OH MY GOD CHINA MIEVILLE, I WORSHIP YOU. WORSHIP WORSHIP WORSHIP.

Yes, I felt the need to put down the book and pick up the computer to write a gushing entry about Perdito Street Station. The plots and the world and the characters but mostly the plots, the many many wonderful interweaving plots.

And the Weaver and the Slake Moths and the Eyespy Killer and the Weaver and the scissors and Mr Motely and the slake moths and the dreamshit and the...*gushgushgush*

"But what about the ears?"
"I have no idea! He thought it made the Web prettier! Obviously!"

"I urge you to continue your fabric work, of which I find myself a great devotee."

Oh, Weaver. Big hard love, right there. Big. Hard. Love. I want a picture. With scissors. And oh, oh, Rescue and Derkham and the Duke of Hell and the Torque and the yay. *gushspleesquee*

And...handlingers, dexerials and sinistrals. Guh. That is so. fucking. cool. Just- whoa, fucking whoa. Flying parasitic fire breathing hand things. So cool. *melts into puddle of rotting-lemon scented slake-moth goo* Soooo coooooool. *drools* *cries* Damn you, China Mieville! Damn you!

The Construct Council? More big hard love. Not as hard as the Weaver, but still pretty hard. Maybe about a 6 on the Mohs scale. Somewhere around quartz, whereas the Weaver? Diamond. Diamond all the way.

And finally! Something that can maybe tell me what the hell a catoblepas is.

Perdido Street Station. Big. Hard. Love. Oh yeah.