall, more for its influence on the alternate history genre than anything else (Harry Turtledove and Eric Flint for instance), but approach with care!
Guy Gavriel Kay's post-Fionavar Tapestry trilogy has been of consistently high quality in my experience.  Kay's retelling of the An Lushan Rebellion, or rather the time leading up to it, is of a quality on a par with any of his other history-retellings; indeed, Under Heaven draws the (Western) reader into the foreign culture of C8th China and creates believable, empathetic characters - on all sides, surviving and otherwise, right and wrong.  Indeed, the reader comes out of this novel with no clear idea of who was in the right; and Kay, presumably, intended that here as much as he did in novels like Tigana.

The main character Under Heaven follows is Shen Tai, son of a general who won a victory between the Kitan and Taguran Empires - a victory in a battle with a huge death-toll.  The novel opens with Tai burying the dead, one at a time, in mourning for his father; this rather defines Tai's character - this, and the gift of 250 horses from the Taguran Empress.  That Tagur and Kitai had been at war for years before the peace won by Tai's father 20 years prior to the opening of Under Heaven means that Tai's life is turned upside down by this news.  Tai's character is very well written; we see him maturing, and growing, over the course of the novel - into a competent young man, intelligent and thoughtful, rather than somewhat impulsive at the opening.  Indeed, this rather tends to define our cast; whilst impulses do happen - and Kay demonstrates their long-term effect every time, with asides and offshoots we've come to expect from his style - generally all their actions are well thought out and considered, in all their implications.  Every character is well-painted and written thoughtfully and stylishly, so that whilst they're different they clearly come from the same culture; a very different culture to our own, leading to the reader clearly having an impression of that culture; and no character could be taken from the narrative without taking something essential from the plot and interactions of the cast.

The plot of Under Heaven is intricate and complex; rather than following the politics of the rebellion, we're following Tai's return home and his delicate attempt to balance the various interests standing in his way - and wishing to claim his horses.  Indeed, Tai's story is the centrepiece of the novel, and because of that, we brush against politics, getting simpler, more basic ideas of what led to the rebellion - but also complex relationships and rivalries over petty and important things alike, as in human nature.  Kay's idea of history comes out strongly here, the idea that small events and minor decisions can have a huge impact on world events; and indeed we see huge events having small consequences, too, with figures followed as they leave the narrative of Tai's life.  By the end of the novel, Tai's small action - of burying the dead in memory of his father - has impacted on a civil war that tears an empire apart, and defines the world.

The scale of Under Heaven is simultaneously grand and epic, and small and personal; the characterisation excellent, and the depiction of Chinese C8th culture simple and evocative.  All in all, another tremendous piece of writing from the master of this sort of work.
Mann's followup to Ghosts of Manhattan is a similarly steampunk, superheroic and frothy tale; but Ghosts of War, by its nature as a sequel, by its construction, and by its characterisation, highlights some of the flaws that Ghosts of Manhattan managed to dampen down, and is brought down by them; indeed, this is a much poorer followup to a superior start.

The characterisation is where most of these problems lie.  Ghosts of Manhattan riffed on the Batman classic formula, with a few notes of difference (including the willingness of the Ghost to kill); Ghosts of War expands on this, but with a real problem - Mann is attempting to give Gabriel, the Ghost, a backstory and some angst, and yet the backstory we're given does nothing to explain the choice to disguise himself and go around the city as a vigilante, not even to the extent that Batman's origin story does.  Indeed, Gabriel Cross is a sort of broken Batman: whereas much of the interest of Batman's character is the conflict between socialite Bruce Wayne and vigilante Batman, and the angst at the heart of the character, Mann doesn't give Gabriel any real conflict between his identities, and there is no similar kind of angst or driving force.  Similarly, whilst Donovan is a stand-in for Gordon (at a Batman: Year One kind of stage) and Banks for Loeb, they don't really have the force of personality that makes comics work; the premise of Batman is ridiculous, and overblown, and Mann is trying to avoid that ridiculousness whilst having many of the ridiculous elements.

