Soulless (Gail Carriger)

I am ever so pleased to announce that I did, in fact, re-finish Anathem, in a week even! And I liked it again, even without the #mindblown of the first go-round. A nice chat with the Freebird book club, as well--I may have been too shy to stick around and introduce myself, but I can yammer about books anytime.

Still, fun as nerdatron me found it, Anathem is Heavy, and thus Gail Carriger's almost impossibly breezy Soulless, a hybrid steampunk-Victorian-comedy-mystery-romance--with werewolves'n'vampires!--was a most welcome digestif, perfect for reading in McGolrick Park on a teasing taste-of-spring day (a balmy 67 degrees). It features a plucky, acid-tongued, too-smart-for-her-own-good heroine, Miss Alexia Tarabotti, who cannot forgive her father for having the poor taste to be both Italian and dead; in addition to an unfashionable olive complexion and a formidable figure, he bequeathed a most peculiar genetic defect (OK, I can't stop talking like that, because the whole book is written in the elaborate deadpan of Austen crossed with Wodehouse. Also I need to stop comparing folks to Wodehouse until I've read some, jeepers). Miss Tarabotti was born without a soul. This gives her an advantage over London's supernatural population, as any vampire or werewolf she touches loses their powers during contact. And one particular werewolf, Lord Maccon, Alpha of the capital's pack? Well, they do a lot of touching. It's a funny and silly little confection of a book, and I liked it well enough I plan to suss out the rest of the series at the first opportunity.