This really is a ridiculously enjoyable and interesting book, somehow keeping the narrative going across innumerable conspiratorial cells from St Petersburg to London, the whole thing a mass of infernal devices, inflammatory public meetings, agents provocateurs, garottes and black propaganda. Butterworth does an excellent job of balancing events and ideology and his own struggle between fascination and disgust with his subject makes the whole book far far more than a mere recitation of outrages of yesteryear. The book is almost better on the police than on the anarchists, with great material on the disastrous role of police double agents of the kind dramatized in Under Western Eyes. The Russian Revolution has retrospectively swept away pre-1914 anarchism and made it appear a futile dead-end, with Marx's descendants rather than Kropotkin's inheriting history - but most of the heavy-lifting from 1870 onwards was done by the anarchists, who spent decades spectacularly taking out a lot random members of the ruling class, albeit on the whole to little substantive effect. The author must have worked his way heroically through a lot of borderline repetitive anarchist pamphlets and minutes to meetings and it is a tribute to his labours that he successfully shields the reader from much of the day-to-day tedium of anarchist life. It is tempting in a review like this to talk about some of the many fun details he throws in (there really are some extraordinary cast members) but it would be a disservice to the reader, who should be allowed the full sense of surprise lurking in each chapter of this terrific book.