As a devoted Carl Hiaasen Appreciator, I have to admit I was disappointed by this one upon return. The big C's wit is as sharp as ever, and this novel introduces one of my favorite characters of his (more on that in a minute), but it's loose and meandering and even a little self-indulgent.

Let me compare this to the other Hiaasen I recently read. Skin Tight has a humungous, insanely strong, borderline sociopathic ex-cop as its protagonist, and while I enjoyed Mick Stranahan's blunt investigation style for what it was, he's not nearly as compelling as the protagonist of Strip Tease, Erin Grant. I loved spending time with Erin, as well as the rest of the cast of her novel. She makes her novel human.

Skin Tight, on the other hand, lacks a compelling human element. There is no mercy, no justice, no moment of respite. His autopsy of the cosmetic surgery industrial complex doesn't carry the same righteous weight as his routine decimations of Florida's environmental politics. Skin Tight fits more squarely into the sex/drugs/rock-and-roll style that Hiaasen has spent his entire career making fun of - it's a novel born of 1980s America.

However, Skin Tight also marks the first appearance of one of my favorite fictional heavies, Chemo, a creation so absurd that I think I've been carrying him along on my shoulder ever since I first read this novel. To say much about Chemo might spoil the pleasure of discovery for anyone who is somehow compelled by this middling review to read the novel, but perhaps this tidbit will suffice: Chemo is Anton Chigurh without the luck.