Fortunately, the book is deeper than the back cover and blurb reviews make it out to be. For me, the only downside is Carl’s ignorance of popular music past 1985 and a bias towards bands that peaked before I was even born. This novel also has the subplot (or point) about how American newspapers are being flushed down the toilet by bean-counting conglomerates which result in an uninformed electorate and unaccountable local politicians (a favored target).
Our hero this time is former hotshot, investigative reporter Jack Tagger. Former, because he made CEO Maggad Race III lose his cool at a stockholder’s meeting by pointing out something embarrassing. Since a Wall Street Journal reporter covered the outburst and the investors witnessed it, the corporation’s legal department intervened on Race’s attempt to fire Jack. Being lawyers, the legal department didn’t do this out of compassion, they did it to prevent a wrongful termination lawsuit; they then advised a more devious strategy for Race to implement, re-assign Jack to the obituaries. Their logic went like this: a reporter of Jack’s reputation would resign instead of taking the demotion, therefore he could not sue. No dice. Jack accepted just to be a thorn in Race’s side, or as they mockingly call him at the paper, Master Race.
The CEO can’t do much more to harm Jack anyway since the paper’s original owner, MacArthur Polk, is a majority shareholder in the conglomerate. Besides, Polk likes Jack and insists on the hero writing his obituary when he finally dies; Polk has been on death’s door for the last decade and this frustrates Race’s larger schemes to get richer.
The obituary assignment has had two ugly side effects on Jack. Firstly, the editorial staff has orders from Race to take away any possible lead or story that could revive his career for a job in a better market. Secondly, writing obituaries has made him obsessed with outliving his father; a vague memory who left during his early childhood and died under unknown (to him) circumstances. Jack’s mother knows all the answers but refuses to divulge anything. This compulsion has also morphed into him knowing all the gruesome details of many famous people’s deaths. He’s not exactly a great person to strike up a conversation with, especially on dates.
Then a fax comes in about the drowning death of James Stomarti. Normally people die in SCUBA accidents all the time around the Bahamas but something about the name makes Jack wonder. With some research he realizes why the name sounded familiar. The deceased was better known as Jimmy Stoma, a hard-living rock star from the Eighties who fell into obscurity after 1991. Jack coerces his editor Emma (a clueless 27-year-old who would not know good journalism if it bit her on the ass) to let him interview the family and make this the lead obit over a local rabbi.
As the deadline looms, Jack can only get an interview with Jimmy’s widow Cleo Rio, an ex-model turned singer (surrogate for Courtney Love) but fails to contact Jimmy’s sister Janet, an Internet porn star. He figures it would’ve been great to have more than one family member on record yet that’s the nature of the news, it’s timely. The obit runs and he doesn’t give it any further thought until Janet calls. She tells Jack how Cleo used him. Initially Jack dismisses it as a familial snit between the women but when he finds contradictions in the New York Times‘ interview of Cleo, he feels like a chump. Curious about the widow’s motives, he attends Stomarti’s funeral with plans to confront Cleo for her dishonesty and call it even. Near the end of the ceremony, she performs a song rather badly as a tribute to Stomarti. Most attendees consider the performance another desperate ploy by a has been. Jack on the other hand recognizes Stomarti’s musical DNA in the piece, senses it’s incomplete and begins to suspect Cleo murdered Stomarti.
And so the Hiaasen Express takes off as Jack and Janet pursue what may be a bigger conspiracy while fending off Emma, Race and Polk. I will not spoil any more this but I guarantee there are additional murders, attempted murders, funny (in a dark way) accidents and commentaries about the various corrupt industries which inhabit Florida.
Now my complaints of this book. This is the first one I have read by Hiaasen that is told in the first person. It does not work well and it takes away some of the fun from his past novels told through third-person omniscient narrators: the backgrounds of the various sleazoids, victims and allies. By telling the story from the perspective of a reporter and sprinkling in his own ignorance of popular music, it gives the impression of the book being a two-fold, hidden social commentary piece on the demise of serious news coverage (which I do agree is a crisis) and how today’s bands just can’t hold a candle to the older acts (who are really just flogging a dead horse). The name dropping of bands really demonstrated how out of the loop he is. I think it would be a more effective story if it were set in the mid to late Eighties, then the musical references would not feel forced, contrived or poseurish. The accumulation of newspapers into profitable media baronies has been happening ever since TV and radio cut into their mindshare so this element would survive such a time shift. Finally, the first-person storytelling should never be used again with Hiaasen. It had a detrimental effect like James Ellroy’s White Jazz and that was a tough act to beat on the irritation scale.
Is this worth reading? Sure. It even has a song co-written by Carl and the late Warren Zevon at the end. Just expect this novel to be a style departure from his past work.