Yet I only finished the thing because I am sick at home and was too weak to get it off my chest once I started reading it in bed. It was so relentlessly busy, so filled with collisions and unlikely discoveries, that I just had to dawdle along after each page rather than really keeping up with the plot. It didn't help that I have been a feisty vicar myself, back in the day, and I am pretty sure that no feisty vicar who wants to go on collecting paychecks would keep the proper authorities so in the dark as the main character does in this book.
A book like this makes me yearn for the novels of Patrick O'Brian, with their rich, glowing balance of event and introspection, tense drama and low comedy. Oh, and lots and lots of nautical tehnobabble. Double coaked sister-blocks forever!
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