Power of the Dog by Don Winslow: A review

The "War on Drugs" declared in the late 1970s has been a notably ugly, dirty, and ultimately unsuccessful war. The warriors themselves have all too often been compromised and dirty. Don Winslow introduces us to some of them in this work of fiction that reads as if it is torn from today's headlines. He shows us characters on both sides of the battle, all of them flawed even as they often also have their more humane side.

Art Keller is a hard-charging DEA agent working in Mexico when we first meet him. He is fully invested in fighting this war and in destroying the supply chain of drugs that are flowing into the United States and causing untold misery. He is willing to fight dirty if that's what it takes to bring about the desired end.

Early in his career, as he is trying to find a way "in" to the drug culture, Keller meets Adan and Raul Barerra. They are nephews to Miguel (known as Tio) who is the current head of the crime family that is sending the drugs across the border. Soon Adan will become the head of the family with Raul as the merciless enforcer.

Back in New York, we meet several mafioso types, including the Piccone brothers, "Big Peaches" and "Little Peaches" and an Irish kid from Hell's Kitchen named Sean Callan who will become a stone-cold hitman. The two Peaches are eager to get a slice of the Mexican drug pie.

There is Ramos who may be the last honest and unbribable cop in Mexico and who is a powerful ally of Art Keller in his crusade.

Then there is Nora Hayden, a high-scaled prostitute who eventually becomes entangled with the Barerra family.

And finally, we meet Juan Parada - Father Parada, a much-loved Catholic priest who proves incorruptible and a powerful enemy of the drug families.

Winslow's book takes us on a 542-page epic journey through the years of the War on Drugs from 1975 to 2004. It is a notably violent journey with uncounted innocent victims as collateral damage. The writer did not soft-petal the violence at all and that at times made the narrative very hard to read for those of us of a squeamish nature.

At the same time, Winslow shows us all sides of his characters and we learn that even some of the worst of them have their softer moments. It is hard to reconcile any softness with the brutal, murderous cruelties that are so much a part of their actions.

For readers who require action in order to maintain their interest in a book, Don Winslow is your guy. His book is essentially a series of set pieces of incredible action. To mention only a few, there are raids by agents, street shootouts between various factions in the drug trade, the 1984 Mexico City earthquake, various mob hits, and the constant tension of planning the battles as Keller and his allies try to take down the Barerras and interdict the flow of drugs. It makes for propulsive reading of a book that is very hard to put down. The writer keeps us on the edge of our seats right up until the very end.

This was my first experience of Don Winslow and I was very impressed. This, I understand, was the first book of three in this series. I'll definitely be reading the other two. At the end of this one, I could only agree with this sentiment expressed by Art Keller:

“Art can’t decide whether the War on Drugs is an obscene absurdity or an absurd obscenity. In either case, it’s a tragic, bloody farce.”

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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