Somehow, Christopher Paul Carey manages to perfectly meld the styles of Henry Rider Haggard, Edgar Rice Burroughs and Philip José Farmer. It almost seems as if those three authors were amalgamated into one. It’s very well-written, actually somewhat better than Burroughs might have managed. It invokes the period flavour of Haggard’s prose, yet without seeming in any way dated in style. I’m really not quite sure how Carey does it.
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