There are more than a few reasons to take the stand and scream the glories of Canada's own literary demon Michael Slade Fellow Sladists will tell you, the man deserves every accolade thrown at him and then some ...there just isn't a precedent for the barbaric brilfiance of a Slade novel. With his well researched, candid ventures into not only the most deranged of sick psyches but the Royal Canadian Mounted Police as well... Slade's current offering, the Lovecraft-laced paen to South Seas cannibalism Bed of Nails... sports some inspiringly twisted set pieces fight off the bat In typical 'Slade of hand,' you're never quite sure who the killer is until the 'final reel' when all the sickening stops are pulled out.

Isolated in Ashworth House, an asylum for the criminally insane, is the Ripper. He believes he's the notorious butcher who terrorized Whitechapel more than a century ago.He talks of time travel, infinity, and the occult. In the black hole of his imagination, he reenacts the crimes. In the darkness of his heart, he still craves the thrill of the kill. Thank God he can't escape. But with such an ingenious mind for murder, the Ripper doesn't have to--and the ghastly crimes he can manipulate from his padded cell are taking Zinc Chandler and the Special X investigators on a trail of unspeakable carnage that leads to the idyllic Cook Islands, where human sacrifice and cannibalism is more than a dark and perverted chapter in history. It's tradition.