Star Island Brings Carl Hiaasen Back To The Pack
Lauded for the past two decades as the quintessential Florida writer, Carl Hiaasen didn't have any competition for a long, long time.
There were a few other locals toiling on the edges of obscurity.
Some guy in Tampa named Tim Dorsey trying to gain traction with a sociopathic serial killer named Serge Storms as a main character.
A little farther south, near Sanibel, a gent by the name of Randy Wayne White was beginning to flex his literary muscles with a character, Doc Ford, who must have been the illegitimate half brother of Travis McGee.
Then there always has been Elmore Leonard, but he's not a true Florida guy.
So for nigh on 20 years, Carl Hiaasen has ruled the roost as King of the Quirky Tropical Novel.
Heck, I was introduced to the concept when I stumbled across Strip Tease in 1993, about the same time I figured out who Jimmy Buffet was.
For a solid ten-year stretch there was no better day than when a new Hiaasen release hit the shelves.
In my humble opinion, no writer had ever quite captured the sheer weirdness of the state and then managed to translate it into mass consumption.
Having taken two full paragraphs to say I love the man's work, his latest release, Star Island, sees the great man slipping back to the pack a bit.
In my humble opinion, his adult work has been in decline for a period of time that squarely coincides with his decision to alternate young adult books.
Can't blame the guy that he now has a family and kids and feels pulled in different direction, but the change clearly shows in the writing.
It seems the edge has been worn slightly thin.
In the old days, readers could rely upon at least one character worth liking while the crazed cast of whackos and misfits went about their daily business.
With Star Island, I hate to say, I'm still trying to find a character to like.
The closest I can come is the giant, ex-con with the bad complexion and weed whacker limb prosthetic, Chemo.
At least he sees the vapid, little twits around him for what they are.
Perhaps the greatest failing with Star Island is the subject matter.
Is there anything remotely interesting about the tabloid subjects and paparazzi who follow them? I can't even generate any genuine dislike - I simply don't care enough to hate.
Even the reliable ex-governor turned swamp rat, Skink, seems to only be going through the motions in this tale.
Mr.
Hiassen was at the top of his game when he was killing tourists, eviscerating Disney, exposing pro bass tour corruption, and chasing down lottery winners.
Star Island seems sort of, beneath him, though King Carl operating at 75% is better than most writers running ahead at full steam.
The vicious and hilarious turns of phrase are still there, as is the spot-on dialogue, and strange twists.
The only problem is - who really cares about these people? Judging from the Amazon reviews, which are running at about 3.
5 / 5, I'm not the only one slightly underimpressed.
Come on, Carl.
Give up the kiddie books.
They're killing your bread and butter.
There were a few other locals toiling on the edges of obscurity.
Some guy in Tampa named Tim Dorsey trying to gain traction with a sociopathic serial killer named Serge Storms as a main character.
A little farther south, near Sanibel, a gent by the name of Randy Wayne White was beginning to flex his literary muscles with a character, Doc Ford, who must have been the illegitimate half brother of Travis McGee.
Then there always has been Elmore Leonard, but he's not a true Florida guy.
So for nigh on 20 years, Carl Hiaasen has ruled the roost as King of the Quirky Tropical Novel.
Heck, I was introduced to the concept when I stumbled across Strip Tease in 1993, about the same time I figured out who Jimmy Buffet was.
For a solid ten-year stretch there was no better day than when a new Hiaasen release hit the shelves.
In my humble opinion, no writer had ever quite captured the sheer weirdness of the state and then managed to translate it into mass consumption.
Having taken two full paragraphs to say I love the man's work, his latest release, Star Island, sees the great man slipping back to the pack a bit.
In my humble opinion, his adult work has been in decline for a period of time that squarely coincides with his decision to alternate young adult books.
Can't blame the guy that he now has a family and kids and feels pulled in different direction, but the change clearly shows in the writing.
It seems the edge has been worn slightly thin.
In the old days, readers could rely upon at least one character worth liking while the crazed cast of whackos and misfits went about their daily business.
With Star Island, I hate to say, I'm still trying to find a character to like.
The closest I can come is the giant, ex-con with the bad complexion and weed whacker limb prosthetic, Chemo.
At least he sees the vapid, little twits around him for what they are.
Perhaps the greatest failing with Star Island is the subject matter.
Is there anything remotely interesting about the tabloid subjects and paparazzi who follow them? I can't even generate any genuine dislike - I simply don't care enough to hate.
Even the reliable ex-governor turned swamp rat, Skink, seems to only be going through the motions in this tale.
Mr.
Hiassen was at the top of his game when he was killing tourists, eviscerating Disney, exposing pro bass tour corruption, and chasing down lottery winners.
Star Island seems sort of, beneath him, though King Carl operating at 75% is better than most writers running ahead at full steam.
The vicious and hilarious turns of phrase are still there, as is the spot-on dialogue, and strange twists.
The only problem is - who really cares about these people? Judging from the Amazon reviews, which are running at about 3.
5 / 5, I'm not the only one slightly underimpressed.
Come on, Carl.
Give up the kiddie books.
They're killing your bread and butter.
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