What do You think about Vengeance Is Mine (2015)?
By 1950, when this book was published, Mickey Spillane had clearly been studying his craft, because "Vengeance Is Mine" was far better written than "I, the Jury." He was no Raymond Chandler (Who is?), but he had become a vastly improved Mickey Spillane. Mike Hammer had become more sophisticated as well, and even uses a French word. I liked the sharp observations of the Bowery and the Village, then the louche districts of New York, though why he had the Manhattan district attorney investigating a murder on Long Island I don't know.
—John Harney
I enjoyed this one more than I did the previous one. The story seemed a bit tighter and the preposterous circumstances of the core mystery worked a bit better then the last one. That said, as of this third outing the character of "Mike Hammer" has moved beyond "Tough Guy Detective" into a total psychopath that is completely fucked up emotionally with women issues. It's so over the top I imagine that many modern readers would be really turned off. There's frequent soliloquies on the pleasure to found in killing, I'd be surprised if it ever sat well with readers. Add in the big twist and there is a lot in here to offend the oh so sensitive reader of the 2010's.If you can look past the prejudices though, it is a pretty fun read, and a tight, fast paced avenging novel. I'm surprised no one has been trying to reboot the series for movies or TV.
—Russell Grant
I loved Mickey Spillane when I was in junior high, and so did a lot of my buddies. I remember my copy of Kiss Me Deadly was pretty dog-eared by the time it had made the rounds of my friends. That was hot stuff back in 1974. But I guess I've grown up too much and become too analytic. Mike Hammer takes more bodily abuse in one book than I did in a 20-year Army career, but manages to kiss several dames, kill some folks, and nab a killer. He does take a 48 hour nap, which struck me as an unwise thing to do when you've just had a concussion. I find it hard to believe though, with the number of frails/skirts/broads that he's squired around, that he can't spot a cross-dresser.
—Jeff Chase
