Right now, I'm reading For Two Nights Only. It's an omnibus edition containing two of his previously released novels, Overtime and Grailblazers. I'm thoroughly enjoying it. Overtime is a rather witty book centering on time travel, time demolition, financial advisors, insurance salesmen, the music industry, the AntiChrist, automatons, and bullet-proof hats. Really, I swear it. It's a hoot.
I've just started the second book in the volume: Grailblazers, which promises to have something to do with Aurthurian legend, but also promises not to hew too closely to anything I've ever heard or read about it before. One of the opening paragraphs goes like this:
A flash of brilliant electric whiteness cleaves the darkness and reflects, painfully bright, off a man in armour staggering up the steep escarpment of the fell. His visor is up, and his face is lined with agony. He is an idiot. You can tell, just by looking at him. It's not so much his tall, youthful, athletic build or the sopping wet golden hair plastered like seaweed down his forehead that gives him away; it's just that nobody with anything substantial between his ears would climb up a steep mountain in full armour in a thunderstorm.
How can that not grab you?