Lost in a Good Book (A Thursday Next Novel)

Lost in a Good Book (A Thursday Next Novel)

Jasper Fforde

Language: English

Pages: 399

ISBN: 0142004030

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


The second installment in Jasper Fforde’s New York Times bestselling series follows literary detective Thursday Next on another adventure in her alternate reality of literature-obsessed England


The inventive, exuberant, and totally original literary fun that began with The Eyre Affair continues with New York Times bestselling author Jasper Fforde’s magnificent second adventure starring the resourceful, fearless literary sleuth Thursday Next. When Landen, the love of her life, is eradicated by the corrupt multinational Goliath Corporation, Thursday must moonlight as a Prose Resource Operative of Jurisfiction—the police force inside the BookWorld. She is apprenticed to the man-hating Miss Havisham from Dickens’s Great Expectations, who grudgingly shows Thursday the ropes. And she gains just enough skill to get herself in a real mess entering the pages of Poe’s “The Raven.” What she really wants is to get Landen back. But this latest mission is not without further complications. Along with jumping into the works of Kafka and Austen, and even Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies, Thursday finds herself the target of a series of potentially lethal coincidences, the authenticator of a newly discovered play by the Bard himself, and the only one who can prevent an unidentifiable pink sludge from engulfing all life on Earth. It’s another genre-bending blend of crime fiction, fantasy, and top-drawer literary entertainment for fans of Douglas Adams and P. G. Wodehouse. Thursday’s zany investigations continue with The Well of Lost Plots. Look for the five other bestselling Thursday Next novels, including One of Our Thursdays is Missing and Jasper Fforde’s latest bestseller, The Woman Who Died A Lot. Visit jasperfforde.com for a ffull window into the Ffordian world!

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Hades,” I told them as I hopped up and down, trying to pull my other shoe on, “sister of Acheron. Don’t even think of tackling her. You know you’re close when you stop breathing.” “Wow!” exclaimed Lamme, patting his pockets for a pen. “Aornis Hades! How did you figure that out?” “I glimpsed her several times over the past few weeks.” “You must have a good memory,” observed Slorter. “I have help.” Lamme found a pen, discovered it didn’t work and borrowed a pencil off his partner. The point

of the feral dodos down at the park,” I explained. “I caught Pickwick doing a sort of coy come-hither dodo thing a month back, with a large male near the bandstand. Pickwick’s amour plocked noisily outside the house for a week, but I didn’t know anything had actually happened. Does that answer your question?” “I guess.” “Good. Okay, pull up over there. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” They dropped me by the side of the road, and I thanked them before running up the street. It was already quite

reminded me of the entrance lobby of an old hotel—only about forty times as big. You could have parked an airship in here and still had room to hold an air race. There was a red carpet leading up from the high front doors, and all the brasswork shone like gold. “This is where we honor the Boojummed,” said the Cat in a quiet voice. He waved a paw in the direction of a large granite memorial about the size of two upended cars. The edifice was shaped like a large book, open in the center and

to left and right and lowered her voice. “Does everyone out there think my husband and I are so very cruel, cutting the girls and their mother out of Henry Dashwood’s bequest?” She looked at me so very seriously that I wanted to smile. “Well,” I began— “Oh I knew it!” gasped Mrs. Dashwood. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “I told John that we should reconsider—I expect out there we are burnt in effigy, reviled for our actions, damned for all time?” “Not

slowly turned to face me. “Hey, Thursday.” “Hey, Landen. I didn’t want to disturb you; shall I—?” “No, no,” he said hurriedly, “this can wait. I’m just pleased to see you. How’s it going out there?” “Boring,” I told him despondently. “After Jurisfiction, SpecOps work seems as dull as ditchwater. Flanker at SO-1 is still on my back, I can feel Goliath breathing down my neck, and this Lavoisier character is using me to get to Dad.” “Can I do anything to help?” So I sat on his lap and he

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