Most Christmas novels suffer from an overabundance of sweetness or a glut of requisite miracle making.
Not Christopher Moore’s The Stupidest Angel.
In fact, Moore starts off with a tongue-in-cheek warning claiming it may not be the best gift for the grandmother or child on your list.
Then again, if your intended isn’t afraid of satiric one-liners, twisted small-town goings-on and zombies intent on Christmas cheer, then maybe Moore’s latest is the best present out there. In fact, it’s more of an anti-Christmas story than anything else, meaning he does a good job of sending up the genre, shaking up all that is normally accepted heavenly angels, red-cheeked children, eggnog by the fire yet still creating a place and a cast of characters that is entirely festive and spirit-filled.
Not for the faint of heart, The Stupidest Angel is wild in its telling (stoner lawmen, Vicodin-drenched fruitcake) and fantastical in tone (the cemetery dead trade barbs) but most definitely original and likely to join Moore’s other books on the list of cult favorites.
