rating: 5 of 5 stars
This is the eighth book I’ve read by Christopher Moore. I should know what to expect. The general zaniness was there. So was the potty humor. But Moore set me up, had me thinking this was a slightly skewed scientific mystery about whales. Then, he took a left turn at Albuquerque and the story became even more Moore than it had started. Thing is, I didn’t see it coming, which gives me great respect for Moore. He got me to suspend my previous knowledge of his work long enough for him to hoodwink me.
Moore also showed a keen, if offbeat, sense of character description, with one of my favorite characterizations being on page 20:
“There was pot and steel drums in his voice, bemusement and youth and two joints’ worth of separation from the rest of reality.”
I can see this kid.