With two hugely successful cult novels behind him, James Hawes spectacularly fails to deliver in this plodding third volume which seldom gets out of first gear. The disagreeable and hackneyed two-dimensional characterisation failed to invoke either sympathy or empathy with this reviewer, and the languid plot progression served to frustrate and made the entire reading process an onerous chore as cod mortality blarney was heaped on the unfortunate reader. It is difficult to understand why Hawes has gone wrong - having overcome the troublesome second novel syndrome, his career path of churning cult novels was established. Instead, he opted for craft and guile - dramatically achieved in similar circumstances by Iain Banks' scholarly masterpiece "A Song of Stone", but regrettably missed by Hawes on this occasion. One can only hope his next endeavour shows a return to form, and more importantly, a return to familiar ground.