This crosses over into the plot; Ghosts of War has a plot which has the stakes raised so high, even compared to Ghosts of Manhattan, as to be meaningless, whilst also drawing on its prequel for the basic horror at the centre.  The problem here is a straightforward one; the plot is too simple and yet drawn out for far too long by idiocy and lack of communication, combined by characters not acting as they would be expected to given their character as given.  Indeed, what we really see here is a plot that is ridiculous, drawn straight from Watchmen (the comics references fly thick and fast!) combined with a Lovecraftian horror that isn't horrific, because Mann's writing strips it of any numinousness or awfulness, rendering it strangely quotidian.

Overall, then, Ghosts of War is a poor sequel to a frothy, fun novel; it tries to inject angst and meaning into a situation where those things don't work, because of the nature of Mann's writing and characterisation.  A deeply, deeply flawed and disappointing novel.
Sedia’s steampunk novel seems to take on a number of the objections laid at the subgenre’s door over the last year or two, especially as regards its Eurocentrism and its refusal to question the social norms of the period; rather, Heart of Iron has a very mixed attitude towards the 19th Century, and casts the Europeans – and especially British – as a very mixed thing.

Heart of Iron’s narrator is one of its strongest points. The novel is told in the first person, from the point of view of Sasha Trubetskaya, one of the first five women in Russia to attend a university. Sasha starts the novel as a rather immature, slightly confused young lady with a certain degree of backbone and stubbornness (a gift from her Aunt Eugenie); she ends the novel as a much stronger, more sharp and more self-aware character with a far greater feeling of her own agency; Sedia’s writing style and the character of Sasha blend absolutely beautifully to really create a verisimilitude about the character and her writing. The other characters are, perhaps, less effective – the majority of them, and especially Jack Bartram (an Englishman, mysterious, in love with Sasha, and sacrificing everything to help her), simply hang around to lend her help where needed (logistic and military, generally). Although some go some way towards becoming characters of their own – Lee Bo gets some screen time which helps him blossom, and Aunt Eugenie really is a wonderful character – the tendency to be peripheral to Sasha is so strong as to be lampshaded on more than one occasion. The exception to this is Dame Florence Nightingale, head of the British Secret Service and a terrifying character; she is presented as doing everything she does for love, and this being a bad thing – she values men’s opinions more than her own, and this is explicitly noted.

The plot is a mixed one; it has the air of the traditional fantasy trope of travel-quest, with the added problem noted above of much of the cast’s existence appearing to revolve around Sasha’s travels, but it combines this with a much stronger political commentary. Whilst the quest is just that, its purpose is rather different than killing the Dark Lord or finding the item of power; Sasha is attempting to travel to China to persuade whoever, when she arrives, rules there to ally with Russia against British aggression. On the way we see a number of obstacles, only some presented by Nightingale’s Secret Service agents, appear; the vagaries of travel also feature strongly. Sedia doesn’t let up on political commentary – there are notes on the end of serfdom early in the novel (a world where the Decembrists were successful), on the problems of Eurocentrism and of Russia’s strange status between Europe and Asia, and on the ability of foreign governments to intercede in national affairs. These tie together to give Heart of Iron a degree of relevance lost to most steampunk, whilst also giving the plot a greater power and individuality.

Sedia’s novel has to be one of the more successful pieces of world-building I have seen in a steampunk setting, and Sasha’s character certainly recommends it; but the rest of the cast, and somewhat formulaic plot, do detract from the enjoyment of Heart of Iron somewhat.
Tricks of London and Seven for a Secret, taken together, give us the earliest and last tales of Abigail Irene Garrett, one of Bear's protagonists in the New Amsterdam world (previously noted in New Amsterdam and The White City); they're an interesting study in the woman, and how she changes... and stays the same.  Because they're so closely linked, I'm going to review them together, with one paragraph on characterisation, and one each on the plots.  Some spoilers may crop up for New Amsterdam.

Bear's characters, as previously, are handled very well; what stands out here is the pairing of Sebastian and Abigail Irene.  Whilst Sebastian doesn't appear in Tricks of London, he is developed in Seven for a Secret quite significantly; here, what Bear has been hinting at for some time - the pain of losing a companion to age - is brought out to the forefront as Abigail Irene is near her death.  This gives him a certain added pathos and pain, and alongside the pain of having lost Jack in New Amsterdam, makes him an incredibly human character; and the effects of his age are well-portrayed and fantastic.  Abigail Irene is a very different story; her age changes her very little, leaving her stubborn, intelligent, incisive, uncompromising and all round a wonderful character.  Whilst I would like to see her more centre-stage in Seven for a Secret, her age makes that impossible, and the whole of Tricks of London is pretty purely centred on her to make up for it.  Tricks of London also brings in Sean Cuan, a DS with the Met; he's an interesting, if slightly two-dimensional, character who has a hint of mystery around him without any real substance to back it up, and exists largely as a foil for Abigail Irene.  On the other hand Seven for a Secret shows us Ruth, who is a much more interesting character; she is torn between duty and love, and has to make the choice between the two, and her whole character is well-written, driven and powerful; the hint at the end of the novella gives me hope for future writing in this 'verse featuring her.

