I have a somewhat obsessive nature and a tendency to completely indulge on the things I love. About five years ago I read my first Carl Hiaasen novel, and was so impressed that it took me less than two years of hunting and purchasing to find them all, and I have devoured each of them at least four times. I did originally try and pace myself, but soon gave in and bought a stack on Amazon.

I adore his I-know-who-dunnit style of crime fiction with such a dark wit, believable and vulnerable villians and heroes who occasionally remind me of myself. With more balls. I mean, who would ever chase down an SUV full of litterbugs and teach them a lesson? I would LOVE to, but the practicalities of such eco-terrorism are beyond me. (Watch this space though, I'm sure there's a line that I could cross one day...!)

    

Hence, Carl Hiaasen is my cup of sweet, dark tea. I am currently re-reading Stormy Weather, and after that only three more books to go before I begin the endless cycle again. Part of me wants to slow down, to savour every cynical and twisted moment, yet it is impossible to not read on and press on when the books are so entertaining and are readily available on my bedside table. I guess (unless I am swamped by mid-winter socialising, which is insanely unlikely as I suffer from weather-related agoraphobia) it will be another two days of the misfortunes of Edie and Snapper, then alas, I am done.

And then? What next? I know what will happen… I’ve been there before. First, I will look for something similar and be invariably disappointed. Then I will look for something completely different and not be satisfied… and then I will open another Carl Hiaasen, whilst waiting for July 27, when his next novel is released, Star Island:
 
'An actress secretly stands in for a derailed pop star and finds herself stalked on South Beach by a crazed paparazzo – and befriended by an unhinged hermit who was once governor of Florida.'

How can I not love it!