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31 of 34 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
The Closers, Michael Connelly, 18 Mar 2005
After a 3 year hiatus, Harry Bosch is back with the LAPD, largely thanks to his ex-partner Kizmin Rider. Now they're back working together, in the Open-Unsolved department of homicide, hoping to apply new techniques to old, near-forgotten cases in order to catch perpetrators who have so far escaped the reach of justice. The first case they're dealt is the unsolved, 17-year-old murder of teenager Becky Verloren, taken from her bed and shot dead in the hills above her home. It's a case, with uncomfortable political and racial undercurrents, that sees Harry Bosch back in his element, and Connelly writing close to the top of his game. Let's face it: Bosch is always at his best when he's getting down and dirty righting wrongs, fighting for justice for those who can no longer get it for themselves. He is, unfailingly, at his best in the thick of a case, usually one that has lain cold for a long time. Connelly is at his best, too, with these kinds of cases, and he is even more able to render the keen and sharp sting of injustice when it's a state of affairs that has stood for a long time. He's at his best when race is an issue, too, even a tangential one as here. The Closers is near his best, then? Without a doubt, in my opinion. While The Narrows was a great thriller, it wasn't really such a great detective novel. Seems that way a year later, anyway. Looking back, the impression is that it went very fast, seemed to be over almost too quickly. Enjoyable and high-class fiction, indeed, a thrilling thriller indeed also, but lacking that vital something which makes a good Bosch novel a great one, which this new one is. Back in LA, back in Homicide, Harry is where he really belongs, and you feel it. Harry seems wonderfully at home, less restless, more content than he's been in a while, and you're only able to feel glad about it. His new boss isn't out to get him, either, which is a refreshing change: there's a great potential new relationship here that could prove fertile ground in future novels. With Harry back where he belongs, Connelly's able to do what he's always been so good at: atomise Los Angeles, a city where, despite its name, no one seems to be entirely innocent, and a city full of contrasts: "It was a city full of haves and have nots, movie stars and extras, drivers and the driven, predators and pre. The fat and the hungry and little room in between. A city that despite all of that would still have them lining up and waiting every day behind the bomb barricades to get in." Like its real-life counterpart, Connelly's L.A. has a fascinating, hypnotic pull that keeps me coming back, glad to be there every time. Though the plot threatens to drag for a little while in the middle, largely due to lack of progress on the case (and thus in the book), in the end the whole thing pays off as satisfyingly (hugely so) as the first pages would suggest, with a truly excellent close. Another huge success, complete with a couple of deep punches to the gut.
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