On Abel Nippers

I watched a Facebook riot last week. I’ve seen internet kerfuffles before, and participated in a few: for years I’ve argued with Astros fanatics about first draft-pick Chris Burke’s place in the majors, the statistical value of OPS, and whether it’s important that as a catcher Brad Ausmus didn’t hit. Trust me on this. Fly fishing brouhahas are mild.

Lenny Bee started things off:

Notwithstanding Mr. Bee’s ambiguity, all of the 222 comments that followed assumed that the insanity referred to was the use of the Nippers by others, not that Mr. Bee was insane for not using the Nippers. The comments ranged from the practical (they cut 40 lb. leader like butter), to the sentimental (my wife gave them to me and I’m fond of both them and my wife–thanks Kris), to the manly (I use my teeth). There was plenty of righteousness, plenty of dismissal, some irony, some sarcasm, some frivolity, and finally, late in the day, one of my favorite internet arguments: “that’s stupid”/”no that’s stupid”/”you didn’t understand what I said you’re stupid”/”I did understand it and I’ve got a screenshot of it right here and you’re stupid.” Brilliant.

Of course Mr. Bee was being disingenuous. He actually had no doubt as to what drove the market for $85 Nippers: insanity. He says it right there, and I’ve got a screenshot to prove it! Ok, maybe he didn’t really think Nipper users insane, not clinically anyway, but there’s certainly the implication that anyone willing to pay for Abel Nippers is mentally deficient.

Other than teeth, the most popular argument against Abel involved nail clippers:

I’m assuming that nail clipper advocates aren’t using the costly but decorative “Fashion Clippers” on the left, and that they aren’t arguing that nail clippers are as aesthetically pleasing as Abel Nippers (notwithstanding their status as beauty tools). Compare the above photo of nail clippers to the photo of Abel Nippers below:

Theo Van Doesburg, Composition VIII (The Cow), 1918, oil on canvass, 14 3/4 x 25″, The Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Ok, not really. I’m lying. Those aren’t Abel Nippers. That’s an early modernist painting by Theo Van Doesburg. The pro-clipper argument is that cheap nail clippers function as well as Nippers, but I’ll concede the question of function. What I won’t concede is that Abel Nippers aren’t a good bit prettier than nail clippers, and that aesthetic pleasure can’t be its own reward. Nail clippers aren’t pretty.

There may be an ethical argument about spending $85 dollars on something as useless as Nippers, but I own fly rods, and I assume Mr. Bee owns fly rods as well, so it’s hard to argue the ethical virtues of frugality. Plus the economic argument runs both ways. I’ll stick to aesthetics.

Functionality

Ok, I lied again. A couple of thoughts on functionality. Able Nippers cut bigger stuff better, and that’s useful for saltwater, as is their aluminum construction. Cheap clippers rust. Besides that the lever on clippers would drive me nuts. I’d have dropped a good dozen rusty nail clippers into the bay fiddling with that lever.

As for using teeth, my teeth apparently gap at just the point they need to meet to cut leader. I can’t seem to cut 5x leader with my teeth, and I wouldn’t cut 16 lb. leader with my teeth if I could. I can’t whistle or roll my tongue either. Plus, if you cut leader with your teeth, your dentist is going to hate you. Who needs that?

Now on to aesthetics.

Abel Nippers and the Ancient Greeks.

Ancient Greek philosophers didn’t concern themselves overly much with questions of aesthetics, and the word hadn’t been invented yet anyway. They were worried about more pressing matters, like from whence is substance derived, and should we eat beans? Aesthetics were considered though, and the discussion generally followed three schools of thought.

Ancient Greek, Fish Plate, 350/330 BC, Campania, Italy, terra cotta red figure technique, The Art Institute of Chicago.

(1) Proportionality. The notion that beauty is derived from proper proportions is peculiarly sculptural and architectural: a head should be X, the forearm Y, and the torso X+Y-1. Notwithstanding its mechanical basis, there’s something intuitive to the notion of proportionality. An Abel Nipper that isn’t proportional to the human thumb and forefinger, that’s too tiny or too large, wouldn’t have much appeal. The same thing could be said though for a pair of fingernail clippers, so proportionality is ultimately a dead end. It can be admired, it can be necessary, but it’s not, in and of itself, the source of beauty, or even necessary for beauty. An El Greco is beautiful notwithstanding its figures’ proportions. A proportional statue of an old fat guy is still a proportional statue of an old fat guy. I know. I own a mirror.

