If perhaps there is any part of this truly unique and engaging tale lacking, otherwise exquisitely written, then it is the episodes of Firmin's "lowlife" penchant to hang out at the old theatre, Rialto, into the wee hours of the night, sitting amongst drooling old lechers, even while openly acknowledging his own "perversions," and watching what he refers to as his "Lovelies.

Vivyan Chell, Anglican ascetic, lecher, and revolutionary who runs a sort of Catholic Worker operation that seems somehow connected to a terrorist cell hoping to wreak havoc on behalf of the oppressed people of Zinariya, an African dictatorship propped up in part by the British government at the behest of Legion, upon which Mark depends for his financial survival.

From hardbodies to skinny lads to flabby, effeminate, girly-men to decrepit lechers, they hang out, strike poses, show off their tan lines, strut on stage as numbered contestants, and kill time in clubs drenched in blue, pink, and green as Hawkins trades in gaslight for ecstatic radiance.