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He went from writing comic books to writing, as you know, the most popular detective novels of his day. The thin thrillers were packed with macho bravado, fast fists, the direct sex championed by his indelicately named hero, Mike Hammer. Well, at least Mickey had the discretion to refrain from giving him the possible middle name of Sledge. Apparently, Spillane did not spend much time in the reals of philosophy or other heady contemplation. The relative vacuousness allowed him to evade a sophisticated viewpoint and include all the hateful mayhem and loveless sex he could hammer into his tiny tomes. Later in life, searching perhaps for redemption from his wayward writings, he became a Jehovahs Witness and actually used part of the money he amassed to fund building projects for the Biblically intent group. Well, at least, the Micks where the critics, who never did anything but take shots at him, cant get at him anymore. He has folded up his misgivings and taken his eternal exit. Mickey Spillane has been pounded for the last time. |
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