Rating: 
Summary: Crude Drivel
Review: This might be the worst book I ever read, and I read a great deal. I am absolutely astounded by the good reviews it has received. Unless you are in the entertainment business, it is just boring and [inappropriate]. The characters could be grade school children with not even that level of education, and there is nothing likeable about any of them. If I didn't know better, I would think the author had no vocabulary skills whatsoever, given the constant profanity and gutter humor. Perhaps a dictionary or thesaurus might make a good gift for him. Not one thought is fully developed, and the asides are terribly annoying. Mr. Bochco clearly wrote this for the benefit of his friends in the entertainment industry, but I'm beginning to wonder about all of them. Are they all that shallow and tacky? Breezy writing style? If that means flitting from one conversation to another with no segue except some flip and crude reference to sex or body parts, then it's breezy (the book is almost entirely dialogue, or the relaying of a conversation, with descriptions consisting only of cheap sex). I think my cat could write better. Don't waste your money on this truly pathetic attempt at a novel.
Rating: 
Summary: Disappointing from an NYPD-B fan
Review: Unfortunately, Bochco should stick to TV, where he RULES!
The writing is poor, and the plot was predictable. I got it because I absolutely love NYPD-Blu, a masterpiece
Rating: 
Summary: read it in a day...excellent
Review: What more can I say? The reviews below pretty much tell it like it is. A page-turner. Dialogue was off the chains. Great characters, Hollywood-style. And an excellent O.Henry-style ending. www.ericjeromedickey.com
Rating:
Summary: Dum de Dum Dum
Review: You know going back to when Hill Street Blues began most of us saw the salvation of the TV serial. It was powerful, sad, made you think, made you cry, moving, provocative. Excellent stuff. It was only to be surpassed by . . . NYPD Blue. Just fantastic TV. That show would finish and you would let out a big sigh, unaware that you had been holding your breath. Pushing the limits. And of course, the key was Steven Bochco. He was the genius behind those TV serials that rocked us and socked us and won Emmys galore. That's what he did and does. And what this book shows is that what he's NOT is an author. There's a gushy "I love you man" comment by Steven Cannell. Well I hope so. Cannell's probably thinking, "I'm still the only guy in Hollywood writing books that people read!" This book is a real letdown. The plot is a takeoff from Jimmy Stewart with a broken leg caused by photographing the end of the Indianaplois 500, recuperating, sitting by his . . . "Rear Window," watching the lives of other people. Kind of voyeuristic, but heck it was 1954. Besides Jimmy was always well shaven and presentable. And he had a Brooks Brothers bathrobe on over his cast. Enter Bobby Newman, who is by the very best accounts a self absorbed, drunk, self centered, nasty voyeur, playing with his telescope one night as he says 'just to see naked women' when, instead after a long and virtually pornographic sex act between two people, he sees a murder. And the plot goes on from there. Did I say plot? OK. A series of barely connected vingettes. Tiny scenes from who knows where. Every character is a comic book example of a promiscuous, foul mouthed, lying, trash talking, addicted to self abuse individual. There are no redeeming virtues in any of these characters. Each one, men and women alike, are emotional junkies. Even the cops whom you would think would have something of merit to offer since Bochco's heroes are detectives, are a huge letdown. The dialogue, what little there is of it, is stilted, one dimensional, and meaningless. The only character worthy of note is Jelko, Bobby's agent, and he comes across as an unbelievable good guy, father of the year and faithful husband. I guess he's Mr. Bochco. A big disappointment. Not worth the effort. Larry Scantlebury
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