As he pushed past the screen door, Decker was amazed by what he saw: books. Every wall had raw pine shelves to the ceiling, and every shelf was lined with books. The east wall was for classic fiction: Poe, Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, Mark Twain, Jack London, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, even Boris Pasternak. The west wall for political biographies: Churchill, Sandburg’s Lincoln, Hitler, Huey Long, Eisenhower, Joseph McCarthy, John F. Kennedy, even Robert Caro’s Lyndon Johnson, though it looked like a book-club edition. The south wall was exclusively for reference books: the Britannica, Current Biography, the Florida Statutes, even the Reader’s Guide. to Periodic Literature. This was the wall of the shack that leaned so precipitously, and now Decker knew why: it held the heaviest books.“What’re you staring at?” Skink demanded.“These are great books,” Decker said.“No Shit.” You too can have your own Florida shack. You just have to find one that isn’t occupied.Skink is a man who has climbed to the pinnacle of power only to plunge to the depths of a swampy existence in a shack... a shack listing from the weight of books. If I did need to live in a shack that would certainly be the shack for me. I’ve always owned “too many books” and when I used to live in apartments I always worried about the subflooring, whether the support joists were up to code because the walls of my apartment were always lined with bookshelves not just full of books, but bulging with books. I often said a prayer for the poor bastard who lived below me. Skink does not pay taxes.”My name is Decker.”“You from the IRS?” The man’s voice was deep and wet, like mud sliding down a drain.“No,” Decker said.“I pay no taxes,” Skink said. He was wearing a rainhat, though it wasn’t raining. He was also wearing sunglasses and the sun was down. “I pay no attention to taxes,” Skink asserted. “Not since Nixon, the goddamn thief.” Tasty!?!? best when fresh.Skink eats roadkill.Skink used to be governor of Florida.Skink is a bit unhinged.R. J. Decker is your typical down and out private investigator, who used to have a great job shooting pictures for a newspaper until something happened and he ended up in jail. Now he takes what jobs he can get and when Dennis Gault shows up offering stupid money ($50,000) to catch Dickie Lockhart cheating at a Bass Fishing Tournament, Decker is reeled in. There is big money in Bigmouth Bass fishing. This might have been the beginning of reality TV. (Can it be stopped via time machine?) As one character says in the book, “you mean grown men will sit around all day to watch another man fish.” It seems like people will sit around all day watching people do just about anything. Now when you catch a really big ‘un they call them HAWGS.Now I don’t fish, I’ve tried it all different ways. Well not Marlin fishing, which I have a feeling is the penultimate exhilarating Hemingwayesque fishing experience. The whole time I’m fishing I always feel like I’d much rather be doing something else like praying on my knees on a cold, uneven, cobblestone floor, catching flies with chopsticks, or separating chaff from wheat one golden kernel at a time. Did I mention I don’t fish? So some people might be like me and don’t care to read a book about Bigmouth Bass fishing. You may not feel like Bobby Clinch. ”Guys like Clinch love to catch bass more than they love to screw. You put ‘em on a good bass lake at dawn and they get hard.”Forget the damn fish. This is Hiaasen we’re talking about here. It is all about the cast of supporting characters. There is a preacher, well a man who preaches, named Charles Weeb. He has a penchant for prostitutes, fake healings, and screwing people out of every dime he can. ”How much do I owe you?” he asked the lap dancer.“Nothing, father.” She sounded confused. “I brought my own money.”“What for?” Weeb looked down; he couldn’t see her face, just the top of her head and the smooth slope of her naked back.“I got a favor to ask,” the lap dancer said, whispering into his chest hair. “And I wanna pay for it.”“What on earth are you talking about?”“I want you to heal my poppa.” She looked up shyly. “He’s got the gout, my poppa does.”“No child--”“Some days he can’t barely get himself out of bed.”Weeb shifted restlessly, glancing at his wristwatch.“I’ll give you two hundred dollars.” the girl declared.“You’re serious?”“Just one little prayer, please.”“Two hundred bucks?”“And a hum job, if you want it, Father.”Charlie Weeb stared at her, thinking: It’s true what they say about the power of television.