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Chicago: A Novel of Prohibition
Mike Hodge-veteran of the Great War, big shot of the Chicago Tribune medium fry-probably shouldn't have fallen in love with Annie Walsh. But then maybe the guys who killed Annie Walsh shouldn't have messed with Mike Hodge... In Chicago, David Mamet has created a bracing, kaleidoscopic page-turner that roars through the Windy City's underground on its way to a thunderclap of a conclusion. Here is not only his first novel in more than two decades, but the book he has been building up to for his whole career. Mixing some of his most brilliant fictional creations with actual figures of the era (among them Al Capone), suffused with trademark "Mamet Speak," richness of voice, pace and brio, and exploring--as no writer can--questions of honor, deceit, revenge and devotion, Chicago is that rarest of literary creations: a book that combines spectacular elegance of craft with a kinetic wallop as fierce as the February wind gusting off Lake Michigan.
Audible Audio
First published February 27, 2018
About the author
David Mamet
200 books693 followersDavid Alan Mamet is an American author, essayist, playwright, screenwriter and film director. His works are known for their clever, terse, sometimes vulgar dialogue and arcane stylized phrasing, as well as for his exploration of masculinity.
As a playwright, he received Tony nominations for Glengarry Glen Ross (1984) and Speed-the-Plow (1988). As a screenwriter, he received Oscar nominations for The Verdict (1982) and Wag the Dog (1997).
Mamet's recent books include The Old Religion (1997), a novel about the lynching of Leo Frank; Five Cities of Refuge: Weekly Reflections on Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy (2004), a Torah commentary, with Rabbi Lawrence Kushner; The Wicked Son (2006), a study of Jewish self-hatred and antisemitism; and Bambi vs. Godzilla, an acerbic commentary on the movie business.
As a playwright, he received Tony nominations for Glengarry Glen Ross (1984) and Speed-the-Plow (1988). As a screenwriter, he received Oscar nominations for The Verdict (1982) and Wag the Dog (1997).
Mamet's recent books include The Old Religion (1997), a novel about the lynching of Leo Frank; Five Cities of Refuge: Weekly Reflections on Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy (2004), a Torah commentary, with Rabbi Lawrence Kushner; The Wicked Son (2006), a study of Jewish self-hatred and antisemitism; and Bambi vs. Godzilla, an acerbic commentary on the movie business.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 327 reviews
March 29, 2018
This book was disappointing. Don't be fooled by the title and synopsis; Chicago, has little to do with gangsters in the windy city during the prohibition era, rather, author David Mamet focuses his slow moving and oftentimes sleep-inducing plot on a former WWI pilot, now journalist, Mike, who pines for an attractive florist only to loose her in a hail of bullets.
Dialogue heavy, the audiobook was hard to follow at times; there are a number of bit players who pop up and then disappear, adding nothing but confusion and contributing to the boredom.
My rating: 2/5. The pieces were there but the puzzle just didn't come together. I liked the sudden impact of the murder of Annie Walsh, Mikes' love interest and the thin connections to organised crime but didn't enjoy the journalistic focus and tedious pace.
Dialogue heavy, the audiobook was hard to follow at times; there are a number of bit players who pop up and then disappear, adding nothing but confusion and contributing to the boredom.
My rating: 2/5. The pieces were there but the puzzle just didn't come together. I liked the sudden impact of the murder of Annie Walsh, Mikes' love interest and the thin connections to organised crime but didn't enjoy the journalistic focus and tedious pace.
March 17, 2018
"You're saying what, you're saying this Mamet, his dialogue, you're saying Chicago, you're saying fuckin' A right and rat-a-tat-tat, Al Capone, all that Tommy Gun period frippery. And I'm now saying I don't want to be an absolute ingrate, one of them assholes who use this, this forum as a means to turn sweetmeats into ground fuckin' glass, I mean, who needs it? Right? But this, and I'm sorry, but I cannot brush this off, this book, this dreck I gotta drop $26.99 to read this, this nowhere Hardy Boys grift? That I do not countenance, no, and I say it plain: You want to spend that kind of scratch on an exercise, some fuckin' ventriloquism shit, may as well get "GULL" inked into your forehead. You stooge. You dupe. You chump. All I'm saying is, some asshole—and they got all kinds in publishing, believe you me—I'm of the opinion that some asshole, somebody owes me my $26.99. Somebody owes me my two hours of time I spent with this, this gangland puppet show. Because I want to tell you something now. A guy goes around, he hears a lot of shit—a LOT of shit, pal, a lot of it, a surfeit—but there's, what, there's period pieces and then there's this, and there is no nutritive value to any of this. Is what it comes down to. [pause] I'm telling you, do what you gotta do, but I'm you, I steer clear of this one. Not that it's any of my business. [pause] I could use some eggs. Some fuckin' waffles. … I don't know anymore."
