I love Chris Moore. So much so, that I wrote to him long ago, commending him for his work. I was equally stunned when the dude wrote back. And not some kind of stock “Thank you for your kind response.” type bullshit, but an honest to God thoughtful response. I also introduced him to the word “douchewaffle.” You’re welcome, America.
Part of the reason I’ve been drawn to authors like Chris Moore, JA Konrath, and Jim Butcher is that they are very accessible to their fans, and seem to express a genuine appreciation that people like their work. And so I try to find their work and pimp it out whenever possible.
Now with Christopher Moore, his work has been really hit or miss. Lamb is probably one of the most enjoyable novels ever written. And Stupidest Angel banks extremely well on all of his previous canon. But for all the good stuff, I really disliked Fluke and Coyote Blue. So it doesn’t mean I automatically give him a free pass.
Our superbook gal Jennifer already gave a brilliant review of this, so I won’t wax poetic on it too much. It’s right in my wheelhouse, a sort of mash-up of Shakespeare with his usual sardonic wit. The problem with this is that I think he’s pushing a little too much of his wocka-wocka in the material. It feels like late Mel Brooks, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. It’s funny, and that’s the problem. The material’s almost a little too schticky, but since I laughed so much, I feel strange in complaining. When Pocket - Lear’s fool — gets wistful, it’s got a really belabored feel to it.
If you’re a Moore fan, you’ll enjoy it, and I am, so I did. It’s not his best work, but it was slightly better than You Suck, and a little less so than Dirty Job.