A Long Time Dead by Mickey Spillane and Max Allan Collins

Published by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Media on September 6, 2016

A Long Time Dead is a collection of Mike Hammer stories written by Max Allen Collins, who took over the franchise after Mickey Spillane’s death. According to Collins, they are based on partial manuscripts that Spillane left unfinished. Whether "partial manuscripts" consists of more than a paragraph isn't clear. In the end, it doesn't matter.

The Hammer that appears in these stories is an older and slightly modernized version of the Hammer who was so popular in the 1950s. He isn’t exactly a feminist, but he is less likely to refer to women as “broads” (not as often, anyway) and he makes a point, in every story, of mentioning that Velda is not just a secretary/lover, but a licensed investigator who carries a gun. Of course, Hammer still has her making the coffee and he still calls women “doll” and “honey,” but he’s making progress. Sort of. But really, would you want Mike Hammer to change?

Here’s what you get:

“The Big Switch” - An innocent man on death row asks Hammer for help. A quick investigation gives Hammer all the reason he needs to have a serious chat with the governor.

“Fallout” - A killer who is after Hammer kills a lobby guard instead. Hammer takes offense. Add a dead hooker to the story and Hammer has plenty of reasons to deliver vengeance. The story is most interesting, however, for Hammer’s unsettled relationship with his police detective buddy Pat Chambers.

“A Long Time Dead” - Hammer watched Kratch as he was electrocuted. So what is Kratch doing checking into a hotel? Leave it to Hammer to find the answer.

“Grave Matter” - Hammer’s old buddy met his death in a town called Hopeful. Hammer wants to know why. The answer is more far-fetched than is common in a Hammer story.

“So Long, Chief” - Hammer does a favor for the dying police chief who steered Hammer away from the dark side when Hammer was just a kid. This is my favorite story in the collection.

“A Dangerous Cat” - Someone is trying to kill Hammer (again). It doesn’t take long before Hammer comes face-to-face with his would-be killer.

“It’s in the Book” - A mob boss has been making entries in a book for years. When he dies, everyone wants the book. It’s up to Hammer to find it and decide what to do about its contents. I like the clever ending.

“Skin” - When Hammer comes across the remains of a woman’s body next to the hand of a missing Broadway producer, he proves himself (again) to be a more capable investigator than the police (in part, by following the path that leads to the body, something that apparently never occurred to the cops). This story, less credible than the others, seems like Mike Hammer starring in an early Steven King story.

All of the stories are entertaining, and they all channel Mickey Spillane’s hardboiled style. Mike Hammer fans, and hardboiled mystery fans, should enjoy the collection.

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The Obama White House and the Supreme Court by Jeffrey Toobin

Tzer Island does not usually review essays, not does it usually publish reviews on Tuesdays. Having accepted the opporunity to read some essays published in the Vintage Short series, however, I've decided to review them this week and next on Tuesday and Thursay. Vintage Shorts are available in digital format for about a buck.

Published by Vintage on October 4, 2016

I like Jeffrey Toobin, but The Obama White House and the Supreme Court is an odd essay. The essay consists of excerpts from Toobin’s book The Oath, which shares its subtitle with the name of this essay. Unfortunately, the essay has almost nothing to do with its title.

Toobin’s essay begins with a description of the legal hand-wringing that took place after Chief Justice Roberts bungled the oath of office when he swore in Obama. Toobin provides a mini-biography of Roberts and notes ways in which Roberts and Obama are similar and different. That’s followed by a brief portrait of Obama as a community organizer and as a Harvard law student who was elected to the top position at Harvard Law Review.

Next comes a discussion of Obama’s view that politicians rather than courts are better positioned to advance the rights of disadvantaged Americans, a point of view that shaped his decision to go into politics in addition to teaching law and working at a civil rights law firm. Near the end, we hear about the Supreme Court’s evolving views on the Second Amendment and Obama’s evolving view on gun control as he moved from being a state senator to a United States senator. Then the essay ends.

All of this is interesting, but the essay has a piecemeal feel. The disparate components are never integrated into a larger whole. Presumably Toobin provides that integration in The Oath, but when the book was chopped into an essay, no effort was made to find a central theme that would bind the essay’s parts together. And apart from a late reference to gun control and an early discussion of Roberts that has little to do with his work on the Supreme Court, the essay tells us almost nothing about the Obama White House and the Supreme Court. That seems strange, given the essay’s title.

Toobin’s prose is always clear and lively, so the essay makes for easy reading. It also makes for informative reading, but it doesn’t make for purposeful reading, given the absence of a unifying theme. I guess the essay might be meant as a teaser to encourage readers to buy the book, but readers who are interested in the subject matter suggested by the title would be better served by skipping the essay altogether.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Words on the Move by John McWhorter

Published by Henry Holt and Co. on September 6, 2016

John McWhorter is spot on when he says that people don’t like the fact that language changes. I’m one of them. We learn the meaning or pronunciation of a word, or rules of grammar, and we don’t want to concede that what we know to be “wrong” has suddenly become right, or at least acceptable. I grind my teeth when I hear someone using impact as a verb, but I have come to accept that people are going to do so whether I like it or not.

