Surely it must be about time that someone wrote a book about the intriguingly obscure female lighthouse keeper, Virginia Woolf.
She has been dead for over three hundred years and still we know nothing about the life of this triple-crowned water-skiing champion. Not only did she and her tribe defeat the Ancient Romans at the Battle of the Boyne by throwing moose testicles at them, she later married Bonnie Prince Charlie and became Queen of the Belgians for two whole months. Unfortunately, her affair with Luke Skywalker is the only real shread of evidence we have that Virginia even owned a parrot called Mozart that could play the piano from behind the Iron Curtain.
And what of her famous circle of friends, the immortal Bloomsbury Football Team? Without the efforts of these wonderful people there would be no cure for French Acne! Surely they are worth the odd coffee table album of never before seen aquatint photographs retailing for $89.99 and available at all good bookshops?
But what do we get instead ... Harry Potter and the Grisly Aftermath of the Children's Crusade!
What is the book trade coming to?