The extraordinary climax to the gothic Iremonger trilogy.

'Roald Dahl by way of Charles Dickens' - Vox.com
'Astonishing and inventive, it calls out to be read' - The Sunday Times
'Dark and wildly original urban fantasy tale' - New York Times
'All of Edward Carey's work is profound and delightful' - Max Porter
'If this were music, Carey would be Eric Satie. If it were film, he would be Tim Burton.' - Newsday

The ghastly climax to the gothic Iremonger trilogy

The dirt town of Foulsham has been destroyed, its ashes still smoldering. Darkness lies heavily over the city, the sun has not come up for days. Inside the houses throughout the capital, ordinary objects have begun to move. Strange new people run through the darkened streets. There are rumours of a terrible contagion. From the richest mansion to the poorest slum people have disappeared. The police have been instructed to carry arms. And rats, there are rats everywhere.
Someone has stolen a certain plug.
Someone is lighting a certain box of matches.
All will come tumbling down.

The Iremongers have come to London.