‘Nuclear Jellyfish’ by Tim Dorsey
If you’re not familiar with Tim Dorsey’s Florida-centric novels, here’s a quick synopsis:
They’re zany, they're sexy and they’re violent. And they can be a lot of fun. R-rated fun, that is.
Dorsey is a former reporter and editor with the Tampa Tribune. He left the Tribune 10 years ago to write full time after striking gold
with his first book, “Florida Roadkill,” a comedic Florida noir novel.
It followed the wacky adventures of psychopathic serial killer Serge A. Storms, who’s not a cousin of Dexter. He’s friendlier, more adventurous and is very knowledgeable about Florida history. He rarely kills the good guys and always finds some beautiful women to make love to. He has a sidekick with him most of the time, usually the drug-addled dufus Coleman.
It seems like Dorsey spent too many years on the Tribune’s city desk, editing and writing about some of Florida’s craziest criminals, because Storms reads like an amalgam of them. There’s usually a solid journalistic element to Dorsey’s stories, and it makes for some enjoyable, grounded-in-reality reading. Although the Tampa resident, who was born in Indiana but raised in South Florida, has sent his Three Stooges-like duo to other states (most notably California in “The Big Bamboo"), most of the adventures are grounded in Florida.
In his 11th novel, “Nuclear Jellyfish,” Dorsey sends Storms and Coleman to the east coast of the Sunshine State, primarily Jacksonville and South Florida, with stops in St. Augustine, Daytona Beach and Port Orange (my former home).
Storms, who is always on the run from police, has picked up a new job: He blogs about Florida for an online travel site. But he and Coleman, traveling in a 1971 AMC Javelin, run into some mayhem, including battles with skinheads, diamond couriers and tourists. In one of the book’s funniest moments, the duo helps stop an RV repair scam along the interstate, with nasty consequences for the perpetrators. Storms has a penchant for killing villains in bizarre ways — a simple gunshot to the head is too simple for him. This is a strangely compelling staple of Dorsey’s novels.
Another staple is Serge’s bits of wisdom, which he spouts off at random. “That’s the whole problem with the human race: reverse
metamorphosis,” Serge says to Coleman in Jacksonville. “We turn from butterflies into caterpillars. The key to keeping your wings is regular exercise of your kindergarten muscles of make-believe.”
Here’s another: “Coleman, there are three — and only three — kinds of people in this world: Those who don’t know they’re damaged and blame others; those who realize they’re damaged and blame others; and then people like you and me, who wear damage like comfortable pajamas.”
As usual, Storms and Coleman pick up a voluptuous woman, this time a young college student named Story who is a stripping instructor, er, “dance instructor” as Story would say. In his adventures along the coast, Storms has a showdown with Agent Mahoney, a detective and recurring character who has been on Serge’s trail for quite some time. And like a good historian, Storms stops at Aileen Wuornos’ former stomping grounds in Port Orange to see the area where America’s most famous female serial killer did some damage.
Dorsey always includes some plot twists and a general story line that ties everything together, although it seems to lack some punch in “Nuclear Jellyfish.” Some of his previous novels have had stronger core plots and more fleshed-out characters.
Nevertheless, don’t leave your brain at the door when reading “Nuclear Jellyfish.” You might be surprised what you learn about Florida — the good, bad and very bad.
