Michael Collins was a Pseudonym of Dennis Lynds (1924–2005), a renowned author of mystery fiction. Raised in New York City, he earned a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart during World War II, before returning to New York to become a magazine editor. He published his first book, a war novel called Combat Soldier, in 1962, before moving to California to write for television.
Two years later Collins published the Edgar Award–winning Act of Fear (1967), which introduced his best-known character: the one-armed private detective Dan Fortune. The Fortune series would last for more than a dozen novels, spanning three decades, and is credited with marking a more politically aware era in private-eye fiction. Besides the Fortune novels, the incredibly prolific Collins wrote science fiction, literary fiction, and several other mystery series. He died in Santa Barbara in 2005.
Because he toiled in relative obscurity compared to his contemporaries, I don’t know much about Dennis Lynds’ (“Michael Collins”) evolution as a writer. Part of my disillusionment with the last few Dan Fortune novels, which sag in talent after an awesome start, is how Collins seemed to regress. Obviously, when you do a series for a long time, a rhythm develops and plots become familiar but my biggest issue was how Lynds reverted to lazy, familiar PI tropes that weren’t there in his earlier work.
I do know that Lynds spent the early part of his life in New York city before eventually setting in southern California. And I wonder if his experience intentionally comes through here. His last few Fortune books frequently took the protagonist out of the city and all across the country, losing the urbane feel they had in the beginning.
This one, thanks to his ex-lover Marty, plants him in Los Angeles County. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s the best Fortune book since his early series ones. By giving atmosphere to his story, Lynds allows his character to feel real, nuanced and not walking into random apartment rooms full of expository characters trying to draw out a shaky plot.
It helps too that while this mystery is layered like most of his are, the characters feel fully realized. Lynds does stick to this habit he has in other Fortune novels where the plight of an ethno-nationalist background is prevalent in the story, though it’s not revealed until the end. But the stakes feel real. Perhaps that’s because of Marty’s presence or maybe it’s the new setting but it felt refreshing to read this one after a series of duds.
I was kind of dragging along my responsibility to read these until my Kindle Unlimited subscription ran out. This is encouraging for the future.
This mystery tale has as little or as much in it as you want to discover. A timeless capture of human nature, positive and negative. I saw the deeper story at the end, perfect revelations for me on a night of real-life scary elections in a sad country of conflicting truths and madnesses. "The Slasher" is still a timely read now as when it first came out. Lynds truly outdid himself with this mystery that gives us more questions than answers. "How can people do such things to other people?", one character asks another here. An excellent question to be pondered, whether you consider this a simple mystery/escape, or a philosophical delve into human natures yesterday, today, tomorrow.
Another epic read. Dan Fortune a New York PI is hired by his ex girlfriend to solve the murder of a relative of her husband. The police and media are classifying it as another serial murder. In California, Los Angeles. Fortune has a long list of potential people to interview . Some of them extremely wealthy. Evasive and full of themselves. There's a l so a dark sinister element that he unravels which involves the CIA. A former Nazi of high value. Incredible twist and turns to the very last page! A fantastic read!!
Excesivamente descriptivo y confuso. Hay demasiados personajes y sus nombres son muy parecidos. Cuesta seguir el hilo de la historia con tantos escenarios y la estructura de los diálogos no ayuda. Me ha costado terminarlo para lo corto que era.