Book Review: The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore

It’s Christmas-themed, but this is not your typical Christmas book. The Stupidest Angel is a mystery on two fronts—it involves an actual murder, and a mysterious being, an angel, sent to earth to accomplish a mission that the reader knows little about for the majority of the book.

We see the murder happen early on, so we know who the killer is and what the circumstance is—if the murdered had called the police, the whole thing probably would have been aggravated assault. But this is not a typical book.

Without giving too much away, I want to highlight some of the characters you’ll find. Besides an angel—a very stupid angel who has messed up various missions over the ages, including a mission related to Jesus (he arrived ten years too late), we meet a variety of dysfunctional characters. Here are a few: There’s a boy who witnesses the murder of Santa Claus.

There’s a law enforcement officer with a marijuana addiction which he overcame, though he has a large plot of marijuana growing on his property in order to pay for a sword for his wife. Speaking of his wife, she’s an ex-adult-film star, and one of her roles has stuck with her. She trains with a sword, which keeps her in shape, and most of the time her anti-psychotics keep her personality level. But during the novel, she runs out of money and has to deal with “the narrator,” a voice in her head, until she gets her check at the end of the month and can buy more medication for herself.

There’s also a psychopath who helps cover up a murder in hopes of beginning  a relationship with the murderer and, thus, not being alone on Christmas. He also has a pet bat that creeps everyone out. The bat wears Ray-Ban sunglasses

There are also zombies, briefly.

And a murdering zombie Santa.

The author’s style is highly energetic. He’s always “on,” offering wit and humor on every page. I enjoyed Chapter 13, which, for the purpose of avoiding bad luck, was not really a chapter but a description of various photos of characters’ pasts, lending extra characterization to the dysfunction. This is a fun read, and if you read it around Christmastime while in a bad mood, it’s sure to cheer you up. But be forewarned: it’s not your typical Christmas book. The beginning of the book even contains a tongue-in-cheek warning that the book contains profanity and brief mentions of “forty-somethings” having sex. For me, it brought the right level of humor and reality (let’s face it, the world is not a Hallmark movie, even at Christmastime) to the season. In the end, all of the seemingly-unrelated craziness is woven together quite nicely, leaving a dementedly-happy ending to this unusual Christmas tale.