This cheeky novel, about the origin of the great enchanter, is especially irreverent towards monks and nuns. ( )

At the heart, or should I say in the bosom, of Merlin is the following: "Perhaps it is the source of the magic I know already. For here is some root at the dark root of all -- an erotic nerve below everything, a source for all manner of imaginations and enchantments." This supplies Nye with all the rationale he needs to bust loose with all the "erotic" (if one defines that as somewhere midway between bawdy and pornographic) and imaginative extravagance he can pack into 200 pages. A book that starts with a version of the harrowing of hell that depicts Christ as a dancing monkey with a purple jacket, accompanied by cymbal-playing Virgin Mary who distracts Satan and his minions with lust and wine, is a book that will go just about anywhere. All good fun, though, and there's at least one genuine belly laugh to be had. ( )