Tim Dorsey’s some sort of Florida machine, cranking out one of his beloved-by-many Serge A. Storms books a year. Considering I’ve been at work on the same book for something like five years, watching his rate of publication alternately inspires and depresses me. And, truth be told, I’m not the world’s biggest Serge fan. I’ve met Dorsey and like him well enough, and, for a time, devoured his books, but, well, doesn’t the world have enough books about Florida weirdos? When do we reclaim our state and assert that we’re more than a bullshit Twitter account and memes?
Apparently not right now.
In his latest conflicted love letter to Florida, Dorsey has wooed me back to the Serge A. Storms fan club, and in a big way. I found myself staying up late to read just one more chapter, I promise; I found myself relaxing in the hot tub with a flashlight to finish the book. A book hasn’t gotten me this excited in a long time.
"Naked Came the Florida Man"
By Tim Dorsey
William Morrow & Co.: 294 pages
timdorsey.com
I agreed to review the book because CL asked me to and, well, there are worse jobs than getting paid to read a book, even if you sort of groan at the title and gird yourself against what you’re sure will be more Florida Man nonsense (you know what I mean: Florida Man Throws Alligator In Moving Car; Florida Man Breaks Into Home to Take Nap.)
However, by page two, Dorsey had delved into one of my (oddly specific) favorite topics: the Hurricane of 1928 (we didn’t name hurricanes until the middle of the 20th century) and the poor, black sugar cane workers who perished in the storm. Honestly, I’ve only ever heard one person (other than myself) talk about this particular hurricane with as much passion as Dorsey’s Serge does, and that person—Eliot Kleinberg—wrote the book in the hurricane (literally; check out Black Cloud) By page three, I remembered why I once loved his books: They’re Florida history lessons and an elegy to the Sunshine State.
Yes, history lessons abound in his latest, although there’s also no shortage of things that make Serge an odd sort of hero. If you haven’t read any of Dorsey’s books, think Dexter meets Robin Hood meets Carl Hiaasen’s "Skink." Serge can be unsettling—there’s an uncomfortable visual with flesh-eating screwworms and a man who tries to blow up seagulls with antacids—but he’s eternally on the side of Florida. Dorsey may write fiction, but like the legion of Florida writers contributing to this particular canon, specifically, Hiaasen, Dave Barry, Tom Corcoran, and Randy Wayne White, Dorsey’s history is real. And nothing makes history more fun (apparently) than vigilante justice.
The most wonderful thing about Florida history, of course, is how damn interesting it is. Sure, sure, Oklahoma had the Boomers and the Sooners and California had a gold rush, but Florida has buried treasure and also some of the most heartbreakingly salacious tragedies. This is, I’d like to note, all well before Florida Man was an insulting pop-culture symbol for our state. I won’t dive into every bit of history Dorsey relays in Naked Came the Florida Man, because that would rob you of discovering it for yourself, but I will say this: if college history classes had Serge A. Storms teaching Florida history, we’d have a lot more history majors.
While most of the people who read the latest adventures of Serge A. Storms might not think about it this hard (and that’s OK, because despite some visually unpleasant-yet-comical revenge against those out to destroy Florida in part and parcel, it’s what most reviewers will call a “zany romp”) those of us who derived great joy out of our college literature classes might see Serge in a different light.
We might, for example, see Dorsey’s Florida Man as not so much the archetypal Fallen Man, but perhaps the savior hidden in plain sight. Serge certainly sees himself as a savior, but the law takes a different view. This isn’t an uncommon trope in Florida crime writing: John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee worked as a “salvage consultant;” Hiaasen’s "Skink" (fka Governor Clinton Tyree) has dropped out of society, dropping back in only to protect his beloved Sunshine State; and Dorsey’s Serge A. Storms, taking back Florida Man. What us lit heads may ask ourselves is what is it about Florida that inspires this Fallen Man Savior trope so much? Why in Florida do we cling to our stories of vigilante justice?
I don’t know if Dorsey can answer that or if he’s simply allowing Serge to be Surge, but there’s no doubt his latest does one thing: It takes back Florida Man, and it does so with a vengeance. I’ll take his sort of salvation (served with a heaping side of history and passion) over the Florida Man of headlines any day.
Cathy Salustri is CL’s former arts + entertainment editor. Contact her here or subscribe to her newsletter about Florida here.
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This article appears in Feb 27 – Mar 5, 2020.