The Slaves Of Solitude was great - I don't think any other writer can make you hate a character, and gleefully anticipate their comeuppance, quite as effectively as Hamilton. Bleak and funny with enough humanity to (occasionally) relieve the gloom. Great stuff.
Mark 'League Of Gentlemen' Gatiss's The Vesivius Club was an enjoyable romp, narrated by Lucifer Box, a sort of dandyish, bisexual, Edwardian James Bond with a hint of Sherlock Holmes (but as debauched and sensuous and Holmes is ascetic and austere). Unfortunately I think the last quarter of the book failed to live up to the earlier chapters, with an unconvincing baddy and a rather run-of-the-mill, 007-esque race-against-time-to-defuse-the-bomb-thwart-the-villain-and-rescue-the-hostages caper. Still, as adventure/mystery fluff goes, the cast of spies, scientists, cultists, ingenues and ladyboys and backdrop of opium dens, orgy pits, steampunkish doomsday machines &c. &c. were quite winning, and the book has some nice illustrations.
Just started Andrew Miller's Ingenious Pain, set in the 18th century and apparently about a man who can't feel pain. It's got glowing praise splashed all over the back and my girlfriend raves about it, so I've got high expectations for it.