Nine days. Beneficent God, I beg you, let this be the day I die! The guardsman's spine and neck were warped and bent but still he lived. He'd been locked in the red lacquered box for nine days. He'd seen the days' light come and go through the lid-crack. Nine days. He held them close as a handful of dinars. Counted them over and over. Nine days. Nine days. Nine days. If he could remember this until he died he could keep his soul whole for God's sheltering embrace. He had given up on remembering his name.So starts the Throne of the Crescent Moon, and among other short excerpts I've seen around the net I found myself reading along before being entirely aware that I had begun on the book. From the first impressions it doesn't seem as if I will be disappointed.
But of course there's also a review pending on Embassytown, you know the drill.