|
|
Executive Times |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
2007 Book Reviews |
|||
|
|
Nature
Girl by Carl Hiaasen |
|||
|
Rating: |
*** |
|||
|
|
(Recommended) |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
Desire Each character
in Carl Hiaasen’s latest novel, Nature
Girl, acts out in search of what he or she really desires. In Hiaasen’s
talented hand, the desires run the gamut from sex to revenge to love to solitude
to protect to profit. The action to fulfill these desires is always to
excess, and that’s what brings the most satire and laughter on these pages. This
cast of characters may be the strangest Hiaasen’s created yet. Here’s an
excerpt, from the beginning of Chapter 3, pp. 28-30: Fry’s
father was the only man that Honey Santana had ever married, and they
astonished themselves by staying together seventeen years. The sea change
took place after Fry was born. He spent two weeks in the hospital, fighting
to breathe, and it was during that wrenching time that Honey began hearing
musical static in her head; battling uncontrollable spells of apprehension
and dread; overreacting, sometimes radically, to the bad behavior of total strangers. From the
day she brought Fry home, Honey was gripped with a fear of losing him to a
random act of nature, an incurable illness, or the criminal recklessness of
some genetically deficient numskull. The fright sometimes manifested itself
in unacceptable ways. Once, when Honey had seen a car speeding down her
street, she’d dashed out and hurled a forty-gallon garbage can in its path.
Brandishing the demolished receptacle, she’d then accosted the stunned
driver. “This could’ve been my kid you flattened!” she’d screamed. “You
could’ve killed my little boy!” Another time, when Fry was in the fourth
grade, she’d watched a motorcycle blow through the school zone and nearly strike one of his classmates. Honey had hopped into her
husband’s truck and trailed the biker to a tourist bar on Chokoloskee.
When the man emerged two hours later, his motorcycle was missing. The next
day, a purple plume of smoke led park rangers to a high-end Honey
understood that every dickhead she encountered was not necessarily a menace
to her son, yet still she struggled with a rabid intolerance of callousness
and folly, both of which abounded in Honey had
tried many doctors and many prescriptions, with imperceptible results.
Eventually she came to believe that her condition was one that couldn’t be
treated medically; she was doomed to demand more decency and consideration
from her fellow humans than they demanded of themselves. What her husband
wrote off as loony obsessiveness, Honey Santana
defended as spells of intense and controlled focus. While denying she was
mentally unsteady, she never claimed to be normal, either. She was alert to
the uncommon impulses that took hold of her like a bewitchment. “Yes,
ma’am, I’m trying to reach a Mr. Boyd Eisenhower.” Honey held the receiver in
her left hand. In her right was a ballpoint pen, poised over a paper napkin. “What was
the last name?” “Eisenhower,”
Honey said, “spelled just like the president.” “I’m
sorry, there’s no employee here with that name.” “This is
RTR, correct? In “That’s
right. I show an Elizabeth Eisenberg in Accounting, but no Boyd Eisenhower.” “He’s in
the telephone solicitations department,” Honey said. “That
would be our call center at Relentless, but there’s still no Eisenhower
listed. Sorry.” Honey hung
up. The guy who’d tried to sell her a ranchette on
the So she
waited ten minutes and tried again. As she’d hoped, a different switchboard
operator answered. Honey identified herself as an investigator with the Texas
Department of Motor Vehicles. There’d been a bad rollover in “Unfortunately,
his driver’s license melted in the fire,” Honey said. “We’re just trying to
confirm an ID.” “What name
do you have?” the operator asked. “Well, that’s the problem.
Right now the poor guy can’t remember anything except his first name—Boyd,”
Honey said. “He was doin’ about eighty on the
interstate when he swerved to miss a rabbit and flipped his car like seven
times. Gonged his melon pretty bad, but he finally came out of the coma.” “Did you say ‘Boyd’?” “That’s correct.” Honey
spelled it for the operator. “Is it possible to do an employee search by
first name only? If not, we can send an officer over to look through your
payroll records.” “Hold on, I’m scanning the
directory,” the operator said. “I sure appreciate this.”
Honey laid on a touch of what she imagined to be a mild Laura Bush accent. “I
tell ya, the guy must have a real soft spot for
bunnies—” “I found only one Boyd,”
the operator said. “Last name is Shreave.
S-h-r-e-a-v-e.” Honey Santana scribbled it
on the napkin. “But the thing is, he
doesn’t seem to work here anymore,” the operator added. “Says here on my
screen that he left the company as of today.” “What a weird coincidence.
Did he resign, or get fired?” “I’m sorry, but I don’t
have any additional information. You say he’s gonna
be all right?” “The doctors are hopeful.” Honey tried to sound encouraging.
“Well, I’ll say a little prayer for him.” “That’s probably not a bad idea.” Honey hung up and did a dance through the trailer. Some readers
will laugh out loud, and all readers will find pleasure on the pages of Nature
Girl. If that’s what you desire, this is the book for you. Steve Hopkins,
March 23, 2007 |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
Go to Executive Times
Archives |
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the April 2007
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Nature
Girl.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
