Some people mistake first person narratives as the voice of the writer. Those people also usually think that the characters represent ideas the author actually believes and wants to express as his own. Then, there are people who actually know how to read. These people know that characters, even the POV character are not the author and that with good authors, sometimes the discomfort the author is giving you through a POV character is the point. If you don’t get that or don’t believe that, don’t read Willeford, and especially do not read this book.

Willeford puts you right inside the head of true sociopaths with zero schlock. These are not redeemable characters and you are not supposed to like them. This is probably how these behave in reality. We all know someone like them.

The prose is dry and funny, with some laugh out loud passages and other sections that become more chilling every time you think about them. Willeford knows people and knows characters and assumes you’re already in on the joke.

His descriptions of food and people are often equally hilarious and disgusting (this goes for all of his novels). He seems to have a deep knowledge of strange and very human character traits that normally one wouldn’t think would appear (false teeth, body odor that makes a guy horny, strange jobs). His characters love to order hamburgers. They also like to speak in medium size monologues telling people what to do. He’s not for everyone, but man I like to read it. I would almost call it satire but it isn’t really that, and it’s definitely not crime/detective fiction but it isn’t NOT that. Definitely mischaracterized and under appreciated.

But anyway, Miami is the custard and men like our four protagonists are the sharks. Good stuff.