CBR #123 – Death Be Not Proud, Fucksocks

Secondhand Souls by Christopher Moore

I used to count Christopher Moore as one of my favorite authors.  But now I’m realizing, I don’t love everything he does.  I don’t know if it’s a case of putting away childish things.  I guess it’s always been schlocky and silly and zany, but now more than ever it feels like the San Francisco version of Tim Dorsey and Carl Hiaasen.

I think what I’ve figured out is — the further away from modern day San Francisco the books take place, the more I like Christopher Moore.  Not just location, but also temporally.  Lamb being my favorite — set in biblical times in Jerusalem and around there.  But then, my next favorite is the Fool series, which is also Shakespearean in Europe.  And then as we edge closer to San Francisco, I like the books less.  I don’t really love the vampire ones, but I think this one was more disappointing. I don’t know why.  It just feels too wacky and cheesy.

Not even just the humor, but the plot is really bizarre.  Death isn’t death anymore, but she is, but the Death Merchants aren’t anymore and there’s a bunch of ghosts on the Golden Gate bridge because there always have been and now the Squirrel People are bad guys but they aren’t the main bad guys the main bad guys are but at least we all have magic powers because REASONS and…

Look, I don’t understand what that means either.  As I’m reading this whole thing it just made me question, do I still like Christopher Moore?  I wrote to him way back in 2001, and I told him how much I dug what he did with Lamb.  And I apologized for prattling on like a fanboy douchewaffle.  And he thanked me for introducing him to the word douchewaffle.  So every time I see the word in his books, I smile fondly.  But now, I’m just wondering, was it just a kiddo thing?  Is he just too silly?  I don’t know.


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