It's surreal to be touching him. The skin of Jim's right hand, touching the skin of Stanton's right hand, the hand he used to hold the gun and squeeze the trigger thirty years ago. Though cells grow and die, don't they? Every seven years, as Jim read once? So this collection of cells wasn't there when his father and Officer Wildey were killed. They're the great-great-grandsons of those cells, even if the man who wore them is the same.
Revolver is a lean and cleverly-structured novel that, at its heart, is about family and legacy as much as it's about its centerpiece crime--the murder of two police officers, who are gunned down in a bar to the tune of polka music, and whose families are shaped and haunted by the unsolved nature of the crime. Swierczynski moves backwards and forwards in time, giving us Stan Walczak, sixties patrol cop reluctantly enlisted in his new partner's quests for justice; Stan's son Jim, a cop thirty years later investigating the hot-potato murder of a jogger while the man he's sure killed his father is released on parole; and Jim's daughter Audrey, twenty years on from that, the family's black sheep who investigates her grandfather's unsolved murder in lieu of flunking out of CSI school. The three parallel narratives are well-handled, with revelations coming at exactly the right time.
There's an actual tangled mystery here--actually, there's more than one--but the real pleasure for me was following the way perceptions shifted back and forth between the generations. Racism that's threaded throughout the sixties sections becomes hush-hush by the time Audrey takes control of the narrative, though she still stands out for actively pushing back against it; idealized or sentimentalized family relationships get revealed as flawed (or amusingly not what a granddaughter would guess about her grandmother); by 2015, most everyone is drunk all the time. The story closely follows the Walczaks, but the Wildeys very clearly have their own generational changes to contend with. The novel does a great job capturing both the seismic changes of time passing and the things that remain constant, including the scars left by acts of violence--there's a way in which Audrey's Bloody Mary habit and disorganized life are a direct legacy of her grandfather's death, which was so long before she was even born.
Revolver is very much a family affair, and a strong exploration of parents, children, brothers, sisters, cousins, grandparents, and grandchildren. The story is so much about the Walczaks that the occasional brief side-trip into the Pizza Counter Guy's head, or to the POV of another supporting character, is a little disorienting: the novel's rhythm is in the tight pattern of Stan-Jim-Audrey, solving crimes, fighting their own ever-more-apparent demons, contending and bonding with their chosen partners, drinking, and cooking pork roll. Call it Cloud Atlas's more intimate crime fiction cousin.