I haven't read any Carl Hiaasen in about ten years. It's worth saying that based on his first 5 books, his investigative reporting and the fact that he once appeared on IN SEARCH OF alongside Leonard Frickin' Nimoy, I regard Hiaasen as a genius to be spoken of in hallowed tones. I will now proceed to speak of him in tones more harsh than hallowed, even though I still think he's one of America's greatest writers and one of the top 10,443 crime novelists in god damned South Florida; since they all seem to settle there, he's got lots of competition.This book, interestingly, is about where I left off in his oeuvre -- sort of randomly selected. I got the sense that if I kept reading them, it'd be deja vu all over again. I guess I was kinda right.I don't know if I've changed or if the world has, or if Sick Puppy is less inventive than previous Hiaasen books. But all the stuff that struck me as brilliantly insightful, stirringly romantic and bewitchingly clever in previous books struck me as kind of vapid in this one. The book is also about twice as long as it should be based on the amount of plot that's here... every paragraph felt too long, which was weird given Hiaasen's breezy prose. About 200 pages in to its 337 pages, I felt like I was buttonholed at a cocktail party retirement community by an old codger and I was trying to send via psychic vibes the message "Stop Talking!" Had the book been about 100 pages shorter, I don't think I would have felt that way, since the story itself is fun and the characters are familiar and comfortable. And it's worth saying that Hiaasen's outrage at Florida politics and overdevelopment is also familiar, and I share it. But it was just all a little too easy... like I could read it and chuckle at it on the beach at a Florida resort or the patio of my McMansion in Boca Raton, and never give a real thought to what it's actually about or why its characters are pissed off. A certain amount of that is expected in an escapist crime novel masquerading as an environmental thriller, but there was more of it than I cared for here, and it left me feeling slightly icky.The book wraps up in a very satisfying way, and apart from the slight ickiness I felt good and righteous and anti-consumption and anti-development for having read it. So... all in all, a good read, but not nearly as inspiring as I hoped.
Oh my shit. Guess who read a book. Go on, guess.Yep. This motherfucker right here. Boo-yah.I'm so happy I could write a haiku:The book has been readTake that, you skeevy assholesFuck you, world, fuck youAnyway.This book was recommended to me by a friend at work. He and I got to discussing Kerouac one day, and, don't ask me how, but I ended up with this book in my hands. He highly recommended it.Here's the thing. I don't normally read stuff like this. Mass market stuff. It's the snob in me. It's the same reason I snub Stephen King, though I have enjoyed his stuff. Mass market paperbacks are vulgar. The people who write them are subhuman. See?But here's the other thing. This friend of mine is completely free from pretension. He is the sort of guy who would read a book and like it simply because he liked it, not just because he convinced himself he should. Try to get this guy to admit to liking Proust or Joyce- it's just not going to happen. This is a guy who read Kerouac as he was driving across the country- having read most of the book when his car broke down one night. This is a guy with taste.And I want taste like that. I'd love to give up "discerning" as a word that describes me in exchange for "genuine." The latter seems a whole fuck of a lot better to me.The story was fun. A rogue environmentalist stalks a major political player in order to get him to just stop fucking throwing trash on the highway. It's fun and absurd, very much like Christopher Moore. I looked forward to reading it every day, and, these days, that's notable.Of course, that snob in me can't completely be stifled. The whole time I was reading, that little asshole who lives in my head kept screaming "Show, Hiaasen! For fuck's sake, show!" Because he doesn't. He's a teller. I suppose there's nothing wrong with that, per se, but it is bothersome to me. This could have been a better book if he'd just laid out some scenes properly. Of course, it already clocks in at 500+ pages in its bare bones style, so maybe he was just giving the printers a break?All in all, enjoyable stuff. I'll save this fellow for rainy days, those times when I feel depressed at the prospect of opening my eyes. Light reads are useful. No matter what that douchnozzle residing rent-free in my cranium says.
What do You think about Sick Puppy (2005)?
Sick Puppy is my introduction to Carl Hiaasen, an author that my girlfriend felt would be a good way to get me introduced to Florida. I'll probably read him again, although I found this book to be one of diminishing returns. It starts out as a satisfying read; Twilly Spree is a maladjusted and overgrown trust fund kid who gets to live out a popular revenge fantasy: he spots a litterbug on the Florida highway and decides to spend as much time and energy as possible to teach the litterbug a lesson. Twilly has had "anger management" problems in the past, to the extent that he's spend some time in the proverbial Rubber Room, but it so happens that this litterbug is to become one of his greatest antagonists: he is Palmer Stoat, a graduate of the Universal School of Archetypes with summa cum laude honors in Lobbying. And Stoat's current pursuit has to do with the despoiling of one of the few untouched islands off the Florida coast.Environmentalism is, of course, one of Hiasaan's major passions, and he demonstrates a lot of knowledge about why the state of American development today is as corrupt and outrageous as it is. But once the novel goes beyond the initial game of petty and funny strikes and retaliations and opens its canvas to a battle over whether or not the despoiling of said island will successfully take place, the revenge fantasy is both too good to be true and much too long in its execution. Worse, Hiassan's characters tend to wear their Outrageousness on their sleeves, and certain jokes that would connect in passing--a survivalist ex-Governor, a hitman who listens to tapes of absurdly tragic 911 calls, a developer whose Barbie fetish has led him to dangerous games with Eastern European models and plastic surgery--become tiresome once we spend more than a few scenes with the same characters and the same quirks. Still, the sheer volume of characters, some of whom switch allegiances, makes for a certain amount of suspense in the plotting and pleasure in seeing What Happens Next. The book just isn't half as sick as it imagines itself to be.
—John Gustafson
"Sick Puppy" is a novel about greedy politicians and builders who are destroying Florida's beauty. It's packed with colorful characters and wacky incidents.Twilly Spree is a wealthy environmentalist who is trying to stop a development from bulldozing the trees and killing the animals on a Florida island. The project is designed to enrich a builder who contributed to the governor's campaign, as well as benefiting a lobyest who is trying to set up the deal.The characters are richly drawn and easy to imagine as was the unusual situations they get into.Hiassen is playing with the reader and gives us an amusing tale that is vastly entertaining. This is a good murder mystery mixed with humor.
—Michael
My mother-in-law recommended Carl Hiassen as someone who amusingly sends up Florida politics and corrupt politicos. What I liked is that this book spares no one. The environmental nut really is a total nut, not someone you necessarily want representing your cause. It was funny. What I disliked is how completely irredeemable the bad guys are. Hiaasen paints with broad brush strokes, and the bad guys aren't just bad, some of them are incredibly twisted in ways that seem too horrid and brutal for a "funny" novel. I can't laugh at a man who coerces two women into getting surgery to look like identical twin Barbie dolls. The laughter produced by this book is mixed with horror and revulsion, and I don't particularly enjoy that.
—linnea