Tricks of London is a relatively simple Jack the Ripper inspired crime drama; it introduces Abigail Irene in her youth and shows us things we have never seen before, but doesn't really do much surprising plot-wise - it's relatively pedestrian, although Bear's writing style makes the pacing work fantastically, with a definite movement and sense of impending something that really does add a huge amount to the suspense of the novellette.  Seven for a Secret, on the other hand, has a much better plot; it focuses on the possibility of a kind of pseudo-Nazi werewolf being developed by the Prussians after the invasion of Britain (yes, really). Sebastian and Abigail Irene are out to use this against the Prussians, whilst Ruth herself is one of these werewolves.  The story takes in all sorts of elements, from the Holocaust (not treated lightly, thankfully) to historical myths of the werewolf; it delves into the alternate-past of London in this 'verse, as well as giving us a well-paced and, in a way Tricks of London wasn't, deeply human story.

Overall, then, whilst Tricks of London  - probably in part due to its short length - was not quite up to what I've come to expect from Bear, Seven for a Secret was absolutely fantastic, and a very readable little novella.  Very enjoyable.
Stapledon’s novel is a far-ranging attempt at futurism, and a sadly dated (in terms of prediction and attitude alike) one; Last and First Men is an influential part of the genre, but one that has not really stood the test of time.

Last and First Men doesn’t have characters, because of its construction; it’s designed as a future history, of the world from the present of 1930 to the end of humanity (in the 18th human species). The scope and scale of the novel are incredible, but the way it skips over time and characterisation is quite depersonalising; it throws the reader out of the novel repeatedly as the clinical attitude of the author jars against claims of common humanity, and as we see history in a very different manner than the vogue of 1930. Equally, the time-jumps are very much abstract; there are strange, apparently pointless gulfs of time that just draw the novel out and allow Stapledon to be more extreme.

The predictions of the novel are also deeply dated; reliant on a racist (although, for the time, enlightened) attitude to different cultures and people, and predicated on a certain outdated view of the sciences, it gets more and more ridiculous as the novel goes on; things that we know to be possible are said to be beyond our ken (as limited human beings), and the evolutionary processes and genetic engineering proposed by Stapledon are ridiculous beyond speech, to far too great an extent. Indeed, it’s a very strange novel in that regard.

Overall, then, reading the novel one can see its influence on other authors in the genre, in its predictions and ideas; but Stapledon is incredibly influenced by his time and the conflicts of the 1930s, and his style is deeply problematic. Last and First Men, whilst an important contribution to the genre, is not a good novel in the context of the field as it stands today.
Last Light of the Sun follows Kay’s pattern of fictionalising historical periods and characters into a fantastical setting; this 10th Century British novel, set in the time of Alfred (albeit with analogous characters, rather than the originals, and some ahistorical events), is very good at transmitting the feel and sense of the culture. Set in the same world as The Sarantine Mosaic (there is reference to a treatise by Rustem on cataracts, something also referred to in the Sarantine Mosaic, as well as to a mosaic chapel outside Rhodias).

The characters are more original than in previous Kay novels that I have read; whilst they’re somewhat similar to each other, they’re not cut from the same molds. They’re influenced and defined by their culture and environment, as well as their pasts; brilliantly, the Anglcyn aren’t perfect, as many historical sources (being English-written) suggest, and Aeldred is well-written with sympathy but not hagiography. Similarly, the Erlings (Norse) and the Cyngael (the Welsh analogue) are separately and sympathetically portrayed. Their cultures are a little over-influenced by stereotypes, but the individuals are all very human and very well-written; there’s a strong theme of common humanity, brought out by Kay with his asides, telling the full lives, beyond the action, of some characters who interact with the main story, playing them out and showing how (whether) they’re affected by it all.