“Come, child,” he said softly, “let’s pray.”There are stoned hijackers. ”Every pillhead fugitive felon in America winds up in Florida eventually. The Human Sludge Factor--it all drips to the South.”There is an enforcer with the teeth of a dead pitbull buried in his arm. He named the dog, well the head, Lucas. There are controversies over bird species. ”The purported reason for the sale was the unfortunate death (from either sexual frustration or old age?) of the only remaining Karp’s Seagrape sparrow, the species for whom the verdant preserve had first been established. With the last rare bird dead, the cabinet reasoned, why continue to tie up perfectly good waterfront.”Now a theme that is prevalent through all Carl Hiaasen books is the raping of the Florida environment. He shows the devastation through the murky lense of black humor, but you will not come away from his books thinking that Florida developers and Florida politicians are cool guys. There is seduction.”In his mind’s eye he could see himself in this cheesy scene out of a cheap detective movie; acting like the gruff cad, awkwardly consoling the weepy long-legged knockout, knowing deep down he ought to play it as the tough guy but feeling compelled to show this warm sensitive side. Decker knew he was a fool but he certainly didn’t feel like letting go of Lanie Gault. There was something magnetic and comforting and entirely natural about holding a sweet-smelling woman in a silken nightie on a strange bed in a strange motel room in a strange town where neither one of you belonged.”There are LIONS humping LLAMAS. Grab your pitchfork! Carl I am still laughing and wincing with you.Ok so Hiaasen is over the top. The terms zany, caustic, surreal, punchy, and colorful have been used to describe his books. They are humorous. You will find yourself laughing out loud quickly followed by a touch of guilt, and the words “that just ain’t right”. I first read Hiaasen back in the late 1980s and I’ve read him off and on ever since. This is probably a three star book, but at the end of a lazy Sunday afternoon I was so sated from laughing, giggling, and chortling that I have to bump it up to four. #Not the best gift for a redneck as they all seem to end up dead or missing body parts.
Well, I marked this both stand-alone and series because Skink and his Hwy Patrol friend (Jim Tile) show up in many books by Hiaasen. The individual mysteries, however, can stand alone. You can start up at any point in the books, which is what I happened to do. I think I requested this book because I heard it was the first one in which Skink appears. I'm not certain. Don't start Hiaasen with this book, however. Hiaasen's books get funnier and funnier as he continues to write. So there is much to look forward to. This mystery involves a former photographer for the Miami newspaper/former police photographer, R. J Decker. Among other reasons, he becomes a private investigator to save his sanity from the de-humanizing nature of police photography. He is hired in a case about cheating in the competitive bass fishing world. It quickly turns into a murder case. Oh boy. Not. R. J. hires Skink as a guide/teacher of bass fishing. Miami, as he is dubbed by Skink, is very honest with Skink, which earns him a lot of Skink's trust, as does R. J.'s mission. The hermit-like, happy-to-be-called-crazy Skink makes himself a partner in R. J.'s efforts. He renames R. J. Miami. I think that Florida is always the main character of Hiaasen's books, as many have said. In this case as in many, greedy businessmen are destroying vast swaths of it for profit. A manic, rich businessman becomes a pro bass fisherman with an obsessive hatred of a competitor, whom he says cheats. After he hires R. J., more and greater danger blooms. You've got the greedy TV evangelist businessman on one side, ruining the Everglades, and the crazy murderous "fish people" on the other side. As people that Miami knows, loves, or both get involved, his involvement gets more serious. It prevents his longed-for departure from the case.Double Whammy is named after one of the lures used in bass fishing, and it's symbolic of the double threats Florida and he face in the businessmen and murderers. I enjoyed the book, but it was definitely and naturally of lower quality than Hiaasen's later books. In the case of his books, I make the rare recommendation of starting later in his career, perhaps midway. Then, you may want to read the earlier ones. _Lucky You_ is my favorite of Hiaasen's so far. Unfortunately, it's so great and I read it so early that I've judged all others by it. You might want to save it for a special occasion or for when you need a major pick-me-up. _Star Island_ is my least favorite so far, but it does have Skink in it. That's always a redeeming quality. I seem to remember he was brought in late, however, perhaps to help save the novel. It's about shallow attention-seeking young celebrities. Miley Cyrus comes to mind, but this may have been written for one of the earlier burn-outs. The subject matter is so unappealing that it may explain the lack of appeal for me. Hiaasen also writes books for teens or pre-teens that I have greatly enjoyed. I heard some of them on audio-books while traveling with my 11-year-old son. They too involve Florida and the environment. _Chomp_ and _Scat_ are examples. I missed most of Hoot. It was made into a movie, which I also have not seen.Overall then, Hiaasen is obviously one of my favorite authors. He is a former member of the Miami Herald's investigation team, and I think that contributes a lot to his subject matter, humor, and talent. As a side note, Jonas Jonasson reminds me a lot of Hiaasen. Read _The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared_.
