By: Aanya Mitra
Author Biography:
Hey there! I'm Aanya Mitra, a fourth-year undergraduate student of English Literature at the University of Edinburgh. But here's the twist—I'm also the Publications Manager at ESLJ, which is why I'm bending the bio rules just this once by not writing in third-person ;) This year we are launching our fabulous new book review section and so, to inaugurate, I am submitting my review on none other than the beloved novel, The Godfather.
In this review I, a woman from the 21st century take a look at this beloved classic depicting a story that more or less involves men running around in 1960s New York with guns in their pockets. Unfiltered and honest, this review recognises Puzo's impressive prose which never fails to provide a brilliant cultural education of the 60s but also never fails to remind one that it is, ultimately, a book that is a product of its time.
THE REVIEW:
This summer, thanks to a unique Amazon find—a book scratch-off poster, I decided to cross a few titles off the list. A convenient choice that sat in my dad's collection was none other than The Godfather, a timeless favourite, immersing me in the cultural whirlwind behind organised crime in mid-20th century New York. Going into this read, I was eager to see why this book-turned-movie birthed scenes and quotes that remain etched in cinematic memory: time goes on yet we always return to adaptations of a man waking up beside a severed horse’s head all because he tried, (admittedly in vain), to refuse an offer by the Corleone family.
This is a novel that fundamentally explores the intersection of family, power and loyalty, where most, if not all, of the characters comfortably reside in the shades of grey. It is because of this that, personally, no character strikes me as being better than the next (morally that is) even when you so desperately want them to be. It is also this quality that makes each character perhaps more interesting than the next because what is the fun in reading about the one-dimensional do-gooder who lives in the untainted, dignified world of white.
So the story starts with the Corleone family patriarch, Vito Corleone, aka the Godfather, and his impending decision to name his heir. The unlikeliest of his three sons, Michael Corleone is curiously fated to take up the mantle as readers witness Michael’s entry into the underworld, going from an outsider to a masterful player in the game. We see the pursuit for power, the thirst for vengeance and family rivalries take effect where allegiances shift like tides and loyalty is no longer a virtue earned, but at the mercy of a coin-toss- but not to worry! There are enough heads to go around.
Puzo exhibits a remarkable talent for dialogue, where each character's speech distinctly mirrors their persona- a tactical choice I expect given the plethora of characters explored. These characters also provide an authentic cultural education as the novel is a window into the 60s societal culture. However, every so often, comes a thinly veiled drape, momentarily and vainly suppressing the vulgar reality in a conservative and commercialised guise. The drape tries to convince readers that Hollywood is not collectively hallucinating, drinking itself into a hole, personified in Nino Valenti’s character, enlarging that empty void all its inhabitants feel, enter Johnny Fontane (allegedly inspired by real-life musician Frank Sinatra). This drape says women’s sexualities do not exist (thrillingly combated by sexually-charged Lucy Mancini) and abortions are therefore sinful which is why top of his field, Dr. Jules Segal is stripped of his medical licence. Most hilariously of all, this drape desperately clings onto the ‘American Dream’ that Puzo so clearly undermines. Characters like Bonasera, who kicks off the novel, sanctions Don’s help after being denied lawful justice. On the other hand, Al Neri serves as a complete foil to Bonsera in that he is enlisted by the Corleone family because he was too good at delivering justice as a police officer. In both instances, the men are failed by the system and find solace in the Corleone family’s unlawful embrace.
Moving on to the leading characters of the novel, these characters serve as idols and are made to be beloved. Vito Corleone's power resonates palpably through the pages: amidst paragraphs of lengthy narration it was often the Don’s dialogues, marked with the right balance of humility and pride, that seemed to leave a lasting impact. Along with the characters, I was promptly silenced by his eloquent speech, as his wit and wisdom took their time to sink in. His successor, Micheal Corleone, inherits the same talent as his charming nature coats his words with, (sometimes) true dignity, earning the respect of his audience. On the other hand, across the near-500-page novel, I cannot recall Mama Corleone, the Don’s wife, even being named. Published in the 60s it is unsurprising that the female characters are usually defined by how they support the other male characters.
Characters like Connie Corleone, Kay Adams, and Lucy Mancini—the most frequently appearing women—are all united in their roles as the dependent romantic and sexual interest. While I do concede that even after cascaded to this sexualised gaze these characters do manage to exert some agency, particularly Lucy, the general takeaway is that the females are passive characters. In fact, I would argue that their absence would not affect the general plotline. The novel concludes with Kay converting her faith to inherit Mama Corleone’s practice of praying for her husband’s (Micheal) admission to heaven, following her footsteps in devoting (or sacrificing?) every facet of her life to her husband’s security. Clearly, the female characters in this novel remind us that this book is a product of its time.
In conclusion, The Godfather undoubtedly exemplifies the power of storytelling as the novel's greatest strength lies in its immersive capacity. Completing the 500-page book in five days, I truly did enjoy (aside from the occasional sexist hiccup) surveying what actually happens behind the scenes of swinging sixties New York, showered with drops of glitter and glam and not at all of blood.
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