Should each election have an official novelist? If so, I nominate Carl Hiaasen for Election 2016. What kind of novel goes with “Porn Star Becomes Latest Trump Accuser — Day After Launching Online Sex Store”? My vote is Razor Girl, about a young lady who makes her living with her pants down, though not in the most conventional ways.
Here are some excerpts:
The Tesla had no trunk, so Coolman was permitted to ride in the backseat. This slender bit of good fortune allowed him to press his case for mercy. Zeto remained cold to his pleas, but Merry seemed open to the idea of giving Coolman more time to raise some funds. “Say nobody comes through. How much you got in the bank?” she said. “It’s all frozen. I’m in the middle of a divorce.”
Had Amp owned a fully formed conscience he would have experienced at least a tickle of guilt for boning Rachel Coolman on the sly, but he’d lost not a minute of sleep. It had been her idea, after all, and Amp was but one of many to meet her for a quick one at the Wilshire. That she would pauperize her future ex-husband in court was a given—it was California, right?
“Has it been four hours?” Richardson checked his watch. “Four hours is when they say to panic.” “Then we’ll wait here together.” Deb opened a book and vaped on her plastic ciggie. If not for her own clandestine escapades—the kayak instructor, the Tantric landscaper, her stepsister’s podiatrist, and so on—she would have pressed more aggressively the issue of her fiancé’s infidelity.
She could envision a medium-length marriage—say five to seven years—based solely on the attractions of sex and money. [Note that seven years would be more prudent for establishing a claim to “permanent alimony” under Florida family law.]
The Pensacola condominium was titled in Miracle’s name, and there was already a Confederate flag on the bathroom wall. “Legally she owns the place,” Coolman said to Buck. “That’s how you wanted it, remember?” Buck slammed a fist on the table, which was so heavy it barely moved. Tears pooled in his eyes as he nursed his throbbing hand. Blister was sympathetic. “You was blinded by the pussy, that’s all. I been there, brother. Say hi to pussy, say bye-bye to common sense.”
[One error in the book is the assumption that an FBO would have a record of the passengers aboard a private plane on a domestic flight: “Yancy was irked that Burton hadn’t told him that Blister and the others were not aboard the gray executive jet that had departed the night before; by now the detective surely had obtained the passenger manifest from the pretty silver-haired woman at the airport.”]
Readers: What do you think? Do Hiaasen’s tales of Americans in Florida match up well to the spirit and focus of the election? Is there a better choice of novelist?
Related:
- “Latest Trump accuser says he hugged, kissed her without permission” (CNN interview on an important topic: “Ten years ago I was working for Wicked Pictures, an adult film company, …)
- Why no sex scandals with this year’s crop of Presidential candidates?
I just wanted to say I am happy you are still reading Hiaasen. I started reading him after you mentioned Skinny Dip in a blog post way back. I’ve since read all of his books. I had not even heard of him until you mentioned him. He’s great for a laugh, and the books are never overlong. Somehow I missed that there was a new one out, so time to get a copy.
It would be a short book. The sole candidate won it in 1992. There was some guy no-one remembers, taking up space on TV. The divorce comes after the election, when she finally can drop Bill like a rocket booster.