In late August, I reviewed an advance copy of Joseph Hirsch’s novel My Tired Shadow right here:
There’s little to like about Ritchie “Redrum” Abruzzi, the protagonist of Joseph Hirsch’s My Tired Shadow. A former pro boxer, Ritchie’s also a bully, a thief, and a shit who makes his money by doing the only thing he’s half-way good at: beating people to a bloody smear with his fists. So no, I don’t like him at all.
But damn it, I do love him. How can I not? He’s me. Or, rather, he’s the part of me who yearns for greatness but gets in his own way every time. He’s smart enough to know what he’s capable of, but not strong enough to overcome his own weaknesses. His needs. His anger. Forged in the blood and sweat and spit of the boxing ring, Ritchie’s both the gold and the dross, and that’s what makes him such an unforgettable figure in a fast-reading novel that’ll leave you gasping like a fighter who’s just taken a shot to the liver.