49 pages • 1 hour read
Michael ConnellyA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The Black Echo is interested in how soldiers’ experiences during the Vietnam War bleed into postwar life in Southern California. Connelly addresses the topic on a psychological level through Bosch and a societal level when discussing the other veterans that Bosch meets in the novel.
Though the novel is set 20 years after the war, Bosch continues to suffer from symptoms of PTSD—nightmares, insomnia, and claustrophobia—as a result of his experience as a tunnel rat. He has clearly not processed the “rage” and “helplessness” that, according to him, everyone “touched by the war” knows (320). The psychological ramifications affect even the most unlikely aspects of his life; for example, he listens to jazz because rock and roll reminds him too much of the war, and he won’t eat Vietnamese food. At the same time, Bosch rejects psychological help; he embraces the anger and sadness because, for him, it “[is] better than complete emptiness” (320). The novel treats his decision to ignore the lasting effects of PTSD as the result of a culture of machismo: Bosch masters his terror of the tunnels in the end of the novel, jumping in to be a hero. At the same time, his refusal to get help is unfortunate because his life is dysfunctional outside of his detective work.
Bosch treats some Vietnam veterans—typically those who could not reintegrate into civilian life—with empathy as victims and survivors of tragedy. For example, his memory of enlisting—the feeling of being brave, frightened, and confused at the same time—connects him to the otherwise somewhat terrifying Meadows. Bosch is able to see past the man Meadows became to his younger self, looking at photographs of his unit with sadness for the “foolish” smiles and defiant poses of his fellow soldiers (34), who would see hell soon after. However, not every veteran earns Bosch’s sympathy. Men like Rourke, Tran, and Binh responded to the horrors of war by abusing their authority to enrich themselves with anger. Bosch does not see them as victims of terrible experiences in Vietnam. Though both sets of men returned home with the sense that moral laws are relative, for Bosch, power cancels out trauma.
Connelly emphasizes “how thin the line was” between law and crime for many returning veterans (199). Despite being a police officer, Bosch sees himself in Meadows, Franklin, and Delgado; much of the novel is driven by his sense that “something is owed” to them by society because of what they lived through (171).
The difference between seeking justice—an abstract ideal—or just doing rote police work is a pervasive theme throughout The Black Echo. It is a complex idea because Connelly portrays Los Angeles as a gray area where justice is often impossible.
For Bosch, the quest for justice can be an excuse from procedure and a call to break rules; he sees in his fellow police “too much going with the flow” (109). He explains to Wish that it is not worth connecting Sharkey with a social worker or arresting a man for statutory rape: Bureaucracy sabotages any chance that the kid would benefit or that the man would be punished. When he leaks information to Bremmer at the end of the novel, he knows that heads are not “going to bounce” because institutions like the LAPD and FBI are structured to protect themselves (387). As a crime reporter, Bremmer might have the power to put pressure on the LAPD, but Bosch knows that he won’t because Bremmer is also more concerned with his own job than with justice. For these reasons, it is easy to root for Bosch when he sidesteps the boundaries of his job, works the case when taken off it, or uses his savvy to illegally (but not harmfully) manipulate Sharkey as a witness.
In the novel, policing and justice are at odds. Wish quotes J. Edgar Hoover’s line that “justice is incidental to law and order” (321), meaning that to properly maintain social structure, sometimes justice must be sacrificed because the real work is maintaining the status quo without wasting resources on ideals. This cynical philosophy matches the thematic concerns of the hardboiled genre. Here, we see the sacrifice of justice in the fact that Binh and Tran go free; they have lost their diamonds, but they remain wealthy.
Bosch considers himself above the law. Connelly nicknames him “Harry” in part as a reference to “Dirty” Harry Callahan, a character played by Clint Eastwood and famous for overusing his firearm on the job. Bosch has a reputation for being a “one man army” after shooting an unarmed suspect in the Dollmaker case (43); after Sharkey is killed, Bosch seeks revenge rather than procedural accuracy. It is no wonder that Wish misreads Bosch’s willingness to go outside the lines as a tendency to vigilantism. One of the driving tensions in The Black Echo is whether Bosch intentionally executed the Dollmaker and thus whether Bosch would forgive Wish’s vengeful actions as “justice” for her brother (320). In the end, however, Bosch reveals that he did follow police procedure with the Dollmaker and that he considers vigilantism to be criminal.
When Irving reviews Bosch’s file early in the novel, he reflects that “outsiders [do] not work well inside the system” (84). Bosch hates Internal Affairs because “they don’t like anybody who’s not a hundred percent part of the family” (202). Because Bosch follows his own rules, doesn’t respect his superiors, and prioritizes solving cases to upholding the LAPD image, his superiors are eager to get rid of him—he is clearly a liability to the department’s thin blue line. That is why Bosch gets demoted and why the force doesn’t value one of its best detectives. At the end of The Black Echo, Irving summarizes Bosch’s relationship to the LAPD. While he is a good detective, he is not a good police officer: “You refuse to be part of the Family. And that’s not good” (364). The word choice is important here: The use of the word “family” connects the tight-knit loyalty of the LAPD to the mafia, famously known as a set of similarly insular crime families.
Irving claims that he will protect the department at all costs, even if that means hiding things from the public. Throughout the novel, Connelly portrays the LAPD as a department more concerned with their accolades or not making mistakes than doing the job. But Connelly saves his harshest criticism for Internal Affairs. Irving and the IAD are supposed to be the most morally incorruptible piece of the LAPD, punishing law enforcement officers who break the law and making sure only the best cops remain. However, instead, the IAD abuses its power to pursue Irving’s personal agendas, operating without supervision or oversight solely for the purpose of self-preservation at all costs.
The Black Echo was published in the same year that four LAPD officers were found not guilty for the beating of Rodney King—a vicious abuse of power that earned broad public condemnation of the department and sparked intense protests in the streets. Connelly’s criticism of the department comes across as particularly pointed and timely. In his version of the LAPD, by design, any police officers who care more about justice than the department—like Bosch—are systematically routed in favor of less competent, less invested clock punchers.
By Michael Connelly
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