I can’t wait till I reach 150. It won’t be long. I’m already up to 148. Someone just has to write them. I’m talking about books about Mary Magdalene. Some of us have been onto her for decades. We call her Mary Mags at home.

Foolish consistency being the hobgoblin of little minds (Ralph Waldo Emerson), I want to recommend a delicious, modern, go-away-and-hide-in-another-world novel by

It’s a romp, a rant, a rave about a Celtic version of Mary Mags named Maeve that will make you laugh out loud because of her sheer audacity, brilliant intellect, and passionate commitment. Here are the first few words from the dust jacket:

“This is a Passion Story: my passion, his passion, ours—yours.”

Passion is good. Actually, passion in life is a requirement. Cunningham’s redheaded Maeve is an already-built-and-walked-over-the-bridge character. This is the delightful advantage of fiction. Truth, however, being so often stranger than fiction (Mark Twain), a caveat is in order. Although a named, incarnate, modern Magdalene hasn’t come forward, I consider Cunningham a visionary, to wit: someone is envisioning her, so, by the nature of vision, she could happen, or better, she might be happening even now.

Another bonus: there’s a prequel! (When I went on her website, I thought she’d written another one and jumped for joy, but alas… no.) It’s called

Mary Mags has enraptured scholars for a long time. It’s when the artists in society begin to embrace an image that we know true change is coming. Art is always ahead of pack. Let me just put it this way: Were I to write a novel about Mary Mags, this is one I would want to write.