The plot is a brilliant one of revenge, destiny and love. The Erling, Cyngael and Anglcyn groups are brought together and apart by threads of history and family; the novel starts and ends with an Erling raid and the intrusion of the half-world, and comes full circle in the life of one of the Erling characters, Bern, with the consequences of his flight and theft at the start of the novel being dealt with at the close. The whole thing seems to highlight the circular nature of life and destiny powerfully, with the violence, romance, and religion melded together with a lyrical and stylish language creating a compelling novel.

Overall, like all Kay’s non-Fionavar work that I’ve read, this is a powerful and beautiful novel with a huge amount to say in its favour; Last Light of the Sun is an excellent evocation of the end of the Dark Ages in Britain, well-written and enjoyable.
This review is of the concluding volume of the Sarantine Mosaic duology and will contain spoilers of varying degrees for Sailing to Sarantium as a result.  A review of the opening volume is under the preceding link.

Here be spoilers )

The Sarantine Mosaic's closing volume brings this story to an end but makes clear that it doesn't by any means bring the world to an end, and there is much more going on that this story could include; but because it is the story, above all else, of the emotional journey of the mosaicist Crispin, it has a definite conclusion, and a brilliant one at that.  A really good concluding volume demonstrating that Kay is a more-than proficient craftsman of this sort of detailed, beautiful fantasy.
Kay's novel is a beautiful, low-magic fantasy set in a world analogous to the Byzantium of Justinian I (with details like the Victory Riots).  Centred on the rebuilding of the Sanctuary of Jad, with a huge mosaic'd dome accomplished by Caius Crispus, Kay draws into Sailing to Sarantium a variety of political, military, artistic, theological and other details of the ancient world and sets up a number of wonderful conflicts for the concluding volume to the Sarantine Mosaic duology.

The characters are wonderful, if occasionally a little stock - the mosaicist, cook and architect who are each described as the top of their field (albeit only one of whom we meet in much detail, that being Caius Crispus, the mosaicist) are all irascible, likeably unlikeable, creative, kind and gentle but with facades of rage and a tendency towards bluntness; all the noble women are manipulative, use sex to try and get their way, are precariously positioned but brave and intelligent; and all the more physical men (Carullus, Leontes, Scortius) are cut from a similar mold of being gentle, kind, thoughtful and lovely people, but who don't give too much time to the more high-flown intellectual pursuits.  Valerian II is brilliantly drawn and very much not like anyone else in the novel, and despite the stock characteristics of even our main character, Sailing to Sarantium is emotionally moving because we do see things through the eyes of a number of characters are they are distinct - with different styles and focuses for each (Crispus' relentless focus on light and the play of light, for instance) which combine with an emotional truth throughout the story to pack a powerful punch - this is one of those books that had me, at times, choking up a little (or more than a little).

The plot's also brilliantly handled; with numerous little historical details slipped into the narrative, what we have here is a fictionalisation, with fantastic elements, of the reality of history.  The relations of the barbarian Antae in Varena (Ravenna?) with Sarantium, the theological schisms over the divinity or otherwise of Heraklidos, the son of Jad among other issues, the internal politics of Sarantium, the role of the emperor in the west, and other historical issues all become elements of a complex plot centred on Crispus; Kay handles the complexity of the Byzantine period well, with his sympathetic and knowledgeable portrayal creating a deep suspense and wonder even as (historically speaking) we think we know what will happen - we don't, after all, know what truly will.  Interspersed are smaller, more personal plots, and musings on things like the importance and lasting nature of art, and the numinous or divine, that keep the reader even more on their intellectual toes than the characters, perhaps.

All in all, whilst not flawless - Kay's characters do sometimes seem to be slightly differently focused versions of the same person - Sailing to Sarantium is an absolutely stunning novel, rich in detail and beauty.  Lord of Emperors has just hit the top of my "Buy this and read it" pile... and The Sarantine Mosaic duology should do the same to yours.
New Amsterdam, as the title implies, is set in the same world as The White City, and forms a series of linked novellettes (at a rough guesstimation of their length) that lay out much of what happened before that novella (and was published before it - my reading order is, in this case, unrepresentative of that intended by Bear).

