MacIntyre, F. Gwynplaine -- The Woman Between the Worlds

Gaslamp fantasy that starts in a Wellsian mode and veers towards the Lovecraftian. The owner of a tattoo parlor is visited by an invisible woman hoping for a pigment upgrade. She is, however, more than she appears -- har har -- and our heroes find themselves on the run from the sort of interdimensional terror that makes grandiose threats and laughs maniacally as it swirls around you. (Not very Lovecraftian, I know.) This could have been a good book, but the author drags most of it through a smelly bog of fin-de-siecle who's-who: Arthur Conan Doyle, William Butler Yeats, Bram Stoker, George Bernard Shaw, and far, far too many more, parading through the plot in press-gangs. (Nor can you play it as a game, as in Moore's League stories.) When Aleister Crowley is drafted to be your sidekick, you know the author has some serious fanboying to get out of his system. Eventually the plot starts back up again, and comes to a reasonable conclusion, unless maniacal laughter annoys you.

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