“Pine Cove, sleepy California coastal village—a toy town, really, with more art galleries than gas stations, more wine-tasting rooms than hardware stores—lay there, as inviting as a drunken prom queen, as Christmas loomed, only five days away. Christmas was coming, and with Christmas this year, would come the Child. Both were vast and irresistible, and miraculous. Pine Cove was expecting only one of the two.”
When Archangel Raziel gets his big chance to deliver a Christmas miracle he really messes up…hence the title of the book, The Stupidest Angel. When he grants a wish to young Joshua Barker, Raziel really isn’t aware of the breadth and scope of that wish. This holiday will not soon be forgotten in Pine Cove…unless it is?
“Pocket is my name, by the way. Given to me by the abbess who found me on the nunnery doorstep when I was a tiny babe. True, I am not a large fellow. Some might even say I am diminutive, but I am quick as a cat and nature has compensated me with other gifts. But wicked?”
“It was walking down a dark street, late at night, knowing that you were the most powerful creature there, that there was absolutely nothing, no one, that could fuck with you. Until she had been changed and had stalked the city as a vampire, she never realized that virtually every moment she had been there as a woman, she had been a little bit afraid. A man would never understand. That was the reason for the dress and the shoes—not to attract a minion, but to throw her sexuality out there on display, dare some underevolved male to make the mistake of seeing her as a victim.”
“Blue is glory and power, a wave, a particle, a vibration, a resonance, a spirit, a passion, a memory, a vanity, a metaphor, a dream.
Blue is a simile.
Blue, she is like a woman.”
I have read and enjoyed a number of novels by Christopher Moore and they all have been a bit unusual. Sacre Bleu: A Comedy d’Art takes place in France circa the late 1800’s at a time when some of the most famous painters in history were active. Told mostly through the eyes of a baker’s son who wants nothing more than to NOT bake and just paint. Something strange seems to happen to some of the artists, the color bleu, a beautiful muse, and bread. Okay the bread part may be a stretch. This is not an art novel, but more of a murder mystery set in a lively bohemian time in history.
The life of Samuel Hunter seems to be falling apart when the very successful insurance salesman encounters a strange Indian (American). His past comes crashing back while he meets an astounding young woman, becomes an assault suspect, and becomes the target of his fellow condo members. While he is down, his “friends” do the usual friend thing and try to take advantage of his bad luck…or is it bad luck.
“If there was no order in the universe, then why should it be out of order to be sitting on the beach talking to an Arab dwarf who claimed to be king of the Djinn, whatever the hell that was? Strangely enough, Brine took comfort in the fact that this experience was invalidating every assumption he had ever made about the nature of the world. He had tapped into the Zen of ignorance, the enlightenment of absurdity.”