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Zusatztext "An excellent addition to an amazing series. The language is perfect! era-appropriate! and wryly humorous. The details are gruesome and horrific and not for the squeamish. The action is exciting and well-paced. The characters! their relationships! and the moral dilemmas they face! however! are the true hub of the story. Warthrop is gorgeously complex—at turns petulant and enthusiastic! selfish and giving! frighteningly intelligent! then blinded by ambition. But it is Will Henry who grows in this story! as he starts truly becoming a man...This is a wonderful book! and readers will yearn for the next in the series."— VOYA Informationen zum Autor Rick Yancey is the author of The Monstrumologist, The Curse of the Wendigo, The Isle of Blood, and The Final Descent. He is also the author of The Fifth Wave series. Rick lives with his wife Sandy and two sons in Gainesville, Florida. Visit him at RickYancey.com. Klappentext The sequel to the Printz Honor Award-winning "The Monstrumologist." An old friend of Dr. Warthrop's comes asking for help to track down Warthrop's colleague, the sociopathic Dr. John Kearns. At first, Warthrop is reluctant to helpNuntil he learns that Kearns may possess information leading to a creature widely regarded as the Holy Grail of monstrumology. The Isle of Blood After several years of service to the monstrumologist, I approached him with the idea of recording, in the interest of posterity, one or two of his more memorable case studies. I waited, of course, until he was in one of his better moods. Approaching Pellinore Warthrop while he wallowed in one of his frequent bouts of melancholia could be hazardous to one’s physical well-being. Once, when I made that ill-advised approach, he hurled a volume of Shakespeare’s tragedies at my head. The moment presented itself at the delivery of the day’s mail, which included a letter from President McKinley, thanking Warthrop for his service to the country upon the satisfactory conclusion of “that peculiar incident in the Adirondacks.” The doctor, whose ego was as robust as any of Mr. P. T. Barnum’s sideshow strong men, read it aloud three times before entrusting it to my care. I was his file clerk, among other things—or, I should say, as well as every other thing. Nothing outside his work could brighten the monstrumologist’s mood more than a brush with celebrity. It seemed to satisfy some deep yearning in him. Beyond elevating his moribund spirits and thus ensuring—momentarily, at least—my physical safety, the letter also provided the perfect entrée for my suggestion. “It was quite peculiar, wasn’t it?” I asked. “Hmmm? Yes, I suppose.” The monstrumologist was absorbed in the latest issue of the Saturday Evening Post , which had also arrived that day. “It would make quite a tale, if someone were to tell it,” I ventured. “I have been thinking of preparing a small piece for the Journal ,” replied he. The Journal of the Society for the Advancement of the Science of Monstrumology was the official quarterly of the Society. “I was thinking of something for more widespread consumption. A story for the Post , for example.” “An interesting idea, Will Henry,” he said. “But wholly impractical. I made a promise to the president that the matter would remain strictly confidential, and I’ve no doubt that, if I should break my vow, I might find myself locked up in Fort Leavenworth, not exactly the ideal place to pursue my studies.” “But if you published something in the Journal …” “Oh, who reads that ?” he snorted, waving his hand dismissively. “It is the nature of my profession, Will Henry, to...
