BOOK REVIEW

THE WHITE ROAD  

By Barry Forshaw

18 March 2002

When a whole slew of authors admit to being influenced by Carl Hiaasen, it's clear that his  cult  status  is  established.  But  the  self-conscious,  surrealistic quality of his writing is a hard act to sustain. Although such books as  Tourist Season brilliantly create a world very much his own, there is a certain suspense with the appearance of each new title.

Can he  pull  it  off  again?  In  the  case  of  Basket  Case,  the  answer  is  a (qualified) yes, although his delirious plotting is more reined-in than usual. Set in   his   Florida   stamping   ground,   this  new  outing  sports  a  mélange  of journalists, rock'n'roll, and lizards.  Always  count  on  a  nasty  reptile  in  the Hiaasen mix, as omnipresent as the bears in John Irving.

Basket Case is as outrageously entertaining as its predecessors. Jack Tagger is the kind of journalist encountered many times in the crime  novel,  haplessly given to screwing himself in both career and relationships. Rubbing up people the wrong way has consigned him to the graveyard of the obituary  page.  He has made a particular enemy of his paper's owner, Race Maggad III.

Then Jack stumbles on the story of a lifetime: rock  star  James  Stomarti  has cashed in his chips in a diving accident,  and   Jack   finds   that   his     starlet widow stands to gain from her husband's death.  Jack  begins  to  dig  for the truth, but finds himself up against not just the politics o  his  paper,  but  some pretty   dangerous   enemies.   The  lunacies  of  the  rock  world  are  vividly conjured,  and  this  is  no mean achievement – this territory is always a snare and  delusion  for  thriller  writers  who  can't  resist  warmed - over,   Spinal Tap-style digs.

Basket Case may be less pungent and inventive than  most  Hiaasen,  but  it's still a heady brew.  The  real  Florida  can't  be  as  entertaining  as  Hiaasen's Dali-esque vision, can it?