In Which once again Your Humble Blogger fails to mention whether he liked the book, or what it’s about, or anything about it other than the attributes of the physical object. This isn’t judging a book by its cover, this is judging a book by the pound.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets eleven inches. Of snow, of course.
In Which Your Humble Blogger talks about the physical book to the exclusion of the words within it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger fails to mention the expected turnout in Iowa’s caucus.
In Which Your Humble Blogger presents a new metric in which you, Gentle Reader, are considered (objectively) more important than the great book-buying public.
In Which reports of Al Gore’s death prove to have been greatly exaggerated.
In Which Your Humble Blogger expresses outrage, rather than respect.
In Which the passage could be improved by an illustration, with lots of gears and brass fixings and steam and glass and all that steampunk stuff.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gives away the ending.
In Which Your Humble Blogger distinguishes between the Good Life, which involves eating lotus and listening to Jack Teagarden, and the Not-So-Good Life, which involves beating beaten about the head and neck with a broken bottle.