Twenty years later your gardener may have accomplished The Rabbit of Usk. It was a garden too large and bulky. It was a Whale so massive it lumbered on land. It's blubber was boiled in a great cauldron. And now it's a dripping candle small enough to see all around it.
There's an element of excitement. But a Ripping Yarn soon falls to Slight and Babbage as the disparate electrons migrate into likenesses, it's a division of labor, the factory I suppose. But at least it's not the foolish affront of ten books and well over a million words. Am I pleased with it? Of course not, my Rabbit's a long way from being smug.