The characterisation is universally excellent, subtle, and sweet; Sebastien is a thoughtful, intelligent, emotional and profoundly human vampire who I can't help but comparing with Genevieve of Kim Newman's Anno Dracula, as both share so many of the same characteristics, especially in their outlook on humanity and the brevity of human life.  The other characters are equally well-drawn; Jack Priest, with his jealous love of the vampire and his revolutionary views, is portrayed sympathetically but not flawlessly, and both the women - Abigail Irene Garrett and Phoebe Smith - are different, well-written, interesting characters with their own strengths and weaknesses (less so for Phoebe, but Abigail Irene is a powerful, interesting figure, with contradictions aplenty encapsulated within her).  The shifting background characters, who change from novellette to novellette, are also sketched well, and dealt with deftly to create nice, interesting figures for the reader.

The plot of each novellette forms part of a plot-arc, whilst also having its own resolution; they each follow the same form - body discovered, and Sebastien (in all but the first novellette) aided by Abigail Irene solve the murder over the course of the story, abetted and aided by various political factions and pressured with various underhand means.  It is less repetitive than it sounds - Bear has a variety of different atmospheres, and whilst the first story of the collection is relatively mundane and the last somewhat horrific and gothic, they're all dealt with well and showcase a great range on Bear's part; however, the political arc is much less strong, and seems to be a little disjointed, not only by the novellette-structure but also by the changes in the characters, which seem abrupt and extreme at times.

Overall, whilst this isn't a perfect collection, it is very good, very enjoyable and very strong; I'd recommend New Amsterdam, if you can get your hands on it, to fans of Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple, but also to fans of steampunk and vampires.  Bear really does have a talent for enjoyable, well-written fiction and this certainly showcases that.
Lovegrove's novel of Stargate-influenced, alternate-history, military science fiction melded with a huge dose of fantasy is more than just a mouthful of a sentence to summarise (though, undeniably, it is that!) but also a novel of mixed elements; The Age of Ra has some brilliant action and great characters, but there's some really uncomfortable moments (a hint of racism, a soupçon of misogyny, a dash of homophobia...) as well...

The two sets of characters - human and divine - are well developed.  It's not a novel of many characters; we know three humans, David Westwinter, Zafirah and the Lightbringer, and whilst the first and last are decently developed, Zafirah seems to be more in the novel as "necessary romantic interest" for David, with a detailed background but little actual character.  David, on the other hand, is a decently strong character, well able to stand up to the pressures he's under; a character of his world, but also one recognisable from ours as an upper-class soldier-boy, he's a great creation.  There's little I can say about the final human character, since he's so central and yet mysterious, without spoiling a large part of the early plot of the novel, so suffice to say that up until the last part of the book, he's also a great character, but in that part, he rather falls down...  The gods are also decently drawn, with Ra a perfect put-upon ruler of the pantheon, Set his normal devious self, and Anubis absolutely brilliantly "indifferent", with some great character work on the last especially.

The plot is relatively straightforward; the conflicts which develop - personal and international - are well-handled, for the most part, and keep the novel moving along at a fast clip with some great dialogue (and unfortunately badly done expository elements, given that it really confuses the extent to which David knows things...  The geo/theopolitics of the world play nicely into the personal relationships of the story, and lead to some great action scenes in the tradition of the best milSF, with some really well done moments popping out especially in the opening of the story.

However, some moments really did throw me.  The lack of strong female characters, amongst humans or gods, was disturbing - whilst Zafirah is strong in the sense of being determined, she's not really developed at all, and the female gods play so little role as to be practically pointless; similarly, the fact that of the three characters shown to be gay, one is a paedophile and the other two are unquestionably intended to be the "bad guys" of the story gives rise to the accusation of homophobia, whilst there are moments - a speech about how, without external powers, Africa would be a horrible dark age wasteland, for instance - which open Lovegrove to accusations of racism.

These issues aside, this is a decent (if not terribly deep) milSF novel with some nice Stargate stylings; however, The Age of Ra leaves the reader, if they've my sensibilities, with seriously mixed feelings, due to Lovegrove's basic attitudes in a number of areas... I may seek out The Age of Zeus and The Age of Odin for comparison (and because, when it comes down to it, this is fun) but I do hope he overcomes these issues with those novels.


Squeaking of the GrimSqueaker....

February 2012

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