A classic of pornotopia: the characters and situations are variously absurd or unreal -- and, yet curiously plausible. Whether an actual period piece, or a clever faux-mockup, the book drips with late-Victorian/Edwardian lust and self-indulgence, and reminds us that there are indeed more definitions of family values than one ordinarily hears discussed, say, on Christian radio. Occasionally the prose reaches the level of the Baroque, as in the phrase "the Viaticum of his young rapture". Whew. There was a time I might have said that this is not the book to leave in plain sight when the Vicar is expected for tea, but on reconsideration, and after scrutiny of too much present-day clerical behaviour, it seems almost moral by comparison ( )