The scene is Baltimore. Twice every three days another citizen is shot, stabbed, or bludgeoned to death. At the cente of this hurricane of crime is the city's homicide unit, a small brotherhood of men confronted by the darkest of American visions.
David Simon was the first reporter ever to gain unlimited access to a homicide unit, and his remarkable book is both a compelling account of casework and an investigation into our culture of violence. The narrative follows Donald Worden, a veteran investigator nearing the end of his career; Harry Edgerton, an iconoclastic black detective in a mostly white unit; and Tom Pellegrini, an earnest rookie who takes on the year's most difficult case, the brutal rape and murder of an eleven-year-old girl.
If I had known what this book was really like on the inside, it would never have languished in to-read limbo for all these years. It’s extraordinary. Especially the way Simon weaves and builds the story, trusting you to trust him that it will all make sense, instead of exposition-dumping all at once. He tells the story for the people that walked those halls and those streets. And it’s deeply, darkly funny. (At least, if you have a homicide detective’s sense of humor, which I apparently do.) I think that was the part that surprised me the most, the part I liked best. It’s comedy in the tragedy, tragedy in the comedy, the way life truly is. And:
As usual, poetic justice has no place here.
Reading updates
-
Started reading
-
10 April, 2016:
Finished reading
-
10 April, 2016:
Reviewed