More commonly known for his sci-fi writing, Ray Bradbury has written a detective story as murky, compelling and original as any since 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'. His Thomas-like use of language creates the wraithes of mist that shroud the narative, as well as supplying a wry, querky humour to offset the grim subject matter. The opening line, "Venice, California, in the old days had much to recomend it to people who like to be sad" sets an expectation that is never disappointed. The reader is lead into a vanished world - even as it is vanishing - where misfits, freeks and eccentrics are the norm, where our own perception of reality is challenged and reappraised. In fact, Bradbury creates an Earth as mysterious and fascinating as any distant planet of the imagination. The plot itself isn't particularly clever, but this book isn't about that. It's about atmosphere, obserdity and the further-flung reaches of the human condition. And it's precisely because the story doesn't rely purely on surprises and a clever twist at the end that you can enjoy reading it time and again.