A Dirty Job
A DIRTY JOB (Christopher Moore) - Five Stars
Christopher Moore is part Kurt Vonnegut, part Elmore Leonard, part Douglas Adams; and, really, if you need more than that to convince you to read him, there's something wrong with you.
I don't think I've ever laughed aloud while reading a novel as frequently as I did with A Dirty Job. Not when reading The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Not when reading the travails of Kilgore Trout or Bertie Wooster or Yossarian. Moore finds the pulse of society and wraps all manner of outlandish events around it, but the key to the book is that everything remains at least "in the line of sight" of reality. The humor is not quite as absurd as Adams', the social satire not quite as sharp as Vonnegut's, the ear for dialogue not quite as pitch-perfect as Leonard's; but Moore is above-average in all three respects and, woven together, has a writing style refreshingly unique.
A Dirty Job revolves around Charlie Asher, a second-hand goods salesman who loses his wife shortly after child-birth and then is appalled to find out that he has been recruited as one of Death's minions. As Charlie races around San Francisco trying to both understand his new position in the world and fend off the coming apocalypse, Moore surrounds him with a potpurri of vivid characters that are all the more funny because I guarantee you've probably met each of their "types" at least once in your life.
To reveal more would be criminal, but suffice to say the book includes an asian neighbor with wide culinary tastes, a tormented goth store-clerk, humongous supernatural dogs that eat bread, soap, and kitchen appliances, an ex-cop with a penchant for internet brides, a fourteen-inch tall, alligator-headed assassin, a hand-job in an alleyway from a demon, an army of squirrel people and numerous people being slain by the word "kitty."
The book is not without its flaws. The protagonist is mind-numbingly stupid at certain crucial junctures and, considering he has all the information the reader does, his immunity to logical thinking becomes frustrating. Also, the book never really "peaks" at the denouement: it just kinda rolls on into the finish. And the true identity of the Luminatus (which is written like it's supposed to be a grand revelation at the end) is not only predictable several hundred pages from the end of the book but is also given away for free on the book's cover.
I considered giving the book four stars. But, in the end, I realized my rankings are more about how much I enjoyed a particular book, and I can't recall the last time I enjoyed a book as much as A Dirty Job.
Christopher Moore is part Kurt Vonnegut, part Elmore Leonard, part Douglas Adams; and, really, if you need more than that to convince you to read him, there's something wrong with you.
I don't think I've ever laughed aloud while reading a novel as frequently as I did with A Dirty Job. Not when reading The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Not when reading the travails of Kilgore Trout or Bertie Wooster or Yossarian. Moore finds the pulse of society and wraps all manner of outlandish events around it, but the key to the book is that everything remains at least "in the line of sight" of reality. The humor is not quite as absurd as Adams', the social satire not quite as sharp as Vonnegut's, the ear for dialogue not quite as pitch-perfect as Leonard's; but Moore is above-average in all three respects and, woven together, has a writing style refreshingly unique.
A Dirty Job revolves around Charlie Asher, a second-hand goods salesman who loses his wife shortly after child-birth and then is appalled to find out that he has been recruited as one of Death's minions. As Charlie races around San Francisco trying to both understand his new position in the world and fend off the coming apocalypse, Moore surrounds him with a potpurri of vivid characters that are all the more funny because I guarantee you've probably met each of their "types" at least once in your life.
To reveal more would be criminal, but suffice to say the book includes an asian neighbor with wide culinary tastes, a tormented goth store-clerk, humongous supernatural dogs that eat bread, soap, and kitchen appliances, an ex-cop with a penchant for internet brides, a fourteen-inch tall, alligator-headed assassin, a hand-job in an alleyway from a demon, an army of squirrel people and numerous people being slain by the word "kitty."
The book is not without its flaws. The protagonist is mind-numbingly stupid at certain crucial junctures and, considering he has all the information the reader does, his immunity to logical thinking becomes frustrating. Also, the book never really "peaks" at the denouement: it just kinda rolls on into the finish. And the true identity of the Luminatus (which is written like it's supposed to be a grand revelation at the end) is not only predictable several hundred pages from the end of the book but is also given away for free on the book's cover.
I considered giving the book four stars. But, in the end, I realized my rankings are more about how much I enjoyed a particular book, and I can't recall the last time I enjoyed a book as much as A Dirty Job.
Quotes from A Dirty Job...
Charlie popped the toast up manually. It was a little rare, but if he pushed it down again it would burn, unless he watched it every second and popped it up manually again. So now he'd probably be infected with some rare and debilitating undercooked toast pathogen. Mad toast diesease! Fucking toaster people...The can opener slipped again, spurting tuna juice on his shirt and sending his toast scooting to the floor, and now there was fuzz on it. Fuzz on his toast! Fuzz on the toast of Death. What the hell good was it to be Lord of the Underworld if there was fuzz on your under-done toast. "Fuck!"
"What happened?" he asked.
There followed a barrage of Chinese and Russian mixed with the odd English word: bird, window, broken, black, and make shit on myself.
"Her neighbor told the uniforms as soon as they arrived. Come on, it's our case. We need to roll. Cut this guy loose. Ray Macy and some Goth-chef chick are waiting for him downstairs."
"Ray Macy is the one who called me, he thought Asher was going to kill her."
"I know. Right crime, wrong guy. Let's go."
"We still have him on the concealed-weapon charge."
"A cane with a sword in it? What, you want to go before a judge and tell him that you arrested this guy on suspicion of being a serial killer, but he plea-bargained it down to being a huge fucking nerd?"
"Mama," Sophie said.
The first time she had said "Mama" had brought Charlie to tears. He had been looking over her little shoulder at a picture of Rachel. The second time she said it, it was less emotional. She was in her high chair at the breakfast bar and was talking to the toaster.
"That's not Mommy, Soph, that's the toaster."
"Mama," Sophie insisted, reaching out for the toaster.
"You're just trying to fuck with me, aren't you?" Charlie said.
"Mama," Sophie said to the fridge.
"Swell," Charlie said.
posted by Kevin at 6:03 PM
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