I can't even describe the happiness and relief that I feel now that I've realized that one of my favourite books ever was just the first book in a trilogy. This explains the horrible, confusing and abrupt ending in the first book which made me so... I don't know, angry I think, and upset. It all makes sense now. There weren't any pages missing, and the author didn't die before he got to finish the book.
Happiness is such a simple thing.