David Simon

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David Simon


Born
Washington DC, The United States
Genre


David Simon is a journalist and writer best known for his nonfiction book Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets and its television dramatization Homicide: Life on the Street, which David Simon also produced and wrote for.

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the GoodReads database with this name. See this thread for more information.
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David Simon isn't a Goodreads Author (yet), but they do have a blog, so here are some recent posts imported from their feed.

Die Of Boils, Mr. Sparky Car.

Leaving this up for a week as a pinned tweet before locking the account. It’s been a lovely little war, folks, and some good fun was had,  But until this platform gets better and more honorable management, fuck it, no.            D.S. A long decade ago, my assistant, a millennial of course, explained to me that there […]
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Published on November 14, 2022 12:02
Average rating: 4.35 · 25,513 ratings · 1,917 reviews · 91 distinct worksSimilar authors
Homicide: A Year on the Kil...

4.35 avg rating — 18,059 ratings — published 1991 — 40 editions
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The Corner: A Year in the L...

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4.44 avg rating — 6,070 ratings — published 1997 — 2 editions
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The Wire: A Dramatic Series...

4.63 avg rating — 24 ratings
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Easy money : La première en...

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3.89 avg rating — 19 ratings2 editions
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Why do I Look Like Shelley ...

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Psalmatic Haggadah

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ελεύθερος να αγαπήσεις, ελε...

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating
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How to Unlock Your Genius U...

it was amazing 5.00 avg rating — 1 rating3 editions
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Key Thinkers on Development

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Bad Golf

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More books by David Simon…
Quotes by David Simon  (?)
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“My standard for verisimilitude is simple and I came to it when I started to write prose narrative: fuck the average reader. I was always told to write for the average reader in my newspaper life. The average reader, as they meant it, was some suburban white subscriber with two-point-whatever kids and three-point-whatever cars and a dog and a cat and lawn furniture. He knows nothing and he needs everything explained to him right away, so that exposition becomes this incredible, story-killing burden. Fuck him. Fuck him to hell.”
David Simon

“That's the myth of it, the required lie that allows us to render our judgments. Parasites, criminals, dope fiends, dope peddlers, whores--when we can ride past them at Fayette and Monroe, car doors locked, our field of vision cautiously restricted to the road ahead, then the long journey into darkness is underway. Pale-skinned hillbillies and hard-faced yos, toothless white trash and gold-front gangsters--when we can glide on and feel only fear, we're well on the way. And if, after a time, we can glimpse the spectacle of the corner and manage nothing beyond loathing and contempt, then we've arrived at last at that naked place where a man finally sees the sense in stretching razor wire and building barracks and directing cattle cars into the compound.

It's a reckoning of another kind, perhaps, and one that becomes a possibility only through the arrogance and certainty that so easily accompanies a well-planned and well-tended life. We know ourselves, we believe in ourselves; from what we value most, we grant ourselves the illusion that it's not chance in circumstance, that opportunity itself isn't the defining issue. We want the high ground; we want our own worth to be acknowledged. Morality, intelligence, values--we want those things measured and counted. We want it to be about Us.

Yes, if we were down there, if we were the damned of the American cities, we would not fail. We would rise above the corner. And when we tell ourselves such things, we unthinkably assume that we would be consigned to places like Fayette Street fully equipped, with all the graces and disciplines, talents and training that we now posses. Our parents would still be our parents, our teachers still our teachers, our broker still our broker. Amid the stench of so much defeat and despair, we would kick fate in the teeth and claim our deserved victory. We would escape to live the life we were supposed to live, the life we are living now. We would be saved, and as it always is in matters of salvation, we know this as a matter of perfect, pristine faith.

Why? The truth is plain:

We were not born to be niggers.”
David Simon, The Corner: A Year in the Life of an Inner-City Neighborhood

“For a detective or street police, the only real satisfaction is the work itself; when a cop spends more and more time getting aggravated with the details, he's finished. The attitude of co-workers, the indifference of superiors, the poor quality of the equipment - all of it pales if you still love the job; all of it matters if you don't.”
David Simon, Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets

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