Review: Don Winslow's The Force is a testosterone-fuelled rampage into the filthiest version of New York readers will ever encounter

corrupt cop. dead drug dealer. cache of heroin. city on fire. rash of hard-boiled staccato sentences written. Just. This. If any of those elements sound appealing, then you should immediately pick up a copy of The Force , Don Winslow’s testosterone-fuelled rampage into the filthiest of New York you will ever encounter, save a time-machine trip back to 42nd Street circa 1977. Junkies, gangsters, killers and crooks – they all mingle merrily in Winslow’s vision of the Big Apple, rotten to the core but enough to take a bite of all the . It’s nostalgia crossed with nausea and delivered with such a furious blast of intimacy – this is Winslow’s city, not , and if you think you know it better then him, you can go to hell – that it cannot help but suck in even the jaded crime . Take this passage from The Force ’s pages, where Winslow makes messy relationship with the city or at least vision of a 21st-century New York, abundantly clear: “A strong wind finds its way through every crack, into the stairwells, the tenement heroin mills, the […]

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