As irksome as the truth might be (“Novelty is unsettling,” the book tells us), McWhorter is right: language is mutable. A living language will inevitably acquire new words, change the meaning of old ones, and turn the rules of grammar upside down. I remind myself of that every time I hear someone complain about alleged faults in word usage or grammar (quite a few of those complaints are aired in nasty comments to Amazon reviews). If you think (as I do) that people frequently and persistently misuse the word “literally,” that’s because you have not (as I have not) accepted that the meaning of “literally” has changed. McWhorter tells us that we just need to deal with it. Sadly enough, he’s right.

As cranky as I can get about unsettling changes in the meaning of words, I fully support McWhorter’s mission, which is to make readers understand that the meaning of a word is determined by how people are using it right now, not by dictionary definitions. It takes dictionaries some time to catch up. Dictionaries like American Heritage, where panels of “experts” decide what a word means, strike me as trying to impose authoritarian order on the democratic, or possibly anarchic, evolution of language.

I totally make fun of the way younger people use the word totally, but language belongs to the young as much as it is the domain of stuffy old farts like me. McWhorter explains that totally now implies fellowship or shared sentiment, so “what looks like slackjawed devolution actually contains a degree of sophistication.” He also explains that words of acknowledgement, including totally, are among the most likely to change.

Sometimes changes in language are eminently sensible. Other than high school English teachers, who really cares if a writer splits an infinitive or ends a sentence with a preposition? Good writers have always known that some rules are made to be broken, at least when breaking them makes sentences easier to read. As McWhorter also recognizes, that doesn’t mean rules should not be taught (even rules that serve no real purpose), but the world doesn’t come to an end when a rule is so commonly broken that it dissolves into dust.

A chapter on grammar struck me as less interesting than other chapters, simply because indefinite articles and other words of grammar are less interesting than nouns and verbs. A chapter on pronunciation is a little too wonkish, but parts of that chapter are illuminating. Most readers are familiar with the vowel shift, but McWhortle explains how vowels are still shifting (something we might perceive as regional accents). Does any word have a proper pronunciation? Since the word will probably be pronounced differently a couple of hundred years from now, fretting about what’s “proper” seems pointless to people who are not social strivers or using pronunciation to signal their place in society.

More entertaining is a chapter that explains how new words come into existence. Some are obvious (camera + recorder = camcorder), others not so much (flash + gush = flush). It’s also possible to make new words by changing the accented syllable (e.g., the transition of “suspect” from verb to noun). The last chapter explains why younger people obsessively use the word like and why older people, anal tendencies notwithstanding, should resign themselves to the evolutionary nature of language.

McWhorter writes in a lively, amusing, energetic style, eschewing jargon or explaining it when he needs to discuss the finer points of linguistics. He introduces his personality into every chapter, making even dull material engaging. His wide-ranging discussion touches on Black English, emoticons, and a variety of other subjects. He explains the evolution of scores of words, many drawn from Shakespeare, and then explains why Shakespeare’s plays are so difficult for a modern reader to understand (at last, it’s okay to admit that you’re often baffled by Shakespeare’s meaning). Any fan of words, including stuffy curmudgeons, should find Words on the Move to be educational and amusing.

RECOMMENDED

War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells

First published in 1898

One of the characters in War of the Worlds talks about how people live their lives in fear. They buy insurance because they fear catastrophe. They work at jobs they hate because they fear a loss of security. They scurry home and stay indoors because they are afraid of the dark. On Sundays they fear the hereafter. They want only “safety in their one little miserable skedaddle through the world.” Now they have something real to fear -- Martians. Even after the invasion, some will be happy to be caught and caged, because to “submit to persecution and the will of the Lord” is easy, and what people really fear is thinking for themselves.

I think that little speech by a soldier in the second part of War of the Worlds highlights one of the novel’s best themes. You’re either content to be a rabbit in a cage or you have the will to take risks. The soldier thinks that most people can’t be saved from the Martians but most aren’t worth saving. Knowledge and ideas are worth saving, the sum of human accomplishment. With time and rescued knowledge, humankind will be able to fight the Martians (or so the soldier hopes), to stage a comeback after a devastating defeat. But is that realistic or is it folly? The book’s narrator calls the soldier a “strange undisciplined dreamer of great things,” but perhaps those are the people we should strive to be in time of crisis.

Focused myopically on their own lives, early twentieth century humans failed to appreciate that Martians might exist or that humans might have something Martians would desire: a healthy planet. Mars and the life it sustains are coming to an end. The Martians want Earth.

