BY HAROLD N. WALTERS
I can’t stomach Starbuck’s coffee. Nevertheless, I entered the Starbuck’s annex of Chapters on Kenmount Road in St. John’s.
I bought a mug of the lightest roast as a ticket to sit beside the fireplace to wait for Chapters to open. I selected a Free Press newspaper from a rack and commenced my vigil.
My coffee curdling alongside me, I read a review of Herbert F. Hopkin’s novel ‘The Book of Luke’. I hadn’t heard of it but the review made it sound interesting, so I filed it away in the soft, spongy drive inside my cranium.
Eventually, the metal screen preventing Starbuck’s patrons from treading Chapters’ floor was pushed aside. I tossed down the paper, abandoned my price-of-admission coffee and walked into Chapters.
Ah, sweet synchronicity with which my life is fraught.
The first display I stopped at was a pyramid of Hopkin’s The Book of Luke, signed by the author.
Idden that something?
Oddly, the price appeared nowhere on the book. The clerk had to search for it in his computer. He quoted me a price just shy of 20 loonies. I bought it anyway.
I don’t regret it.
Luke Delaney is a St. John’s poet who believes he suffers from summer SAD – reverse seasonal affective disorder. While seeking help at a medical clinic, Luke is parked in a waiting room, one of those sterile rooms with the all purpose bed/table. Bored, Luke idly decides to test the stirrups.
P’raps he’s trying to get in touch with his feminine side.
Startled by the doctor’s entrance – guess what? – Luke lurches; his feet tangle in the stirrups and he falls off the bed.
Bump.
And breaks his leg!
Angeline – pencil an accent mark above that first e – LaBlanc is a Cajun miss who has survived the wrath of hurricane Katrina. Partly because of the resulting New Orleans Diaspora, and partly because of her work as an – oops, I can’t tell you that; it would spoil the suspense – she ends up in Newfoundland working as the editor of Split magazine.
Nathan Brophy, once an offshore oil worker, is now CEO of AmeriCan Oil Management and a bit of a scoundrel. He’s up to skullduggery involving futures trading that will have him following the path of a familiar villain in Newfoundland history – that fugitive from Justice, John C. Doyle – and tannin’ er for Panama.
All three – and a host of secondary characters – get tangled up in the plot.
Turns out Angeline is not really an editor but is actually an – oh, I still can’t say.
Luke is more than a rhymester; he’s and 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 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.
Dunville
.jpg)