It is fitting that proportionality held peculiar appeal for the Pythagoreans, what with their focus on the ontological significance of numbers. It was the Pythagoreans who first noted the proportional mathematics of music, and anyone who has to study music theory is still cursed by all those damned numbers.

Ancient Greek, Fish Plate, 400/370 BC, Athens, terra cotta red figure technique, The Art Institute of Chicago.

(2) Functionality. That beauty is derived from an objects’ appropriate function is peculiarly appealing. Abel Nippers are suited to their function, so they’re beautiful. But the notion that beauty is purpose-driven runs counter to our modern notions of art. Art doesn’t exist to carry out a function, it’s not a car bumper, or a sewing machine, or a banana slicer, it exists for its own aesthetic purpose. Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain, for instance, is decidedly removed from function. Decorative art may serve function, but high art is concept. And while our notions of high art are often absurd–as evidenced by said Fountain–there’s really no denying that aesthetic appeal can be derived from stuff that’s completely functionless. Just note Mr. Van Doesburg’s colored planes above.

Of course the argument for nail clippers is at least in part functional, and elevates functionality above aesthetics.

Ancient Greek, Fish Plate, 350/325 BC, Campania, Italy, terra cotta red figure technique, The Art Institute of Chicago.

(3) Formalism. Now I’m going all Plato on you. For the formalist, beauty exists as an ideal form, and an object derives it’s beauty from its proximity to the ideal. Notwithstanding its lack of proportion and its lack of functionality, a  lump of gold can be beautiful because of its proximity to the ideal.

I’ve always found Plato’s formalism strangely alien, but when you think about it it’s really not. Truth is beauty, beauty truth. Beauty is something possessed by the object, a sunset, a mountain stream, a lump of gold, independent of the observer. For the observer, it is his awareness that allows him to perceive the beauty that independently exists. Plato’s forms are only an explanation for that independence of beauty. For the artist, mimesis (the Greek’s word, not mine) of the beauty of the natural world enables creation of something beautiful because it derives its beauty from that which it mimics.  For the observer, awareness enables perception of beauty that independently exists.

Consider Henry David Thoreau, who possesses among other virtues and failings a decidedly Platonic streak. He goes to the woods to rid himself of daily intrusive quibbles, among other reasons because those quibbles block his perception of the Independent Beauty of Nature. At least part of Mr. Bee’s rejection of Nippers may be that they’re an intrusive and unnecessary sideshow that hampers his perception of the real source of beauty, and that he demands simplicity, simplicity, simplicity. I would only note that Mr. Thoreau did not remove himself far enough into the woods to leave behind his mother’s baked goods, or to keep her from doing his laundry, and that one suspects he well knew that not all sideshows are worth abandoning.

If you’re interested, there’s a good introduction to Greek aesthetics here: https://www.iep.utm.edu/anc-aest/

Attributed to Iran, Kashan, Bowl with Central Fish Motif, 13 C., stone paste, incised and polychrome painted under glaze, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Abel Nippers and the Moderns.

The modern inquiry into the philosophical basis for aesthetics begins in the 18th century, and Immanuel Kant is usually considered its progenitor. I hope that terrifies you. Whenever one starts with Kant, things get complicated fast, and aesthetics is no different.

Briefly (and maybe even erroneously–I’m not vouching for my understanding of these things), Kant’s notion of aesthetic beauty is that beauty exists in nature independent of the observer. The perception of that beauty is the disinterested aesthetic judgment of the observer. It is disinterested in that we perceive the beauty inherent in the beautiful, not because we create its beauty because of our perception. Did I mention that Kant complicates things fast? To say it differently, like Plato Kant finds beauty objective rather than subjective, and the perception of beauty is driven by the fineness of the observer’s aesthetic judgment.

Pierre van Boucle, Flemish, Still Life with Carp and Pike, 1652, oil on canvas, The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.

