Pun Salad

I made it up to number 21 in Randy Wayne White's Doc Ford series. I'm ready to call it quits. Nothing personal, Mr. White. It's not you, it's me. Or maybe it's you. I got the feeling too many times while reading this that you were under Contractual Obligation to produce 360 pages.

It's not as if the editors at Putnam care much. At one point, a character says that a conversation contained "Not enough to activate my censors".

Anyway, in this one, Doc is looped into a hunt for stolen Indian artifacts. Which takes him to an abandoned phosphate mine in Central Florida. Which has a lot of other stuff going on: the remnants of Ice Age beasts and civilizations, a possible Conquistador's sword, and … a big old elephant. The owner of the phosphate mine has a large, dysfunctional family. And an elephant. There's a one-handed brain-damaged homicidal biker. Doc has (yet another) rocky romantic relationship with a charismatic lady. And a lot of other poorly-described characters.

I could be lazy. Reading my favorite authors is like moving down a well-paved highway; there may be unexpected turns, sure, but the view is interesting, and I never get lost. Reading Mr. White's last few books is more like navigating a back road filled with potholes, full of dead ends and unimpressive sights.