Last posts here were a moment ago... busy, busy. This was written in half term break, October 2024.
This volume was bumped up the pile on the - as it turned out correct - assumption that relentless pulp action would be just the ticket for a brain reset.
Spillane was a master. Not having read any Mike Hammers before, I had a vague notion of plots and preoccupations, and was entirely hooked from the opening pages of I, The Jury onwards. Once started, that foot hit the pedal and it was easy to roar through all three books in about the same number of days.
These are the first of the Mike Hammer titles, and one gets a feel for the style quite quickly. Solipsistic and simple from the titles in, it's sex-and-death-wish fulfilment with the kicker that no one gets their wishes fulfilled adequately, least of all the first person who rages his way through the tales without a damn given.
One can correctly predict the deaths of most of the characters, mainly broads and hoods, by dint of the fact that literally everyone dies except Hammer, Pat Chambers (his NYPD foil) and Velda (the smokin' hot, also tough-as-lacquered-nails secretary).
Sex and violence, Spillane reasoned, were in combination irresistible, so, well, here you go. There are intriguing contextual ideas of post-war nihilism and self-abuse to consider, but these are not ideas explored in the texts so much as set on fire then stubbed drunkenly with angry fingers into ashtray shreds. It's as unsophisticated and cartoonish as a character called Mike Hammer would suggest. I lined up those triple shots and drank them down in greedy gulps.
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