The Premise
Johnny Danetello – Dane to his family and friends – is let out of jail after serving two years for assaulting a police officer with a vehicle. He returns to Brooklyn a wanted man: the reigning mob family, the Monticellis, want him for his negligent involvement in the death of young Angela Monticelli; his best friend, Vinny Monticelli, wants a showdown that he promises will come at the right time; his father's ex-partner – and possible murderer – wants him to leave town; and his Grandma Lucia wants him to buy more cannoli and biscotti at the local bakery – and to “keep moving once he starts,” whatever that is supposed to mean. On top of it all, Dane is frequently visited by restless spirits who want his aid in their struggle for peace.
In Review
Headstone City is so enjoyable a tale, I'm tempted to search for flaws. There are none. Still I won't call this book flawless, since such a statement is too close to the book blurbs I can't stand. Exact is a better fit. Everything in this novel is in its right place, and it all works together to tell a story. It is as simple as that – only telling a story in prose is not a simple matter. The way Piccirilli writes it, though, you'd think this kind of thing came easy.
The language Piccirilli uses to tell this story is mesmerizing. This is a book you don't just read – you listen to the cadence of the words on the page. It's as if you're sitting at a table with a wise guy, and he's settled back into his chair after a fat dinner and a fatter bottle of wine to tell big fish stories. The tales seem tall, but the man in front of you is a pretty big guy, and his hands look like they could do some of the business he is describing. His voice is low, almost bored, while his choice of words is so direct that they almost sting. One thing is clear: this guy ain't shy.
This town, it took your blood and replaced it with cement, asphalt, and pigeon shit. You became part of it as much as the steel and iron, all the bone meal sprinkled into its cornerstones. No matter who you were, you got hard.
Brooklyn, New York.
Fourth largest city in the United States, cradle of roughnecks and Nobel Laureates, center of America's most diversified gather of angry cultures.
You knew it, and it knew you.
This voice is Dane's, and though Headstone City is written in the third person, the narrative never distances itself from him. It reflects his moods, reveals his thoughts, and sets the tone for the story. Often, this tone is wry, as Dane takes in the state of his neighborhood, and wonders what the hell happened to everyone in it. Where once he saw rispetto and the bloody deeds to back it up, now he sees men who rest on their reputations - inert, lethargic. The latest generation is a joke, all looks and no know-how. The Dons are old, feeble, and lost to drugs that barely keep them going. Once, there was a family that sat on the neighborhood like a lion. Now, it moans like a dying elephant, long on the memories of its triumphs – and long in the tooth.
What Dane doesn't see is that his own stature has changed with age. Dane is his own worst critic, and in the beginning of Headstone City he writes himself off as an aimless slacker. Then someone steps up to challenge him, and he sees through their bullshit and blows through their act. His approach with everyone is the same, who- or whatever they are: here I am, take it or leave it. He doesn't talk big, even after besting a big talker. He's honest, thoughtful, and the only thing he's afraid in life is his grandma. He is, in other words, an ideal hero for this corrupt, decadent setting.
Maybe it's coincidence, or maybe Piccirilli has his ear to the ground, but the atmosphere of lost glory that he captures in the pages of Headstone City feels familiar. Dane wonders where all the big men have gone, and the same question could be asked about the world today. Does anyone give a shit about taking charge – and can they back up their words? It's an unexpected resonance to find in crime fiction, and maybe it is just synchronistic. Regardless, it pulls the story out of fiction and into that netherworld that lies between there and here, where ideas hold some weight, and characters aren't just players – they're examples of the kind of people we could be like.
There's a supernatural element in Headstone City, and under Piccirilli's exact guidance, it serves a real purpose. Dane can see and speak with the ghosts of people he once knew. He can also employ this ability on the living, and while I don't want to give it away, I do want to give credit where it's due: it's a great idea, and well used in a modern context. The story deals more with the deeds of the living than the dead, but in the final act, both worlds collide in a series of events that satisfy and surprise. Let me revise that: the ending isn't so much a surprise, but the way Dane gets there is.
This is a good book, the kind you want to read quickly, and miss once it's over. Then you want to tell people about it, because some things deserve to be shared. On that note, it's unfortunate that Piccirilli's reputation as a Horror writer will cause book store managers to file this away in that section. He deserves to be read by anyone who appreciates a good tale well told.
5/14/06
