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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never saw us, never heard us, you know nothing of what happened here.” “Bingo!” cried Raffles as the handle on the safe turned, shattering the frozen lock inside and creaking open. Raffles handed me the manuscript before he and Bunny vanished back to their own book with only the thanks of Jurisfiction to show for the night’s efforts—a valuable commodity on their side of the law. I passed Cardenio to Tweed. He rested a reverential hand on the play and smiled a rare smile. “An undedicated

cards had just ended between Pip and Estella, and Miss Havisham, resplendently shabby in her rotting wedding dress and veil, seemed to be trying to come to a decision. “When shall I have you here again?” said Miss Havisham in a low growl. “Let me think.” “Today is Wednesday, ma’am—” began Pip, but he was silenced by Miss Havisham. “There, there! I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing of weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?” “Yes, ma’am.” Miss Havisham sighed

stunned silence from the crowd, punctuated by someone at the back who yelled “Bravo!” before another spectator thumped him. The Examining Magistrate peered closer at me. “Is this relevant?” demanded Hopkins, addressing the bench. “Silence!” yelled the Magistrate, continuing slowly and with very real gravity: “You mean to tell me that you have, at one time, been a housepainter?” “Indeed, your honor. After I left school and before college I painted houses for two months. I think it might be safe

“We’re looking for someone named Thursday Next,” said his partner in a very obvious whisper from the side of her mouth, adding, in case I didn’t get the message, “Official business.” I sighed. Obviously, SO-5 were beginning to run out of volunteers. I wasn’t surprised. “What happened to Dedmen and Walken?” I asked them. “They were—” began the first agent but the second nudged him in the ribs and announced instead: “Never heard of them.” “I’m Thursday Next,” I told them, “and I think you’re

even more politely, took my arm in hers, muttered a pleasantry to Miss Havisham about “getting acquainted” and steered me off towards the tea table. “How do you find Norland, Miss Next?” “Very lovely, Mrs. Dashwood.” “Can I offer you a Crumbobbilous cutlet?” she asked in a clearly agitated manner, handing me a sideplate and napkin and indicating the food. “Or some tea?” “No, thank you.” “I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Next.” “You seem most anxious to do so.” She glanced furtively

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