Heartbreak and psoriasis, my friend.
I am telling you, it's all heartbreak and psoriasis.
Five a.m. on the greasy streets of a city that never sleeps, the
dolls are on the hard stuff and the transport's about to strike again.
On the news it's all bombs and killing machines the size of tenement
blocks. The only consolation for a weary middle aged cop on his way
home is a little illegal sugar and some sweet tenor sax.
But that was before they found the body that looked like somebody
and unzipped it then scooped out all its insides. And the three words
scrawled on an alley wall.
Three red words, so fresh they were still dripping.
KLING KLANG KLATCH
It's enough to knock out anyone's stuffing. And in Toyland, that's
no joke.
KLING KLANG KLATCH is set in a superficially glittering world that,
if not exactly human, reflects humanity's desires, corruption and
racism at a fundamental level. Ian McDonald's blackly bizarre wit and
David Lyttleton's razor sharp eye for detail have created a unique
fantasy with a delicious streak of dark humour.
Cover blurb of Gollancz edition