OK, not so sure why this one hit me the way it did. But I always really, really try to finish any book I start. And the LA County library system has, about a year ago, stopped charging overdue fees. So I got a few “Hey, book is due! Just saying!” e-mails. (Bear in mind you automatically get 3 3-week check-outs, so 9 weeks.) But yesterday, I actually got a message that said, “Hey, if you lost it, just fess up and pay for the replacement, dude.” Yeah, but it’s actually right here. And I am reeeeeally trying to finish it. Which has got to tell you something.
Let me quote you from the back cover. “Richard Price is the greatest writer of dialogue, living or dead, this country has ever produced.” (so says Dennis Lehane) Well, yes, gotta say that the dialogue is legit good. Just like a good NCIS but it just keeps going on and on and on, and isn’t it time to be getting some more popcorn, and oh God is this thing ever going to end?
So three young guys stagger out of a bar on a night in the Lower East Side, very much worse for the wear, and one gets nailed by a random shooter. And there are red herrings and untrustworthy narrators, and detectives that are really seriously all over this mess, and family dysfunction galore. And good Lord, it took forever, but that just might be a product of these times, so maybe that’s all I’m going to say about that.
Rating is based on the feeling that it just might be me, not the book.