Seven years ago a series of articles began in the New Yorker thatsoon set readers to marveling. "Cop's Diary" was by a streetpatrolman about his labors in some of the worst neighborhoods of theSouth Bronx, and they not only described in high relief a fiercepersonal war against crime but also showed extraordinary sensitivityand introspection. Most of all, they were literate and literary,their prose burnished to an eloquent sheen. The writer used the nomde plume "Marcus Laffey."
His real name is Edward Conlon, and he has now given us a massive562-page memoir that is an extended essay on the cop's life, BlueBlood (Riverhead, $28.95). It is an astonishing book, full …
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