Spalding O'Connor is nearly killed by a vicious black dog who leaps out of thin air at Spalding's throat as he jogs along the edge of the Notre Dame Campus on a fine Fall afternoon. During his awkward recovery, as he relearns the use of his hands, he discovers a plot on his life arising from a priest at Notre Dame. A priest who seems to be involved in Satanism and who conspires with a computer expert from England. He and his wife go into hiding. Aided by friends, in particular an eccentric old friend, aka The Wasted Sage, he discovers a scam by one of the prominent antagonists in the culture wars among the Notre Dame faculty. He's a Priest who finds leading a satanic cult is deliciously evil and fulfills many fantasies, including sexual ones. The priest and his side-kick are both much too intelligent to be undone by a nobody like Spalding O'Connor. The atmosphere is limestone buildings with large wooden doors, satanists in cowled robes, savage black dogs and innocent, green, midwestern countryside. And virtue, corruption and satanism on the Catholic college campus of Notre Dame. A story of crime and punishment and what it is like to be alive in South Bend, Indiana at the University of Notre Dame Campus; in Morgantown WV, and in Falls Church, VA - in the time soon after 9-11. Here are images which cause the reader to stop, let their eyes go unfocused, and examine images which touch the heart. As the Wasted Sage once said, "Imagine a guy with a house like Doctor Who's Tardis. Magic, bigger on the inside than on the outside. Everything - a whole world - is in his house. All he wants. And the sonuva bitch goes outside and stands on his deck at night and stares up into space. People are like that."
About the Author: Foster's not had a career but a series of jobs. He built and managed public libraries in rural West Virginia and North Florida. Later he led information management teams doing whatever it took to run offices for the federal government in greater DC. Recently, he took a leap out into the bright vast to write that book, at last. Now he is devoting several years to writing. His one true thing: the secret to life is balance. Extremism gets things done, but it ain't restful. Aristotle got that right. The wisdom of balance in life arises from the physics of the universe - the force of your foot on the ground balancing your gravity. He has a white and black family and he approaches fatherhood like a satellite - forever falling toward the earth but never actually getting there. His wife, Genie, tells him he's a good man and he takes her word for it.