"This is a story of spasmodic violence born of dissipation and desperation—a tonally austere piece of noir that calls to mind American paperback originals of the 1950s, as well as the stories of Charles Bukowski—with whom Hlasko might well have brushed elbows at one or other dive during his stint in Los Angeles. Readers who can imagine themselves sidling up to the two will certainly find something to like here."
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Boris Dralyuk in The Times Literary Supplement