Angelmaker (Vintage Contemporaries)

Angelmaker (Vintage Contemporaries)

Nick Harkaway

Language: English

Pages: 477

ISBN: 0307743624

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

A Wall Street Journal and Booklist Best Mystery of 2012
A Best Science Fiction Book of 2012 -- The Guardian
GeekDad's Best Adult Fiction of 2012 --

Finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and the Arthur C. Clarke Award

A rollicking romp of a spy thriller from the acclaimed author of The Gone-Away World.
Joe Spork fixes clocks. He has turned his back on his father’s legacy as one of London’s flashiest and most powerful gangsters and aims to live a quiet life. Edie Banister retired long ago from her career as a British secret agent. She spends her days with a cantankerous old pug for company. That is, until Joe repairs a particularly unusual clockwork mechanism, inadvertently triggering a 1950s doomsday machine. His once-quiet life is suddenly overrun by mad monks who worship John Ruskin, psychopathic serial killers, mad geniuses and dastardly villains. On the upside, he catches the eye of bright and brassy Polly, a woman with enough smarts to get anyone out of a sticky situation. In order to save the world and defeat the nefarious forces threatening it, Joe must help Edie complete a mission she abandoned years ago, and he must summon the courage to pick up his father’s old gun and join the fight.

Midnight Over Sanctaphrax (The Edge Chronicles, Book 3; The Twig Trilogy, Book 3)

The Genius Wars (Genius, Book 3)

The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty

War of the Werelords (Wereworld, Book 6)

The Wizardry Cursed (Wiz, Book 3)

Scott And Amundsen: The Last Place on Earth
















they might suddenly try to tear her apart. There was no evidence for that. There was no evidence of any kind, just Frankie inside, in the furthest carriage, the innermost keep of the Lovelace. The man lurched upright and fell towards her, and she dodged. He lunged again, and this time she stepped in and wheeled him over her back, claiming a leg and twisting it hard as he went down. The knee dislocated. It might not knit properly, after this. He might walk with a limp. But she hadn’t shot him,

am Crazy Joe Spork, and I will bring you down if I must topple the house around us. Yes. From the window surface stares back the man he must be from now on: one-eyed wanderer; battlefield ghost; stranger; titan; mobster; angel of destruction. A man who might be able to win, after all. “Your escape route goes through Ireland,” Mercer is saying. “Ferry, then a flight to Iceland, on to Canada. Canada’s great for disappearing. It’s very big and there’s nothing in it. If you leave in the next

the barest beginning. Do you understand? If the Apprehension Engine is incorrectly calibrated, it exposes the mind to too much knowledge, and the mind in turn determines the world. In perfect perception of the underlying universe we find the end of uncertainty, of choice. Without choice, no consciousness. Without an uncertain future, no future at all. After a certain point, it is possible that this process would become self-perpetuating. What is possible would cease and be replaced by … immutable

crazy, Spork. I don’t want you catatonic.” “But—” “I will do this one, Joe. You will stand in the back and watch. Besides. It’s time you saw me at work.” She frowns. “Although … for this, I think I will want some additional muscle. No,” she adds, as he immediately opens his mouth to volunteer, “not that kind of muscle. Suasion.” “Suasion?” “I am an investigator, Joe Spork. Suasion is one of the things I do. Now: watch.” He does. Polly Cradle plays Jorge’s untraceable mobile telephone like

bring up the Anglo-Saxon prize, but you did promise if I helped you pass the exam, you would one day help me, and that day is today, Coddis girls together! Do please bring this to G. as swiftly as can be, keep it away from those frightful little Civil Service fellows or they’ll want Frankie’s wotnot for themselves. And “wot not” is the word, Tweel, I promise you: things we are not meant to wot of, and do not dare tell me that’s a hanging preposition, because I know. Would you have me write

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