This year, since my standard DunDraCon schedule is thrown off by a Tiny Tank Meeting (which is why I'm typing this in Oakland), we hit Fields Bookstore (on Polk Street in San Francisco), pound for pound the finest occult bookshop in the English-incanting world, on the Tuesday after the cons rather than
the Friday before. And thereby, like the
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It's louring at me from the bookshelf, but I'm so far behind with my other reading that I'll probably get to it sometime around 2040, unless you can propel it to the top of the queue with a recommendation. It's got a bibliography and notes, so it's presenting itself as something I might want to cite, but there are lots of books that try to pull that one.
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