By Tod Caviness
Man Martin's "Paradise Dogs"
In the sweet prologue to ?Paradise Dogs,? postwar widow Evelyn Winston falls in love on a trip to Florida. On a mission to secure a house, she ends up bagging a husband as well: a homely realtor named Adam Newman. During the courtship, Adam recites poetry, cracks jokes and generally flirts his way past some nagging clues that he may not actually be a realtor ? or an entirely stable person.
The experience of reading Man Martin?s latest romp is roughly parallel to Evelyn?s impressions. The book is almost entirely driven by the charm of Adam, it?s bumbling hero ? a sort of ?holy fool? who impersonates whatever profession is most useful at the time. Adam only wants to help, of course ? and win his ex-wife back, and perhaps have a drink or three on the way. (After that first meet-cute, we flash forward to 1965 in the aftermath of Adam?s inevitable divorce.) There?s also the case of a real estate mystery that appeals to Adam?s gumshoe pretensions: Someone is buying up vast tracts of land in central Florida, but for what nefarious purpose?
That particular mystery highlights one of the central problems for ?Paradise Dogs.? It?s chock full of breezy details about 1960?s Orlando that will appeal to local readers, but those same readers will likely have Adam?s land dilemma figured out as soon as they hear it mentioned. It?s not really clear whether Martin is just using this non-mystery to highlight Adam?s cluelessness, but then it?s not completely clear what kind of book he?s writing either. ?Paradise Dogs? has plenty of funny moments, but they typically come with an abrupt shift in tone from laid-back to slapstick.
By the time Adam?s rambling ride crashes into the abrupt brick wall of Martin?s? ending, the whole thing feels like a lost weekend: You?re sure you?ve had fun somewhere, yet you can?t really remember how you got there. ?Paradise Dogs? has some appealing characters, but ? like their setting ? they just seem to be waiting for something more.
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