The insecurites of the modern journalist

Many among us who read a large number of books, reviewers and non, tend to have that one embarrassing type of book or author we love to read, but is admittedly not the high-and-mighty "quality" fiction we want people to believe we spend our time reading. Whether its series romance, generic adventure novels, or whatever, we crave its simple, formulaic grasp, its easy emotional grabs...basically, its familiarity. For me, this is the type of book Carl Hiaasen writes.

For those unaware, Carl Hiaasen is a journalist/novelist based in south Florida, probably best known for his novel Striptease (later made into a very, very inferior film). Much like fellow writer Dave Barry, he has a satirical bent and a genuine hatred for the absurdities of the corrupt politics in Miami-Dade county in specific, and Florida in general. A region of the country defined by political scandal long before George W., payoffs, corruption, and mysteriously dead people involved in high-profile court cases are the order of the day.

In the novel Basket Case, Hiaasen's targets are not corrupt politicians (though a few choice digs are in here), but instead the corruption in the media. If you are at all involved in journalism, you are likely aware that the conglomerization of the newspaper business has tended to centralize their reporting, providing less local coverage, and increased focus on "big news stories" (see Laci Peterson), using largely wire stories and syndicated writers. Breaking into the biz is much tougher than it used to be.

Our hero in this novel, Jack Tagger, is a journalist working for the third tier newspaper in south Florida. Once an investigative reporter on the rise, he insulted the wrong guy (namely, the new owner of the paper, one Race Maggad III), and was relegated to the obituary page. While some (myself included) would find this a welcome change to our present occupation, he wants the headlines again...I tough goal to attain when your boss has handed down orders to keep this from ever happening.

Jack finds a small, but potential, chance for front page exposure in the little notice of the death of a guy named Jimmy Stomarti. Using his memory of lousy hair rock bands of the eighties, he recalls this as the alias for the moderately successful Jimmy Stoma, of the multi-platinum band Jimmy and the Slut Puppies. Using this knowledge to wedge a small level of interest from his Slut Puppies fan editor-in-chief, he convinces his immediate superior, the lovely, young, and hideously ill-prepared for the likes of Jack Tagger, section editor Emma, that he should do a profile on Stomarti for the paper.

In doing so, he hears the tale of Cleo Rio, the aspiring tragic singer-songwriter/lovely young girl exploited by the record industry, who happens to be married to Mr. Stomarti. Basing his profile on the words of Cleo, his obituary jumps past the obit page, giving him a rare thrill of subverting the system, and the pains of jumping into real trouble.

First, he hears from Janet Thrush, Jimmy's sister and occasionally internet stripper. She tells him that he was lied to by Cleo, but gives little detail. Then he reads the New York Times version of the obit, which gives distinctly different recountings of the events leading up to the late Mr. Stomarti's drowning.

This triggers the investigative reporter instincts that Jack holds, trying everything he can to find out the truth behind Stomarti's death, the supposed existence of an unrecorded "Jimmy Stoma" album, and butting heads with Emma. Along the way, he calls upon the assistance of his friend (and Emma's semi-boyfriend) Juan, a Cuban emigre with a sad story in his past; Carla, his ex's daughter, a naughty young woman with a prediliction for stranger's sex photos; and Emma herself, who is revealed to be more than she seems. Meanwhile, Jack himself is held back by his own fear of death, fixated on the date of his absentee father's death (let's just say the obituary page has not been good to Mr. Tagger).

The story is pure Carl Hiaasen. His deeply quirky characters and impossibly corrupt villains are his trademarks. Thankfully, unlike many of his books, the hero in this story is not sociopathic or insane (no juggling dead people's skulls here...sorry, obscure reference for most). The characters here are surprisingly human; even though the characters are mostly one or two-dimensional, they usually aren't quite as eccentric as in his earlier books. I think, in targeting something less polarizing like the media and the music industry, his satire is slightly less bilious, and therefore, somewhat more effective.

Like most of his books, there is some frank sex talk, and violent, although incredibly strange, sequences (how many books has a burglar assaulted with a frozen lizard?); those who dislike that type of thing should be discouraged. However, for fans of satirical writing, Hiaasen in specific, or journalists using fiction to rail against the current injustices in the industry, this book is probably a worthwhile read. Its mostly fictional popcorn for the brain, but some good points are made, and some good laughs are had.