Clive Bell, brother-in-law of Virginia Woolf, art critic, and all-around reprehensible human being, in his thoroughly Kantian Aesthetic Hypothesis, speaks of how Art, the combination of line and color comprising significant form, provokes the aesthetic emotion among those capable of aesthetic experience. It is the provoked emotion that allows us to recognize Art. Of course for Bell the aesthetic emotion is subjective, and there are a lot of other emotions, fear, love, awe, or whatnot, but the aesthetic emotion is separate and apart, arguably altogether finer, than all that other stuff. Assuming that the Abel Nipper is Art, Mr. Bee’s rejection of the Nipper, his rejection of the aesthetic emotion triggered by the Nipper, is a failure not of the Nipper but of his own aesthetic temperament. If his aesthetic temperament was properly acute, he would not need to own or use the Nipper to have the aesthetic experience: he would perceive the Art of the Nipper.

Of course if you live in the modern world you know where this is going: beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Francisco de Goya, Spanish, Still Life with Golden Bream, 1806-1812, oil on canvas, The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. 

The modern notions of aesthetic intention speak not to the quality of the object, but to the quality of the attention paid to the object. The object could be a painting, it could be sport, particularly baseball, it could be a hobby, it could be Nippers. The aesthetic attention paid to the object–let’s say in this case fly fishing–could be enhanced by the aesthetic attention paid another object, the appeal of a reel or a rod, the beauty of Nippers, depending on the observer. For me my Abel satin blue Nippers become a sort of touchstone: I think they’re pretty, my wife gave them to me and I’m fond of the gift and more than fond of the giver, they are part of my usual gear that I enjoy using. They don’t detract from my overall attention to fly fishing, they enhance it. Am I insane for my Nipper fondness?

Well of course I am, and I also have two Abel reels.

Bonefish Orgy

Robert W. Hines, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, 2013.

Fish reproduction is peculiar, not sensible like human reproduction. Salmon run upriver and die. Bass get mean. Meaner. Tarpon daisy chain, which nobody can figure out. And then there are bonefish.

Ok, maybe human reproduction isn’t all that sensible either.

There’s always some introductory justification when researchers turn into bonefish voyeurs : Bonefishing is an X-Hundred-Zillion-Dollar-Industry here in the Bahamas, or in Florida, or the How-Do-I-Get-There Atoll out in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I don’t think though that the researchers are only watching bonefish sex for the money, there’s love involved. After all, it’s a tough job. You have to hang out on tropical seas.

Even now, when observers are starting to figure out spawning, they’ve still got no notion of bonefish adolescence. Why the heck are bonefish such a mystery? One supposes that this isn’t rocket science, but it seems like UFO science.

Of course the whole business involves the full moon. Tarpon do that too, but really? The full moon?

Bloch, Marcus Elieser; Schneider, Johann Gottlieb;  A. plumieri & Poecilia vivipara, Systema ichthyologiae iconibus CX illustratum (1801)

In 2017 researchers from the Bonefish & Tarpon Trust identified a seventh bonefish pre-spawn aggregation site at Andros in the Bahamas. This is important, bonefish can’t meet likely mates on the web, so they throw big parties. Raves, Roman orgies, high school proms have nothing whatsoever on a bonefish aggregation. The sites can’t just be random, there’s no text messages saying “meet here.” There are no invitations. If a site is damaged, if a site is developed or destroyed, then future generations of bonefish are damaged.

The aggregation was comprised of approximately two thousand adult bonefish, which were exhibiting pre-spawning behavior, like gulping air and porpoising.” Gulping air, porpoising, sexy. But these fish are just getting started.

According to researchers from Florida Tech, sometimes aggregations can be 10,000 fish. The fish rush to the surface to gulp air. They bump each other. Let me say that again, they bump each other! All of this timed by the lunar month, each full moon. Then after the bumping things get really wild.

As night fell, fish in the school quickened their pace and headed for the drop-off at the edge of the reef, where water depths exceed 1,000 feet. Using special tags they had inserted into the bonefish on a previous day, the team tracked the school as it quickly descended past 160 feet and drifted about a quarter mile from the edge of the drop-off. These shallow water fish were now suspended in the deep ocean, in water thousands of feet deep. After an hour in the deep, the bonefish suddenly rushed upward, releasing their eggs and sperm as they reached 80 feet below the surface.

University Researchers Observe Surprising Bonefish Spawning Behavior in the Bahamas, Florida Institute of Technology Newsroom, December 11, 2013.

So thousands of fish aggregate, get all hot and bothered, rush the ocean and dive, then after some deep-water foreplay rush the surface broadcasting their boy stuff and their girl stuff in a massive orgiastic exhalation. Now tell me that’s not peculiar.

