Review: 'Black Dahlia: Murder, Monsters, and Madness in Midcentury Hollywood' by William J. Mann

Disclosure: I received a free advance review copy from the publisher. This post also contains Amazon affiliate links [*].

I found myself plunging into a maelstrom of thoughts that kept me awake for days, questioning my own grip on sanity while reading William J. Mann's riveting nonfiction release, Black Dahlia: Murder, Monsters, and Madness in Midcentury Hollywood ^[*]. I lost track of time, crossing the threshold of late-night hours, a period traditionally reserved for the likes of vampires, witches, and serial killers. Even when I finally set the book down and placed a trusty bookmark to mark my place, sleep eluded me. My mind raced back to Elizabeth Short, known to the world as the Black Dahlia. I found myself time-traveling to January 1947, imagining the last moments of her life as she stepped out of the Biltmore Hotel. Where had she gone? Who had she encountered? What secrets lay buried in the six days before her lifeless body was discovered on the morning of January 15, 1947, cruelly severed at the waist, drained of blood, and left in a vacant lot in Leimert Park, Los Angeles, her mouth twisted into an eerie Glasgow smile? The identity of her killer or killers remains a haunting enigma after nearly eight decades, their anonymity a cruel twist in a tragic tale. Many have claimed to unravel the mystery—detectives, amateur sleuths, and researchers peddling the thrill of their theories for a quick profit. Yet I refuse to buy into the claims tying the Zodiac Killer or George Hodel to her tragic demise. What we have here is an unsolved murder, and the darkness it casts lingers still to this day.

Elizabeth Short has been unjustly painted as nothing more than a wayward wannabe actress or a wandering prostitute—a stereotypical femme fatale in a film noir flick deserving of her fate. Mann shatters these misconceptions with his extensive research, revealing her as a spirited young woman of curiosity and resolve, daring to push against the confines of a postwar society that expected women to settle down, marry, and raise children. It’s high time we reexamine the woman beneath the Black Dahlia moniker. Through a modern lens, Mann intricately weaves Short’s narrative into the fabric of a nation grappling with shifting ideals, demographics, and the ghosts of old fears masquerading as new ones. Only by situating her story in this tumultuous landscape can we grasp the tragedy of her existence.

Mann harbors strong convictions about who may have taken her life, and even stronger opinions on those who surely did not—a stance with which I find myself at odds. His five-year odyssey through evidence uncovers connections previously obscured by time and sensationalism. He meticulously cross-references police reports, District Attorney investigations, FBI files, court documents, and military records, employing the great investigative skills that have become his hallmark. Conversations with the families of the original detectives, Short’s friends, and even alleged suspects add layers of depth to his narrative, bolstered by insights from seasoned physicians and homicide detectives.

In Black Dahlia, Mann expertly navigates the fog of catchpenny journalism, preconceived notions, and misconceptions that have clouded Elizabeth Short’s story for decades. While other authors, like Eli Frankel with his recent Sisters in Death: The Black Dahlia, the Prairie Heiress, and Their Hunter ^[*], have made similar claims—his book waiting on my Kindle for my eager attention—there remains a unique power in Mann's approach. He redirects our gaze from the lurid headlines to the woman who once lived, a wanderer adept at swindling meals or cash without necessarily resorting to sexual favors—an act seldom stemmed by her trust issues rooted in paternal abandonment and a troubling health condition. More than the Black Dahlia, she was—and will always be—Elizabeth Short, a complex human being deserving of justice. Perhaps Mann’s detailed investigations will one day shine a light on the mystery. Until then, we’re left haunted by unanswered questions.

I wouldn’t call myself a Black Dahlia expert or even a groupie—yes, those exist, and it’s both strange and unsettling. Over the years, I’ve stumbled upon a handful of documentaries and tackled James Ellroy’s crime fiction novel, along with its utterly horrendous film adaptation. I hate to admit it, but I’ve also seen those gruesome crime scene and autopsy photos. They’re alarmingly easy to find online, but take my word for it: don’t venture down that dark rabbit hole. Some images are nearly impossible to erase from your mind; they’ve haunted me for years.

Though numerous books chronicling the Black Dahlia case exist, this is the first nonfiction book I’ve dared to read. William J. Mann is a remarkable author, and his meticulous research sheds light on who Elizabeth Short truly was. The narrative primarily focuses on her life, tracing her footsteps right up until those final six enigmatic days that continue to baffle us. Mann dispels the numerous myths that have clouded her story. No, she wasn’t a desperate actress intertwined with the mob; she wasn’t a prostitute or a lesbian.

He delves into the detective work of the time, providing a thorough examination of their investigation, which was actually quite commendable for the 1940s. Still, it became derailed, particularly after the Gangster Squad took over and Dr. J. Paul de River unleashed his wild theories, effectively wasting a year of precious time. Mann meticulously outlines the prime suspects, hinting at his suspicions in one direction, but I find myself in disagreement. There’s simply not enough concrete evidence to point the finger with certainty. Like many, I have my own suspects swirling in my mind, though I’m well aware I could be way off the mark.

All in all, I was utterly engrossed by Black Dahlia: Murder, Monsters, and Madness in Midcentury Hollywood ^[*] from start to finish. The book is brimming with detailed facts about Elizabeth Short, the murder itself, potential suspects, and the intricacies of 1940s culture. While some readers might find the last aspect a bit tedious, I can honestly say I was never bored—not for a single second. I relished every page, immersing myself in each fact. If you’re a true crime aficionado, I can’t recommend this book enough. ╌★★★★★

⁓B.J. Burgess