Ever since cyberpunk in the 1980s, science fiction has been only too ready to slap on the noir paint. Down these mean streets a man must walk, and if the streets are located (as here) in a half-deserted future New York where Times Square has been dirty-bombed and climate catastrophe has sunk the outskirts, then so much the meaner –and better. Adam Sternbergh's debut is as lean and muscular a noir thriller as I have read in a long while: swift, structured around a series of expertly timed twists and shocks, very hard to put down. The style is what used to be called "Chandleresque", before a generation started using that word to mean "quippy, like that character from Friends" – tough-guy brevity leavened with hard-edged wit. Dialogue predominates. Paragraphs are short. The violence is frequent and nasty.