You may have heard somewhere that Neil Gaiman's Sandman series consisted of cool, hip, edgy, smart comic books. And you may have thought, "What the hell does that mean?" Enter A Game of You to confound the issue even more, while at the same time standing as a fine example of such a description. This is not an easy book. The characters are dense and unique, while their observations are, as always with Gaiman, refreshingly familiar. Then there's the plot, which grinds along like a coffee mill, in the process breaking down the two worlds of this series, that of the dream and that of the dreamer. Gaiman pushes these worlds to their very extremes—one is a fantasy world with talking animals, a missing princess, and a mysterious villain called the Cuckoo; the other is an urban microcosm inhabited by a drag queen, a punk lesbian couple, and a New York doll named Barbie. In almost every way this book sits at 180 degrees from the earlier four volumes of the Sandman series—although the less it seems to belong to the series, the more it shows its heart. —Jim Pascoe

Contents: Hermetic Philosophy; Seven Hermetic Principles; Mental Transmutation; The All; the Mental Universe; Divine Paradox;"The All" in All; Planes of Correspondence; Vibration; Polarity; Rhythm; Causation; Gender; Mental Gender; Hermetic Axioms. Was Paul Foster Case one of the "Three Initiates?" We think so!

When Mae West said, "Too much of a good thing can be wonderful," she could have been talking about China Miéville's Perdido Street Station. The novel's publication met with a burst of extravagant praise from Big Name Authors and was almost instantly a multiaward finalist. You expect hyperbole in blurbs; and sometimes unworthy books win awards, so nominations don't necessarily mean much. But Perdido Street Station deserves the acclaim. It's ambitious and brilliant and—rarity of rarities—sui generis. Its clearest influences are Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast trilogy and M. John Harrison's Viriconium books, but it isn't much like them. It's Dickensian in scope, but fast-paced and modern. It's a love song for cities, and it packs a world into its strange, sprawling, steam-punky city of New Crobuzon. It can be read with equal validity as fantasy, science fiction, horror, or slipstream. It's got love, loss, crime, sex, riots, mad scientists, drugs, art, corruption, demons, dreams, obsession, magic, aliens, subversion, torture, dirigibles, romantic outlaws, artificial intelligence, and dangerous cults.

 Generous, gaudy, grand, grotesque, gigantic, grim, grimy, and glorious, Perdito Street Station is a bloody fascinating book. It's also so massive that you may begin to feel you're getting too much of a good thing; just slow down and enjoy.

 Yes, but what is Perdido Street Station about? To oversimplify: the eccentric scientist Isaac Dan der Grimnebulin is hired to restore the power of flight to a cruelly de-winged birdman. Isaac's secret lover is Lin, an artist of the khepri, a humano-insectoid race; theirs is a forbidden relationship. Lin is hired (rather against her will) by a mysterious crime boss to capture his horrifying likeness in the unique khepri art form. Isaac's quest for flying things to study leads to verification of his controversial unified theory of the strange sciences of his world. It also brings him an odd, unknown grub stolen from a secret government experiment so perilous it is sold to a ruthless drug lord—the same crime boss who hired Lin. The grub emerges from its cocoon, becomes an extraordinarily dangerous monster, and escapes Isaac's lab to ravage New Crobuzon, even as his discovery becomes known to a hidden, powerful, and sinister intelligence. Lin disappears and Isaac finds himself pursued by the monster, the drug lord, the government and armies of New Crobuzon, and other, more bizarre factions, not all confined to his world. —Cynthia Ward

Explores the hidden history of Freemasonry from ancient Rome, through the Middle Ages, to the present

 

 • Shows the close connection between medieval masons and the Knights Templar

 

 • Illustrates the sacred nature of Roman and medieval trade associations

 

 • Reveals the missing link that connects the lodges of modern Freemasonry to the medieval brotherhoods of builders

 

 Historians often make a sharp distinction between the operative Masonry of the Middle Ages and the speculative Masonry of modern times, emphasizing that there is no direct bridge connecting the two. Modern historians also have scoffed at Masonic claims concerning the close relationship between the Lodge and the Temple. Using medieval archives housed throughout Europe, historian Paul Naudon reveals that there was in fact a very intimate connection between the Masons and the Knights Templar. Church records of medieval Paris show that most, if not all, the Masons of that time were residents of the Templar censive, which allowed them to enjoy great exemptions and liberties from both church and state as a result of the protection afforded them by this powerful order.

 

 Naudon shows that the origins of Freemasonry can be traced back to the collegia of ancient Rome. He traces the evolution of organizations such as the Comacine Masters, the Arab turuqs, and the brotherhoods of builders created under the aegis of the Benedictines and the Knights Templar, all of which provide the vehicle for the transmission of a sacred tradition from pre-Christian times to the modern era. This tradition is the source of Masonic ritual and symbolism, and it provides the missing link in the transformation of the operative Masonry of the medieval cathedral builders to the spiritual principles of modern speculative Masonry.

Despite being mostly known for his fantastical graphic novels and adult fiction, Neil Gaiman's first book for children is everything that you would expect from such a massive imagination as his. It's special and wonderful and very weird indeed. Described by some as the new Alice in Wonderland, Coralineis actually more bizarre than that, much more frightening and its modest length definitely adds to the book's undiluted potency.

Shortly after moving into an old house with strange tenants above and below, Coraline discovers a big, carved, brown wooden door at the far corner of the drawing room. And it is locked. Curiosity runs riot in Coraline's mind and she unlocks the door to see what lies behind it. Disappointingly, it opens onto a brick wall. Days later, after exploring the rest of the house and garden, Coraline returns to the same mysterious door and opens it again. This time, however, there is a dark hallway in front of her. Stepping inside, the place beyond has an eerie familiarity about it. The carpet and wallpaper are the same as in her flat. The picture hanging on the wall is the same. Almost. Strangest of all, her mum and dad are there too. Only they have buttons for eyes and seem more possessive than normal. It's a twisted version of her world that is familiar, and yet sinister. And matters get even more surreal for Coraline when her "other" parents seem reluctant to let her leave.

Her attempted escape from this nightmare alternative reality sees Coraline experience a chilling series of ever more bizarre encounters. Some are plainly odd, others disturbingly spooky and together they combine to form an immensely readable story. It's like all the best bits of the Goosebumpsbooks condensed into 160 pages. A unique reading experience guaranteed. (Ages 10 and over)—John McLay