I finished reading two books in the last couple of days, Perdido Street Station by China Mieville, and Screwjack by Hunter S. Thompson.

Perdido Street Station is wonderful. One could not possibly praise this book highly enough. Shortlisted for the Hugo, winner of the British Fantasy and Arthur C. Clarke awards, it’s an utter marvel. I don’t want to try and describe it at all, because it’s so rich and fresh that you really need experience it yourself. Mieville is a staggering talent, and I need to go hunt down his other works.

Screwjack, on the other hand, is really disappointing. I don’t know what I was expecting, and it shouldn’t have been much, given the size of the book – it’s really three short stories, the longest of which is apparently Thompson recording his very first mescaline experience. I’ll give that story one thing – it really made mescaline sound like an experience worth trying, if only once. The other two stories were, well, lame. The thing’s a $22 (CDN) hardcover. If I hadn’t found it remaindered for $7 I think I’d be pretty annoyed. As it stands, I think the book was worth the seven bucks, because though the content lacked, Thompson’s delivery is always entertaining.

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