Those who continue to harp on tunelessly about the lack of sex in the contemporary obscure european novel will no doubt be interested to hear that, after some delays, Ciambhal O’Droningham’s new novel will be on selected bookstore shelves sometime within the next two weeks. Called Half-past Twelve at the Intergalactic Candy-Shop, it continues the story of Seamus O’Solly, star of earlier works such as The Dead Priest (reviewed here) and Anti-Gravity Cassocks (reviewed elsewhere, I daresay).
For those foolish enough never to have uncovered the facts, O’Solly is a monk sent out to work on a monastery on one of Jupiter’s moons in the distant future (c.2200, I believe). Religious at heart, O’Solly is on the surface somewhat of a over-sexed philanderer, ever-keen to try his luck with whichever many-breasted alien woman floats his way. For this reason, he has a tendency of falling out with the Catholic authorities – though his superb conversion-rate keeps them from ever pushing him into the abyss.
If the publicity material is to be trusted, Half-past Twelve at the Intergalactic Candy-Shop finds our hero ‘locked in mortal combat with the head of the Venus Moon infertility clinic’. The prose, meanwhile, is described by the mindless publishing-house drone as a ‘cross between Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams and 50cent’. As these are all quite foreign reference points to me, I will not hover over them needlessly.
Needless to say that, unless you’re the type to get offended by saucy St. Agatha jokes, this novel is probably worth investigating.