The Wire has other virtues. It shows how the police and the drug gangs do what they do — in this respect, it provides some of the pleasures John Le Carre did, when he wrote about what his readers learned to call the tradecraft of espionage. It also shows how and why both sets of actors generally fail.
Moreover The Wire has a tragic sense, and in ways more precise than the contemporary connotation of telling some very sad stories. It recounts the fall (within an updated and necessarily restricted social compass) of some people whom one can at least imagine as great men — or the closest a dying American inner city is likely to get to that unfashionable phrase.
It does not feel cynical, although it can be remarkably bleak. Its pessimism about American politics and policing — and journalism, and public policy — feels earned, and never cheap. It also tells immensely exciting stories, chronicling duels between gifted detectives and their sometimes extremely able adversaries, while never neglecting the much larger numbers of mediocrities, and for that matter idiots, on both sides.


















4:11 PM