The rushing of the surface isn’t random. Apparently the change of pressures is a piscine erotic massage required for the release. In the lab, researchers have only recently gathered pre-spawning bones, shot them up with spawn-inducing hormones, and then massaged the fish to gather eggs and sperm. I kid you not.

After all that rushing and broadcasting, the fish go home.

Meanwhile fertilized eggs are left drifting in the current. This isn’t different really than the life-cycle of tarpon, or redfish, or the American eel. Go to the ocean, have a fling with a couple of thousand other fish, then go home and leave your larval children to make it or not. “I gave them a good start,” says Momma and Papa Bones, “Now they’re not my problem.” The larval stage lasts a couple of months.

From the Bonefish & Tarpon Trust:

If they survive the planktonic stage, larval bonefish find shallow waters where they change into miniature versions of their parents. Unfortunately, we’re not sure where this occurs.

Frankly, it’s almost a surprise that we know it occurs at all. Then the juvenile stage:

Despite extensive sampling throughout the Florida Keys and Caribbean, we don’t have a handle on which habitats are required by juvenile bonefish.  We have found a lot of juvenile bonefish while sampling sandy beaches and open sandy bottom, but nearly all have been Albula garcia – not the species caught by recreational anglers. The search goes on.

If they’re like most juveniles, they don’t want the adults to know what they’re doing.

* * *

The weather is not good. A bit too cold for fish, and too many fronts coming through. The flow at the Guadalupe is too high for wading, and it’s not the time of year for bass. All my friends who spend time outdoors seem to be hunting. Hunting’s one of those vices I haven’t cultivated.

So Friday on the 50-fish dinner trail we went and ate sushi at MF Sushi. I had been there once before, several years ago in a different location, and it was better this time. Kata Robata, Uchi, and MF Sushi are the three sushi hotspots in Houston, with two of those being imports, Uchi from Austin and MF from Atlanta. They offered baby barracuda. I had never seen barracuda on a menu, and Kris wouldn’t order it because she was certain it would immediately kill her.

The barracuda was grilled, but cooking doesn’t kill the ciguatoxin that occurs in barracuda. It’s a chemical toxin that’s produced in algae and accumulates in apex predators, so the “baby” gave me comfort. The toxin also occurs in grouper and amberjack. Even though it’s dangerous, barracuda are eaten throughout the Caribbean.

Even if you get sick, barracuda doesn’t usually kill you, and that’s what I remembered. The worst symptoms are usually cramps, muscle and joint aches, vomiting, and diarrhea. What I didn’t remember was that the symptoms can last months. If I’d remembered that, and if I hadn’t had that martini, I’d probably have skipped the barracuda. It does seem fitting though that writing about bonefish, I was eating one of their principal predators. Maybe it was fitting, or maybe it was that martini.

The next morning we took out the boat. It was too windy and choppy, and running across the bay we got soaked. We spent most of the time floating deeper water looking for fish on the sonar. We didn’t see anything bigger than bait.

Most tides in the Galveston bays are small, a foot is a huge tide, but Sunday was bizarre. See that dock? High tide would usually be a few inches below the deck. Low tide might show some oysters. Yesterday the combination of the winter solstice moon and the high winds had knocked all the water out of the bay. It wasn’t a day for the flats, even in a skinny water boat.

Bones

Jordan, David Starr; Evermann, Barton Warren (1905) Shore Fishes of the Hawaiian Islands, With a General Account of the Fish Fauna, Bulletin of the United States Fish Commission, vol. 23 for 1903, part I, Washington, D.C., Government Printing Office

Given their place in the angling firmament you’d think we’d know more about bonefish than we seem to know. I suppose it’s because all those bones make them hard to eat, but information about the fish itself, as opposed to catching the fish, is spotty. There have been interesting recent studies on spawning, and even for fish bonefish spawning behavior is bizarre and orgiastic, but more on that later. Right now other stuff.

Bonefish show up in the Atlantic, the Caribbean, the Pacific, and the Indian Ocean:  pretty much everywhere there’s some saltwater coast with relatively hot temperatures.  The Bonefish and Tarpon Trust says there are 12 species of bonefish,  all sharing the same genus, Albula

International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) . Albula vulpes. The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. IUCN 2012.2

Albula vulpes is the species fly fishers chase in our neck of the woods. I stole the range map above from the International Union for Conservation of Nature. The IUCN lists Albula vulpes as near-threatened and its population as declining, naming off all the usual causes, habitat damage, harvests, and recreational mishandling, plus climate change and severe weather.  I hope the IUCN doesn’t come after me for stealing their graphics.  They can have it back if they really want it. It’s a very good graphic though.

