Southern Baptists | Seattle Book Mama

Tallahassee, Florida is a city with more than its share of horrifying murders, which Brottman tells us has earned it the nickname, “Tallanasty.” Is it something in the water? No, wait. That’s the gators. One thing that we know is true: in the far right, conservative Christian enclave there, two upstanding young people decided to forego the disgrace and humiliation of divorce by committing the perfect murder. One of their spouses would have an accident while out duck hunting, and he would never be heard from again.

My thanks go to NetGalley and Atria Books for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

The four of them met when they were just kids, and while attending a private Christian high school, they developed a tight bond. Mike and Denise, Brian and Kathy were constantly in one another’s company, and they stayed tight after graduation. The two couples married, and then they cut loose, the four of them partying and engaging in edgy sexual practices that could make an old lady school teacher like me blush. Mike, a hardworking young man from the working class, and Kathy, who wanted to start a family, were ready to settle down and behave themselves; Mike’s wife, Denise, and Kathy’s husband, Brian, were not. In a heartbeat they began carrying out an affair, making elaborate arrangements to avoid shame within their families, church, and community. Ultimately, they decided that Mike, who was a stickler for a structured life and extreme attention to even the smallest financial expenditures, simply had to go. They devised a plan to disappear him, and although suspicions were raised, they got away with the crime for nearly twenty years, when they turned on each other and all hell broke loose.

I had never heard of the case before reading this book, though the author tells us that it has received extensive media coverage. Brottman does a fine job of relaying the story, with perfect pacing and just enough attention to detail. There’s extensive documentation in the end notes, and she relies primarily on primary sources. It reads almost like narrative nonfiction, with suspense building to where I couldn’t look away during the last 25% of the story. This is especially impressive given that I can usually walk away from murder mysteries and thrillers at any time.

I seldom read true crime, and when I finished reading this book, I recalled why that’s so. While I was reading it, it was a fine, trashy wallow, steeping myself in the misdeeds of people that live lives very different from my own. It’s riveting stuff. But once I was done, I felt as though I should take a shower and perhaps gargle.

A little of this type of story goes a long way, but for those that love true crime, it’s a hard one to beat. Highly recommended for those that enjoy the genre.

Do you know the Four Spiritual Laws? Do you believe that Jesus died for your sins? Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

If so, this is not your book. Move along; scoot! I am serious.

I’ll just wait for you to gather your things…have a nice day.

(pause)

Are they gone?

Good. So, this book is for the rest of us. Well, most of the rest of us. It all depends where your “ick” threshold is. I’ve mentioned this before, in other reviews. Here’s your litmus test: if you can get through at least one Stephen King novel, or if you read The Silence of the Lambs without a sick lump forming in your gut, you’ll be fine here. What Starnes has written is seriously funny, but the humor is really, really dark. It won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but those who like it will love it!

Our setting: a commercial bus, riding cross country heading northwest toward Utah. Our protagonist: Timber, a failed disc jockey confronting middle age. He is joined in the back of the bus by a Southern preacher named Zeke, who brings with him a suitcase (oh that suitcase!), a foot-long razor-sharp Bowie knife, a briefcase with a Bible in it, and a bottle of Jim Beam. Timber wants to be left alone, but once Zeke makes it clear that he wants, and intends to have, company, Timber is surprised at how much they have in common. They both grew up in poor but very religious households in the deep South, and both of them had abusive fathers. And that’s just for starters.

Unlike Timber, though, Zeke has been through seminary, where he learned to be a “front man for Jesus…His marketing team”. In ministering to prisoners, “a captive audience”, he gains a somewhat different set of skills, but once you learn to rationalize the things you learn as a seminarian, hell, you can rationalize anything.

Have you ever noticed the similarity between a church and a Vegas casino?

Does it embarrass you when your mama speaks in tongues? Be honest here.

But the most important thing to remember is that “…our God and his son are so gracious as to forgive our sins, whatever they may be…so I shut her in the trunk and drove off.”

Hmmm.

Reader, dear reader, letmetellyathis: I have never, no never in a very long time, to be absolutely, positively candid, laughed so hard. The mattress shook beneath my aging couch potato body, and it was not caused by the Holy Spirit, it was caused by the enormously amusing prose of Joe Samuel Starnes.

For those who are not easily offended and would like to be amused, this book is calling. You’d better listen. You don’t want to miss that bus!