Island of the Sequined Love Nun by Christopher Moore

Christopher Moore is a big, lovable goofball. Island of the Sequined Love Nun is sort of a big, lovable, goofball Indiana Jones meets Lost kind of story. It starts innocently enough, when Tucker Case, dashingly handsome geek, gets drunk and has sex on a private jet with a hooker. Unfortunately, Tuck doesn't pay much attention to his instruments... (insert pun about the hooker paying attention to his instruments here... as a matter of fact, insert pun about "insert pun") Where was I? Tuck is low on fuel, and his plane comes in just short of the runway. Which is a nice way of saying that Tuck experiences what is possibly the most Michael Bay-like fiery case of coitus interruptus ever seen in literature. And also, one of the grisliest injuries to manhood outside of a Bret Easton Ellis novel.

Through a quirk of fate (one of Moore's greatest standard operating devices) Tuck ends up working for a mysterious benefactor who offers to let him fly deliveries for him from the Micronesian island of Alualu. Here, Tuck is briefly kidnapped by cannibals before becoming the indentured servant of a mad scientist/missionary doctor. Here, of course, is where the fun starts. The natives of the island are a cargo cult. In other words, they were visited during World War II by American fighter pilots whom they began to worship as deities. The first plane they came into contact with, the Sky Priestess, is now the central figure of their religion. The Missionary Doctor and his wife exploit this by putting on elaborate (and sexy!) shows for the natives, denying them fun if they have displeased the Sky Priestess, and offering them rewards (People magazine and coffee) if they're good. Occasionally, a lucky native gets "chosen". This elevates them above all others as they are singled out by the Sky Priestess.

Of course, I've left out the cross-dressing ex-prostitute boat navigator, the talking fruitbat, the ghost of an army pilot, a heavenly game of cards, some interesting views on the questionable amorous activities of cannibal cargo cults, deception, ninjas, and money laundering.

Reading Christopher Moore's books is, I imagine, a bit like sitting down at a bar with Chris while he gets drunk and you ask him to tell you a story about something. This is a good thing, and here's to more.