The New Yorker: "But what makes his work haunting is his extraordinary ability to convey the tastes and smells of Marseilles, and the way memory and obligation dog every step his hero takes."

In the second volume of Izzo’s Marseilles trilogy, Fabio Montale, an introspective ex-cop with a placid life based on cronies, aperitifs, and a little fishing, is yanked back into his city’s politically charged underworld. On one single sunny day, a beautiful cousin whom he hasn’t seen in years enlists his help to find her son, a wayward teen-ager, and an old friend is gunned down in front of him on the street. Izzo, who died in 2000, is more than adept at noir conventions—gritty light, sudden switches of scene, the pervasive rot of cynicism, which sullies even the best intentions. But what makes his work haunting is his extraordinary ability to convey the tastes and smells of Marseilles, and the way memory and obligation dog every step his hero takes.