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You've got to hand it to Hiaasen: He's perfected a formula for crisply written, satirical crime fiction that makes the best use of imaginatively repulsive villains, as well as less thoroughly venal scoundrels and victims who ultimately overcome their antagonists, all while stumping for the preservation of Florida's environment, particularly the Everglades. In Skinny Dip, we find Chaz (who'd rather be golfing than puttering around the "hot, buggy, funky-smelling and treacherous" reaches of nature) falsifying water samples to help Hammernut turn the 'Glades into "Gods septic tank." That scheme, though, is endangered not just by Joey's sudden disappearance, but by the suspicions of a python-loving police detective and Chaz's own outstanding inability to tame his Viagra-enhanced tumescence. Even by assigning Chaz a baby-sitter--the hulking, hirsute, and painkiller-addicted Tool--Hammernut can't keep his pet biologist out of trouble. As Joey and Stranahan unfold their revenge plot, and Tool's conscience grows in competition with Chaz's ego, the reader can only marvel at the extent of the train wreck ahead.
As much fun as Hiaasen has delivering Chaz his climactic comeuppance, what's missing from Skinny Dip is a more complex, more credible development of Mick Stranahan's character and the relationship he builds with the much younger Joey Perrone. Like Erin Grant, from Strip Tease, Joey has far more going for her than her bra-cup size; but "hero" Stranahan is of far less interest here than any of his fellow players. --J. Kingston Pierce --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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Reminiscent of moonlight over Miami our story opens on a cruise ship. Joey Perrone and her husband of two years, Chaz, are celebrating their anniversary on the Sun Duchess from out of Port Everglades bound for Puerto Rico, Nassau, and a private Bahamian island owned by the cruise ship company. Their voyage had a less than auspicious beginning as it was delayed for three hours because an angry raccoon was loose in the pastry kitchen. Once the varmint was dispatched they were off - and so was Joey.
After filling his wife's wine glass four time at dinner Chaz suggested a romantic stroll on deck. Their walk was short as once by the rail he pretended to drop their stateroom key. Bending over he didn't find the key but Joey's ankles which he grabbed, upending her into the black Atlantic.
As Joey (former champion swimmer at UCLA) fought the waves she thought, "I had a feeling he didn't love me anymore, but this is ridiculous."
Now, this is a girl who comes from sturdy stock. Her parents, Hank and Lana Wheeler, ran a casino resort in Nevada featuring a Russian dancing bear act overseen by "a semi-retired dominatrix who billed herself as Ursa Major." When one of the bears developed an impacted bicuspid the Wheelers offered to fly him to a periodontic veterinarian at Lake Tahoe. Better still they decided to go along with Ursa and the bear - bad choice. The jet crashed with no survivors, leaving Joey with a cool 4 million.
She moved to Florida at that time where she met her first husband, a stockbroker. The pair were happily wed for four years until a sky diver whose parachute didn't open fell on him. Joey is widowed but richer because of the settlement from the sky diving company.
Next came Chaz - this lady is definitely not lucky in love. She has no idea why Chaz would try to do her in. He has one very good idea - he believes she knows that he's doctoring water samples which allows a greedy polluter to go on dumping fertilizer into the Everglades. Since Chaz is an unscrupulous maggot (an understatement) he has no choice but to render Joey speechless. He feels no remorse whatsoever, only satisfaction that is wife is dead.
Problem is she's not. Joey manages to hang onto a floating bale of grass, "Sixty pounds of Jamaica's finest," until she's found by ex policeman Mick Stranahan. Well, there's just so much a woman can take. Joey's happy to be alive, but decides not to let her husband know it. With Stranahan's help she'll play dead and drive Chaz crazy.
We could say, "And this is where the fun begins," but, truth is, in typical Hiaasen style we've had a great deal of fun already. From the opening paragraph to page 355 of "Skinny Dip" laughter abounds. Someone has said "Carl Hiaasen is so good he ought to be illegal." Right on!
- Gail Cooke