The hot dog stand, by the time of Marx's appearance, had become sort of a lodestone for those who were following the advice of Tim Leary on "Turning On, Tuning In, and Dropping Out", so it seemed like the ideal place for Marx to take as his base of operations. So he spends his days working at the zoo, lusting after Amanda, and being educated in the mysteries of the Universe as understood by Amanda, John Paul, and Mon Cul.
But all good things, such as they are, must come to an end, and in this case the end appears in the shape of an old friend of John Paul's, L. Westminster "Plucky" Purcell. Plucky is a former college football star turned drug dealer/fixer/ and general all-around black market operative. Aside from his prodigious appetite for members of the opposite sex, which often lands him in a heap of trouble, he's also highly skilled in the art of unarmed combat.
One of the drawbacks with work in his field is that it will occasionally require you to seek shelter from individuals who have decided they don't like your business practices. On this occasion Plucky had sought refuge in the deep woods of Minnesota. Exchanging identities with a monk, he beats a hasty retreat to a highly isolated monastery.
Well, as you've probably guessed, it turns out that said monastery is home to one of those nefarious secret establishments run by the Vatican, and chock full to bursting with assassin monks, spy monks, and all sorts of other monks doing un-monk like things. It turns out that the monk (isn't fiction great) that Plucky is impersonating has been sent to help train Vatican staff in the art of unarmed combat. The Swiss Guard may look impressive, with their pikes and all, but they need to be able to handle crowd control without impaling people. It wouldn't look good on camera to see a pilgrim's entrails spilled on the cobbles of St. Peter's square.
So Plucky ends up in the Vatican, where due to who he supposedly works for, he's given the run of the place. When he's not teaching the Swiss guard how to manhandle people with style, he spends his time poking his nose into places not too often poked around in. Being who he is, he is attracted to some of the deeper catacombs where the lewd and obscene materials have been collected.
Article comments
1 - Nik
I had been thinking about this book a lot myself with all the Da Vinci hoopla. Infinitely better take on a similar idea, isn't it?
2 - Che
I enjoyed the hell out of this book when I first read it. Maybe its time to dust it off for a re-read and give myself a break from all the da Vinci Crud.
3 - Scott Butki
This was my introduction to Robbins and I've liked
him ever since.
4 - Bruce Hoppe
I was beginning to wonder if I was the only one who made this connection. Until I read this piece. Well done. As a 20 something in the 60's who was somewhat active (civil rights issues, singer/song writer)I grapple with the question inherent in Richard's closing remarks. Were those times really so innocent? Or were we really on to something that, at some level, we sensed we weren't quite ready for?
There are a couple of lines in my new novel up for review here(a shameless plug)that touch on this issue. The character reflects on the dismissal of the 60's as a mildly charming, if naive experiment and wonders, "A crafty ploy, playing this shell game with the past. It has always been the need of the timid to prove passion fatally flawed." Though who "the timid" are can lead to a whole other train of thought, (Not just Nixon's "silent majority." The good guys flinched too.I'm grappling with that one also.) there is a connection here in the character's comment.
And Richard's concluding point hits the nail on the head when he observes there was once a time when people passionately embraced change as an opportunity to grow--not something that preciptates a Prozac binge. And, for me, that's enough. No follow up dislaimers about naivete are required. Though, it certainly is aggravating that, given our collective prevailing pulses, it seems to be a prerequisite, lest we be dismissed as a candidate for May Day soapbox orations in Haymarket Square.