Since I’m on a stealing jag, Orvis has an excellent description of bonefish behavior:

Bonefish are usually found in intertidal flats, mangroves, and creeks, and they can tolerate the oxygen-poor water often found in the tropics by inhaling air into a lung-like bladder. Often congregating in schools of 100 or more, bonefish often follow a daily pattern of coming up onto the flats as the tide rises and retreating to deeper water as it falls. . . . Larger bonefish tend to travel in twos or threes, and the trophy specimens are solitary. Bonefish feed by digging through the sandy bottom to root up prey, which are crushed in the fish’s powerful pharyngeal teeth.

Phil Monahan, Fish Facts: Bonefish (Albula sp.), https://news.orvis.com/fly-fishing/fish-facts-bonefish-albula-sp

So like tarpon and gar, bonefish gulp air into a swim bladder, and like redfish they root along using their low-slung mouth to sift up prey.  Just like Mary Ann, they’re sitting by the seashore sifting sand. But Orvis’s description is about flats-frequenting bonefish, and it might better read “Bonefish are usually found [by fly fishers] in intertidal flats . . . ” The truth is that not all bonefish are flats-frequenting (though all are coastal). There are actually two common species of bonefish in Florida, the other species being A. goreensis, which live in channels and are also found around reefs in the Bahamas. A. goreensis is apparently not known as a flats fish, but as a fish that hangs out just a wee bit deeper.

Or maybe it’s A. garcia, not A. goreensis. O maybe A. garcia and goreensis are the same thing. This gets confusing.

Hawaii also has two species of bonefish too. One, A. glossodonta, the roundjaw bonefish is what fly fishers fish for on the Hawaiian flats. The other, A. virgata, has only been documented in Hawaii, nowhere else. Similar to the Caribbean’s A. goreensis, it generally shows up in deeper water. This is all very confusing, and it only gets worse when you start piling on the species and places. The truth is that for fish that dwell in the great big sea, bonefish don’t move around much. The furthest distance traveled by a tagged fish is 146 miles, so I guess populations, even among the same species, are pretty much distinct to particular places. That’s why folk can talk about the bonefish population at Campeche, which apparently used to be healthy, as being largely depleted. That population has to recover, no fish are likely to wander in while out on a spree, and unlike redfish or even salmon no one’s figured out how to reproduce quantities of bonefish in hatcheries.

Meanwhile bonefish aren’t particularly big for such a popular fish. The IGFA all-tackle A. vulpes record is 16 lbs caught at Bimini in 1971. The IGFA all-tackle record for the roundjaw bonefish is 10 lbs 4 oz., taken in Hawaii, and the all-tackle, all-bonefish record is for a 19 lb. smallscale bonefish (A. oligolepis) taken in South Africa in 1962.

I know plenty of people who’ve fished for bonefish in the Bahamas and Central America, but only one who’s fished in Hawaii: Gretchen at the local Orvis (who promised to show me how she ties those magnificent doubled Bimini twists). She was going to Oahu anyway, so she found a flat and went a-wading. I know she didn’t catch anything, and she may or may not have seen any bonefish, but I remember what she did see: she said she saw sharks. They were up on the flats sharing her fishing space. She said she saw sharks and it kind of freaked her out. I don’t know whether they were big sharks, they could have been great whites or moderate black tips or 300 pound tigers or any old thing, and I don’t recall if I asked what they were.  I remember this: she said she saw sharks with her on the flats. That part I remember. Sharks.

I have read that as a general matter only birds, sharks, barracudas, and Hawaiians make a habit of eating bonefish, and of those only the first three have had a real effect on bonefish evolution.  Bonefish can live as long as 20 years and grow as long as 30 inches. Fish in Hawaii average four to six pounds. For bonefish, an eight pound fish is a monster, though African fish may reach close to 20 pounds. The fish appear silver or grey in the water, and the bodies are slender lengthwise and rounded in cross-section. I don’t find them a particularly pretty fish out of the water. In the water, either tailing or ghosting, they are thrilling. 

