The Book of Luke
John C. Doyle — and tannin’ er for Panama.
All three — and a host of secondary characters — get tangled up in the plot. Turns out that Angeline is not really an editor, but is actually an, oh, I still can’t say.
Luke is more than a rhymester; he’s an ECO-poet who dreams of seeing energy-producing wind tunnels in the Southside Hills, a dream that is threatened by Nathan’s announcement to the Board of Trade that plans are in the works for a humongous oil bunker in the Hills.
Stir the plot vigorously for a couple of hundred pages and you’ll find Nathan scurrying off to Trinity — nearby Lockston, actually — to play out the getaway scenes of his shifty scam. Angeline and Luke are on this trail.
There’s a Zodiac sporting a pair of serious outboard motors tucked away in Lockston. It’s Nathan’s boat — I can’t resist this lame attempt at humour — not Lukey’s.
If I say anymore I’ll reveal the ending. Twice already, I ’ ve almost revealed Angeline’s identity as an — ha-ha, not going to happen!
The Book of Luke speaks the truth. Just listen: “ Luke knew that when things were going really well you should never strut around like the sun shines out your arse, because whoopsie — I say “whoopsie” to spare delicate and innocent ears from the actual Anglo-Saxon that Hopkins has used — happens in a flash.” Idden that the truth? I know The Book of Luke is a St. John’s novel — kinda — but I still find it unfortunate that most of the city action happens on the harbour side of the Basilica of Saint John the Baptist and the adjacent Rooms. I might have missed it, of course, but not once does any character visit The Mall or Wal-Mart. Sorta reminds me of that Republic of Doyle television series.
I can’t leave without quoting Hopkin’s description of busy hands: “... hands busier than a cat burying whoopsie in a marble floor.” Whoopsie! Thank you for reading.