Steampunk is an odd beast that requires a certain attention to both style and pastiche. Marla Mason's diction is perfect for what Marla Mason is: solidly American, solidly city. No flourishes there, but none needed: solid working narrative. 19th century London with frissons of Holmes and Wimsey require, seriously, some of the style of the period. And I really don't think you can combine Peter Wimsey and a hard-drinking American noir detective into the same person; they're very incompatible bedmates. What we're left with is just an alcoholic peer.
My two weeks guest is gone and I have gone back to my solitary slovenly habits, such as wandering around in a tshirt and leaving the bathroom door open all the time. We barely saw each other while she was here: she usually got home after I'd gone to bed, I was up and out before she got up. But having a body around, even an invisible one, does ground me, even as it curtails my lifestyle. Am glad to have my boudoir back; but still, but still...
(That reading meme and its questions: how many bookshelves do you have? I have bookshelves- though in one case, book piles, because the bookcase is full of videotapes- in every room but the bathroom. Thus an inaccessible room means inaccessible books.)
