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

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

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