Block's masterpiece and the best of the Matt Scudder series. More than a mystery, it is a novel about men, about drinking, about talking, and about the city of New York. Imbued with the sepia tones of regret and what might have been, the narrative investigates the meaning of friendship and shows the dire consequences when ties are loosened by perfidy and deceit. Scudder's life is in shambles, his wife has left him, his two sons are estranged, his boozing is awesome.
Yet he tightens what integrity he has left about him and takes on two cases, one a gangland escapade, the other the murder of a rather pathetic woman. This is American writing at its finest, as taut as a hang-rope and as gut-wrenching as the consequent drop. If Block had written nothing except this he'd still be up there with the immortals.