And pound for pound they are about as powerful and fast as any fish in the ocean. They’re built, after all, to get away from barracuda and sharks. They’re skittish, particularly around my casting, but that’s ok. My casting scares me sometimes.

* * *

It’s winter here, or as close as it gets. We took the skiff out Sunday and saw one redfish at a distance. Kris saw it first, and we watched it’s back and tail come in and out of about a foot of water 150 feet from a spoil bank. Every time we tried to get close though it moved, until finally it was gone.

Notwithstanding the general fish sparseness the days are beautiful, with less humidity and clear water and clear skies. We didn’t see any other fish, but who cares? While I poled the skiff I got to watch a flock of roseate spoonbills (a pink of spoonbills?) huddled on the lee side of the grass against the bitter north wind. It must have been 50 degrees.

Take that Wisconsin.

James Michener

James Michener’s Hawaii is almost 1000 pages long. It’s longer, cover to cover, than the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, the Koran, and the Book of Mormon combined.  It’s longer than the complete novels of Anthony Trollope or Charles Dickens. It’s not just a doorstop of a novel, it’s a murder weapon: “Colonel Mustard, in the Library, with Hawaii.

If  you start looking for books about Hawaii, Michener’s Hawaii is still on every list.  It was his first mega-book, after having won a Pulitzer Prize for Tales of the South Pacific.  Hawaii is a saga, beginning geologically, preceding through Polynesian exploration, missionaries, sugar planters, dynastic overthrows, and World War II to statehood.  It came just in time for the re-creation of Hawaii as an airline vacation destination. There are The Hawaiians, The Whalers, The Missionaries. There are The Chinese. There are The Japanese.  Thank God we made Hawaii a state, otherwise the book might still be going. 

But early on, in 1959 when Michener published Hawaii, the well-researched sweeping drama was still something new. In the 60s it was a book everyone had read, highbrow to lowbrow. Did the genre exist before Michener? I suppose there were plenty of historical dramas, but no one wrote historical fiction like Michener, where the history itself is the very thing. Michener’s Hawaii has some characters, plenty of them, many of them memorable, but they’re there to move along the sweep of time, the Grand Theme, not for their own sakes. It’s amazing that Michener does as well with them as he does.

And nothing ever happens in Hawaii that’s not Significant.  Nobody hangs out and drinks beer around the pool, or drives to the grocery store. They hang out around the pool and plot the overthrow of the Hawaiian royalty. They drive to the grocery store and burn down half of Honolulu. A woman character appears, establishes her place in the grand family scheme, delivers a message to the hero-of-the-moment, and is then swept out to sea by a tsunami. It wasn’t like she needed to get swept out to sea by a tsunami, but I guess the tsunami was handy, so Michener sweeps her out to sea. Minor character. Minor incident. Time for Time to march on.

From what I can tell even if it’s not a great novel it’s not bad history, and there’s no cannibalism (though there is some human sacrifice). All in all I appreciate Michener’s attitudes towards All Those People. Michener was adopted by a Quaker, and there’s some Quaker benevolence in his attitudes. There is also a tendency in Michener to deal in racial tropes, but it has less to do I suspect with inherent prejudice than how Michener characters are used. They’re not so much portraits as game pieces, like tiles on an old board game, Stratego, Hawaiio.  When you flip them over they display their value: this red tile is worth 10 whaling ships, this blue tile 20 missionaries, this a Hawaiian queen, this a tsunami.  

Hawaii–the state, not the novel–doesn’t seem to have produced great fiction. There are a lot of very good histories, including a bit of a romp, Unfamiliar Fishes, by Sarah Vowell.  There’s James Jones’ From Here to Eternity, and some people like it, but I can’t get over the notion that the hero finds playing the bugle transcendent, or that someone who found playing the bugle transcendent would risk his embouchure boxing. Everything after those implausibilities is tainted.

It also has Hawaii Five-0 and Magnum P.I., both now in remakes, but doesn’t seem to have a significant fictional detective who lives in novels (unless Charlie Chan counts, and that’s its own set of problems). There’s no Dave Robicheaux, Travis McGee, Sam Spade, or V. I. Warshawski. There’s no Spenser. That surprises me. Hawaii seems ideal for that kind of stuff: it’s ripe for a beach novel detective.  Instead it’s got this really long book.