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Readers amused by Roger McGough's whimsical meditation on the spiritual life of an apostrophe might find this far more strident account of the secret life of the cybernetic dot entertaining. When the computer is switched off, the dot dresses up like a ramshackle peacock and sneaks away to get drunk on ink with the Duchess of Amalfi and to taunt the Duke of Bogshott and his immaculate White Army. The anarchic dot's messy worsting of these starchy forces eventually leads to a royal wedding featuring a sock full of red ink and a black wedding dress made of barbed wire. There might just be in this whimsical rant the ghost of an analogy between the seemingly humble dot's ability to wreak havoc and the operation of viruses of every variety, but I doubt it. Steadman's pictures, as usual, are a violent turmoil of ink-splashes and paint-smears overlying intricate penwork. This is a characteristically intriguing and bizarre book, a fertile source of speculation.