A Review of Paul Lonardo's The Apostate
by Tony Fonseca
Lonardo, Paul. The Apostate. St. Petersburg: Barclay Books, 2001. 254 p.
Ever think about the price of your soul, of just what you'd be willing to sell it for if you ever had the (mis)fortune of meeting Mr. Lucifer himself? Most people would place that value in the millions, perhaps even the billions, while the more altruistic among us might be willing to part with what we understand to be our souls for something beneficial to all, like world peace. How about for a loaf of bread....uh make that the best tasting bread and bread products you've ever had in your life, for spinach pies that are so good they are addictive?
Paul Lonardo's The Apostate is a strange novel, one of those which causes the reader to look up after closing the book, mentally asking the question, "well, what happened?" And like most novels of this type, it offers a fun ride, so that the reader may conclude that the destination, after all, was not that important. The basic premise of Lonardo's novel is that the modern world, in its insistence on a secular existence, has made it possible for Satan himself to take the elevator up once again, this time to open a bakery chain, Deluder Bakery, in the growing metropolis of Caldera, New Mexico. There, the devil has set up shop, so to speak, keeping the human masses ignorant of his plans (just what those plans are, we are never sure of) by addicting them to his baked goods, inverting the communion ceremony as he tricks humans into ingesting his essence.
Whatever his grand scheme is, Satan's plan includes winning over three souls in particular--those of Dr. Xenia (Saney) Wieland, a local psychologist who is a recovering rape victim; Julian Bloom, an environmentalist working with Project Earth; and a teenaged runaway named Chris, who has killed an abusive foster parent in self-defense. As it turns out, these three are destined to find one another in Caldera, as Julian is the descendant of the last witch-pricker of Salem (the novel begins with the dismissal of the final charges against the final witch brought to trial in Salem); Chris is somehow related to Christ; and Saney is the spitting image of Chris's dead mother, who was a nun in a convent.
Along the journey to battle the devil, the three (and the reader) meet various interesting characters: Ron Tasker, Julian's supervisor who has slept with a woman from virtually every country in the world, and keeps maps to plot his conquests, is one of the sleaziest lothario characters I've seen in years. A. J., an environmental worker who stumbles upon a nest of rats in the sewerage system leading from Caldera and aids Julian in his search for the truth, is a truly likable "regular Joe." And Sheriff Claybert Crowley of New Jersey is despicable as the small town sheriff who happens to be the wrathful brother of the foster parent Chris murdered when escaping an abusive boarding school. Claybert even kills fellow police officers when he is told he cannot legally murder anyone he is inclined to. Ultimately, a good book must have fascinating people in it, and although Lonardo's characters are a bit melodramatic, they are fun to watch interact.
As reader's would expect, however, the point of any novel that features the Devil himself is the eventual battle between good and evil--that culminating scene where the Christ-character faces down the Lucifer-character and defeats him simply by stating, "I know what you are and you cannot win." The Apostate is no different in this regard, except that it echoes the belief during the Salem Witch Trials that the devil is allowed into our lives simply because we refuse to believe he exists. Therefore, as soon as Saney, Chris, and ultimately Julian simply accept that Deluder is the devil himself come to take over the souls of mortals, Deluder disappears in a shower of pyrotechnics. Whether or not The Apostate hints that believing in the possibilities of witches and demons (and by extension exposing and persecuting them) is something that the reader will find him/herself unclear on. Religion is always a dangerous weapon when placed in the wrong hands, and this was no different in Colonial America, nor would it be any different today.
But as I pointed out earlier, Lonardo does not allow for a pat ending. Although the devil is relinquished back to the nether regions of the underworld through a modern day pricking ceremony, Lonardo does not allow readers to relax, secure in the knowledge that Satan has lost again. The final images of the novel suggest that the souls--of good people as well of as of evil doers (to coin a Bush-ism)--are lost in the battle, and some may never be recovered. It's always a tightrope act for a writer to kill off sympathetic characters, and an act of bravery which I tend to admire, so despite its predictability in scenes, The Apostate defies categorization and offers readers something to think about when closing the cover.