Do You like book Double Whammy (2005)?
Double Whammy is an unusual read that combines protagonists seeking redemption, probing looks at Florida politics, sports fishing, and tele-evangelism, and an honor in the pursuit of truth and law. The author, as in his past books, has an obvious agenda, but presents it in such a way as to make it palatable despite one's political or social leanings.The book provides a social commentary on the competitive nature of people in sports (in this case, bass fishing), business, and politics. However, it does so on a sub-textual level behind a sometimes absurd set of events. So, the reader gets the message, while laughing at the highly entertaining storyline. The author just has a wonderfully quirky writing style that is both biting and humorous, yet in a tongue-in-cheek manner that resists going too over the top.
—Joseph
Hot-headed private detective R. J. Decker is hired to prove that TV host Dickie Lockhart cheats to win fortunes in Florida bass-fishing tournaments. Decker soon finds out that the stakes are so high people are willing to kill to keep secrets, but he finds an ally in an apparently deranged, roadkill-eating hermit who calls himself Skink, as well as a couple of honest cops. Adding to the cast are a trio of moron hillbillies, an amoral hottie who seduces Decker and helps frame him for murder, and the good Reverend Weeb, Lockhart's sponsor on the Outdoor Christian Network, whose hobbies include prostitutes, fake faith healing, and land-grabbing.It’s just as madcap as the summary sounds, with colorful heroes and villains (such as the killer who spends the final scenes of the novel with a decapitated, rotting bulldog’s head clamped on his gangrenous arm). This is the second Hiaasen novel I’ve read, and it’s seems much of a piece with Tourist Season: the same crazed pace and surreal satire, as well as the same dubious plot points (I’m not sure how the gruesome death of Decker’s client, after the death of Lockhart, helps Decker fight the charge of blackmail and murder). It’s not worth dissecting, of course; it’s just manic zany fun.
—Ensiform
[7/10]My second Carl Hiaasen book. After Stormy Weather I decided I want to delve more into the background of Captain Skink, the most interesting character in the book, so I went back to his debut in Double Whammy . I ended up learning more about bayou fishing than I thought possible given my near total lack of interest in the sport. I hold Hiaasen responsible for tranforming this placid and frankly boring pastime into a frenzied and deadly chase (I imagine the trailer for the book with a soundtrack of The Beach Boys singing Bass Fishing in the USA and a video sequence cut along the lines of the opening credits for the movie Top Secret ) The bass is not picky; it is hardy, prolific, and on a given day will eat just about any God-awful lure dragged in front of its maw. as a fighter it is bullish, but tires easily; as a jumper its skills are admirable, though no match for a graceful rainbow trout or tarpon; as table fare it is blandly acceptable, even tasty when properly seasoned. Its astonishing popularity comes from a modest combination of these traits, plus the simple fact that there are so many largemouth bass swimming around that just about any damn fool can catch one. The lampooning and the sarcasm I expected are all present in here, but the laughs are often accompanied by a guilty feeling, as the issues of environment degradation and political corruption hit too close for comfort.In structure the book is inspired by the classic down on his luck gumshoe detective who starts on an apparently easy job (prove a champion fisherman is cheating about his catch) only to get caught in a big conspiracy, with the dead bodies multiplying and his own life put on the line. R J Decker makes a credible protagonist, one I am predisposed to like on account of his freelance photographer career: For Decker, photography was more than just a hobby, it was a way of looking at the world. He had been cursed with a short temper and a cynical outlook, so the darkroom became a soothing place, and the ceremony of making pictures a gentle therapy. Much of the fun of the novel comes from the wacky characters and the often absurd situations they get tangled in, with Skink as the main chaos inducing element ( He looked like a neon yeti. ), seconded bravely by a couple of ethnic patrolmen - Jim Tile and Al Garcia. The cast is completed with some dangerously volatile rednecks, TV evangelists, chiropractors, plutocrats with a fishing hobby, femme fatales and the occasional bulldog.I enjoyed the ride, but I couldn't help noticing that the plot gets too thin and contrived towards the end, with the author more interested in scoring karma points by arranging spectacular closures and righteous revenge on the evildoers. I felt the comedy got more important than the actual story. But it's OK, because Skink is a fun guy to follow around, as long as you don't get to sample his roadkill cuisine.
—Algernon