The narrator of War of the Worlds is curious when a cylindrical object crashes near his home. He’s still curious when the top unscrews and creatures with tentacles scramble into the crater that was created by their crashing vessel. He’s vexed when the creatures assemble a heat ray that systematically sets trees, buildings, and people on fire. Fortunately, the sweep of the heat ray is not extensive (hiding behind the nearest hill provides adequate protection) so the narrator assumes the military will make short work of the Martians. That assumption gives way to panic when more cylinders fall and mechanized tripods begin to wander about, deploying heat rays and poisonous black clouds to wipe out cities and their defenses.

As you probably know, the Martians kick human butt for most of the novel. War of the Worlds is about badly behaving Martians, but it is also about badly behaving humans. Running from the Martians, people trample each other, throw each other from escaping boats, take advantage of weakness, and generally put their own lives above everyone else’s. The narrator’s brother is an exception, and there are a few others, including the soldier mentioned at the beginning of this review, but Wells’ view of mankind as a whole is rather dim. The epilogue, on the other hand, suggests an optimistic vision of the future.

Most people who have not read The War of the Worlds probably know how it ends, but I won’t spoil it for those who don’t. I will say only that the ending is a testament not only to Wells’ vivid imagination, but to his understanding that human beings (and even Martians) are not necessarily the most powerful entities in this vast universe. It is only hubris that makes us (or Martians) believe we thrive and survive because we are superior. Wells makes clear that humility always defeats hubris. That is the other timeless theme that makes The War of the Worlds an enduring contribution to the history of literature.

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The Hanging Club by Tony Parsons

First published in the U.K. in 2016; published by Minotaur Books on November 1, 2016

“What’s wrong with a bit of revenge?” asks a curator at the Crime Museum who keeps track of the ropes that were used to hang shoplifters and more nefarious criminals before England did away with capital punishment. That’s also the question on the minds of Londoners as they watch bad guys being executed on YouTube.

In the prologue to The Hanging Club, a small group of men execute (by hanging) a Pakistani taxi driver who just finished a relatively light sentence for his role in a gang that sexually assaulted young girls. A video of the hanging, accompanied by the hashtag #bringitback, goes viral. A good share of London’s population believes that the cab driver had it coming.

DC Max Wolfe, who has a little girl of his own, is assigned to investigate the hanging. He’s soon investigating additional hangings, some of the victims less obviously deserving of public outrage — although it doesn’t take much to stir outrage, even in stoic England.

The theme of retribution also shows up in a couple of collateral plotlines. One involves a man who was beaten to death by two young men as a third recorded the crime on his phone. The assailants receive an improbably short sentence (hence the desire for retribution). The other involves a police detective whose son was blinded by thugs. Both plot threads seem forced — contrivances that advance the plot rather than realistic events.

Another subplot involves Wolfe’s childhood BFF who is now living on the street. The reader is asked to decide whether the friend is a good guy or a bad guy, or a mixture of both. That subplot is also a bit forced, but it serves to personalize the retribution theme for Wolfe. A final subplot involving Wolfe’s attraction to a deaf specialist in voice analysis adds moderate interest to the story.

Vigilantism is often the product of fear. Unfortunately, fear and vigilantism both destroy the bonds that hold a civilized society together. “It was as if nobody could be trusted any more, as if the world had gone insane, as if you never knew who might want to dance on your grave.” Those thoughts are in Wolfe's head as London anti-terrorist police refuse to take their boots off the back of his neck, even after he has identified himself as a Detective Constable, because they fear he might be a terrorist.

The world of thrillers makes heroes of vigilantes, but too few thrillers spotlight the hypocrisy of people who think murder is justifiable if murders are committed for the right reasons. The story invites readers to consider whether private retribution is acceptable when vigilantes are dissatisfied with the punishment imposed by the criminal justice system. A shocking number of people seem to believe that trials and due process are “politically correct” values that shouldn't apply to people they categorically dislike. Defenders of vigilantism used to form lynch mobs. How much progress society has made (British or American) is a question the book invites readers to ponder.

I’m not sure The Hanging Club tackles these issues with much depth, but it does explore both sides by demonstrating that the rule of law is what saves society from anarchy, while acknowledging that people become understandably frustrated when they feel that the rule of law has let them down. The story gives readers the chance to make up their own mind about whether lynch mobs have anything to do with justice. It also allows readers to appreciate the conflict that Wolfe feels as he upholds the law in the face of angry people who think he’s on the wrong side when he pursues vigilantes.

Apart from its interesting development of a timely social issue and a multifaceted protagonist, The Hanging Club delivers an entertaining action story that is peppered with intriguing conflict among key characters. The ending contains a nice surprise. This isn’t an “edge of my seat” thriller, but it’s worth reading both as an engaging story and as a novel that makes readers think about important questions.

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