The blurb on this one promises something out of [James] Ellroy and [Mario] Puzo, and that seems a good starting place to think about how it works.
This starts out as Puzo wannabe, and I think that sells it short. I think I’m a voice in the wilderness when I complain about gangster stories that take the Valachi/Puzo/Coppola vision of organize crime as a given. I’ll say it again, though: however accurate it was in the late 1960s to talk of Five Families in New York, each with a clear boss and then a corporate architecture, it’s anachronistic to talk about it earlier than that and probably exaggeration to talk about it as a contemporary structure.
Put differently, there’s a widespread notion that gangsters have always – or at least since early Prohibition – functioned as if they were in a well-defined, unchanging structure of command. The government, with RICO laws at its disposal, has an interest in sustaining that idea, and a lot of fan-boys hold onto it as a way of creating boxes that they fill with the names of capos, soldiers, and associates in the business of being mob watchers. A) I don’t think that’s really true, and B) it makes for tired story-telling since it’s really just The Godfather over and over again.
In any case, I nearly gave up on this after 35-40 pages. We get so many names that it’s bewildering, and they all come across as near analogues of real-life gangsters. Geller, for instance, is really Lansky. Marsala is clearly Sinatra.
It’s all so fast that it makes sense only if it’s like a checklist – the names we are being told to plug into that structure we already know.
I’m glad I didn’t give up on this, though, because the Ellroy-inspired stuff gradually comes to the fore. Fusilli is at least two tiers shy of Ellroy’s level as a writer, but that’s not really an insult since almost all of us are. (Ellroy is nearly as good as he likes to tell us he is.)
But Fusilli takes from Ellroy a sense of different characters navigating history and interacting with each other. We get Benno, a small-timer on the fringes of the rackets; Leo, who’s a Jew masquerading as an Italian and also double-dealing with Federal investigators; and Marsala, a Jersey kid groomed to be a music and movie star.
The more their stories begin to orbit each other (and the less we have to depend on a Puzo-inspired sense of a story we already know) the better it gets. If it never rises to the level of Ellroy’s irony and cynicism, it does work toward a sustained question: what does it mean to be loyal?
Given all that, and given that the pace picks up with each stage of the complicated story, I do think it’s a real success. I’m reading it back-to-back with Kaplan’s Plot, and I think they function pretty much the same way – solid stories held back a bit by an inflexible sense of the context of organized crime but doing a good job to grow characters in a historical context.
If this is up your alley (or down your dark, back alley), then prepare to power through the heavy exposition of the opening chapters. After that, buckle up for a solid ride.