One Potato Review
The author, otherwise known as Count Ulderico Gropplero di Troppenburg, waited twenty years to compose this sequel about the eighth of a pernicious tribe, who was famously cast out when we weren’t looking: “In reality, I, who was banned and laughed at, am the ruler! As the white one, I gather all the colors in myself, I am the sum of my brothers!”
There are a lot of Countish pronouncements like that, and words like “ignominious,” and Cave Goblins this time to do his wicked bidding. It doesn’t always make sense. But here are also earthquakes and cataclysms and stricken, polluted cities. And here are mighty waves of flowers, trees, plants, animals, birds, insects, and here is such moxie at wanting to have another go at this tumult, then finally such pathos when the White Goblin retreats:
“He sometimes had wild nightmares… but the stillness of the ice world soon made his memory of the lust for color pale. In the white infinity he found himself again. If one can trust reports, the last years of his life were serene and contented.” Mysterious fun.
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