projectdisaster

Twny Kush Kush itibaren Podgrodzie, Polònia itibaren Podgrodzie, Polònia

Okuyucu Twny Kush Kush itibaren Podgrodzie, Polònia

Twny Kush Kush itibaren Podgrodzie, Polònia

projectdisaster

Another fun, predictable, cheesy love story/mystery. Still trying to make my way through the books I borrowed from my mom years ago...

projectdisaster

I pre-ordered this book after reading and enjoying The Wicked Wyckerly. A few dozen pages into the story I found my attention straying, put it aside to dip into another book on my To Read list, and never returned to The Devilish Montague. I've no idea why this happens (it's not the first time). It could be an aversion to more-of-the-same series, but I've enjoyed every book in Colin Dexter's Inspector Morse series, and every book featuring Keating's Inspector Ghote. Not to mention Frank Herbert's Dune saga and a dozen more. And I can get just as hooked on an episodic TV series as any other viewer. (Completely entranced with both Castle and Haven at the moment, and waiting impatiently for The Mentalist and Fringe to return.) The disturbing thing is that, after abandoning The Devilish Montague for no reason better than loss of interest, I find it impossible to write a review of The Wicked Wyckerly, which I know I read with great enthusiasm and pleasure. My personal reaction aside, I can recommend, unreservedly, both books to fans of the genre.

projectdisaster

"You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen, the seven masks I have fashioned an worn in seven lives, I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, "Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves." Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me. And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, "He is a madman." I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, "Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks." Thus I became a madman.