Rating: 3.75* of fiveThe Book Report: Eerie doins on the North Sea coast of England, to do with the detritus of the petrochemical rape of the planet. The Day of Reckoning has come, in true China Miéville fashion, from the single least anticipated quarter.My Review: Shovelmonkey1, that minx, recommended this Miévilleiciousness to me. It and its implications will prevent me from sleeping tonight. It's scary, for one, but I can sleep through nerves. It's envy-inducingly wonderfully written, but I've slept through many an envious snit (my boyfriend is 20, I *live* in an envious snit).So what is the cause of the sleeplessness? Read this:In the glow of the thing's own flame they saw edificial flanks, the concrete and rust of them, the iron of the pylon barnacled, shaggy with benthic growth now lank gelatinous bunting.Take away the gorgeous words, the sonorous Lovecraftian cadence, the magnificently eerie picture it paints in the imagination of the reader, and one is left with:HOW THE HELL DID HE THINK OF IT?!? WHERE DID HE FIND THE IDEA FOR THIS AMAZING TALE?!?I hate China Miéville. I mean, serious full-on envy-born volcanically hot hatred. I labor and sweat over simple little oft-told tales, and he dashes off effortlessly, for a **NEWSPAPER**, what to him is a mere bagatelle, a piffling little entertainment, and would represent for me a quantum leap in talent and imagination.I hope he has, or gets, shingles.