6 of 6 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars
The culmination of a life's work (sort of), 11 July 2001
First up, this isn't the book to start reading Rankin with. It's got so many references to earlier books, that wouldn't be doing it justice. This should have been his final novel; it draws together many of the earlier plotlines, and pretty much all the expected running gags, into a (slightly warped) whole. Yet at the same time, it manages to throw in enough short stories and new ideas to make the book stand on its own as one of his best. Yes, there are poems (unfortunately), but they're much better than in the Garden of Unearthly Delights. There's even a pretty good one about a devil-possessed matchbox. This and the Voodoo Handbag are the capstone of the sprout-powered great pyramid of Brentford. Or the chromium-plated mouthpiece of the megaphone of destiny. Of course.