Two-fisted, foul-tempered, obsessive, formerly bi-curious sexual vulture admires memoir by Friend of Korrektiv Ellen Finnigan

No, seriously: check him out:

I wouldn’t venture to guess just how many literate Catholics really do experience their faith journeys as passages toward a certain light, but at least one memoirist, a woman named Ellen Finnigan, seems to have pushed the meat of her story back toward the dark middle. According to an Amazon reviewer, Finnigan “falls for a Nietzsche-quoting ‘bad guy’ and self-described hedonist. As they carry on an illicit office romance in the absurd corporate culture of a failing start-up, and he tries to convert her to bohemianism, she is forced to doubt and examine herself and her own weakly held convictions.”

In my subprime days, I knew my share of Nietzsche-quoting bad guys, and most of them were big, leaking douchenozzles. But this one, at least, seems to have done something rare — he seems to have given God a good run for His money. I haven’t read Finnigan’s book myself, but Amazon users are going wild for it. Maybe, a little unusually for a Catholic memoirist, the author knows what Willa Cather learned from writing Song of A Lark, that the getting-there part is more important than the goal, and deserves an infusion of real suspense. Finnigan’s title is a tribute to I-ing: it’s The Me Years.

[Thank you, Mrs. Darwin, for the heads up.]