March 22, 2020
Στα χρόνια του κορονοιου , ��ιάβασμα για τα χρόνια της ποτοαπαγόρευσης και πραγματικά αναρωτιέμαι τι είναι πιο ζορικο. Στο Σικάγο των πολλών εθνικοτήτων, στα απονερα του Μεγάλου Πολέμου κ στις παρυφές του οικονομικού κραχ , οι ομοιότητες είναι τραγικά πολλές.
Δεν μπορείς να επιβληθείς, να έχεις δεδομένα αλλά η ζωή συνεχίζεται κ το σωστό διάβασμα της σε πάει παρακάτω
Το ύφος είναι στα πρότυπα των μεγάλων του είδους και ο ρυθμος αργός, σχεδόν θεατρικός
Δεν μπορείς να επιβληθείς, να έχεις δεδομένα αλλά η ζωή συνεχίζεται κ το σωστό διάβασμα της σε πάει παρακάτω
Το ύφος είναι στα πρότυπα των μεγάλων του είδους και ο ρυθμος αργός, σχεδόν θεατρικός
March 6, 2018
David Mamet's "Chicago" is featured on the latest episode of the Totally Hip Video Book Review:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/video/...
https://www.washingtonpost.com/video/...
May 21, 2018
Mamet's latest work takes us back to Chicago during post-WWI prohibition. Mamet is primarily a playwright by profession and this work is all about capturing the authentic voices of newspapermen, gangsters, madams, and policemen. The focus, like in an Elmore Leonard novel, is on dialogue. You feel that you are in the next booth listening to a couple of guys shoot the bull or in the parlor overhearing conversations. What comes out of their mouths is not necessarily telling a story in order, but filled with jokes, good natured ribbing, raw language, and reminisces. It might take a little bit to get into this novel as it is structured so differently than other novels, but it brings the characters to life.
At its heart is the story of Mike Hodge, newspaperman, his history fighting in France, his romance with the Irish girl who works in the flower shop, his long conversations with the local madam whose coarse way of putting things zeroes in on reality, his curiosity about local beefs and who got shot for not making the vig, and his coming to terms with some of life's lemons, what's real, and what matters.
Than you to Harper Collins for providing a copy for review.
At its heart is the story of Mike Hodge, newspaperman, his history fighting in France, his romance with the Irish girl who works in the flower shop, his long conversations with the local madam whose coarse way of putting things zeroes in on reality, his curiosity about local beefs and who got shot for not making the vig, and his coming to terms with some of life's lemons, what's real, and what matters.
Than you to Harper Collins for providing a copy for review.
May 15, 2018
Η βαθμολογία του βιβλίου στο Goodreads είναι από μέτρια έως κακή μέχρι στιγμής, με λίγες εκατοντάδες αξιολογήσεις. Το βιβλίο το είχα σταμπάρει πριν καν κυκλοφορήσει στο εξωτερικό, όταν έμαθα ότι θα το βλέπαμε στα ελληνικά, τότε που δεν υπήρχαν ακόμα κριτικές. Μέχρι να κυκλοφορήσει στη χώρα μας όμως (πριν λίγες μέρες δηλαδή), στο μεταξύ κυκλοφόρησε στο εξωτερικό, και δεν άργησαν οι αναγνώστες να αρχίσουν να το αξιολογούν. Η μέτρια βαθμολογία του δεν κατάφερε να μου αλλάξει την απόφαση να αγοράσω και να διαβάσω άμεσα το βιβλίο. Αντίθετα, θα έλεγα ότι μου κίνησε ακόμα πιο πολύ το ενδιαφέρον - ήθελα να δω γιατί τόσες μέτριες κριτικές.
Αν μη τι άλλο, πρόκειται για ένα ιδιόρρυθμο νουάρ μυθιστόρημα. Η πλοκή γενικά είναι μάλλον αδύναμη και δεν προσφέρει πρωτοτυπίες, αν και οφείλω να παραδεχτώ ότι κατάφερε να μου κρατήσει το ενδιαφέρον από την αρχή μέχρι το τέλος. Πως κι έτσι; Θα έλεγα χάρη στους τρελούς διαλόγους, που είναι στοιχείο που χαρακτηρίζει όσο τίποτε άλλο τη γραφή και τον τρόπο σκέψης του Ντέιβιντ Μάμετ (άλλωστε υπάρχει και ο όρος "Mamet Speak"), όπως επίσης χάρη στην όλη φοβερή ατμόσφαιρα του Σικάγου της δεκαετίας του '20 και την κυνική ματιά του συγγραφέα. Ο Μάμετ ξεφεύγει σε διάφορα σημεία της πλοκής, αλλά και με κάποιους διαλόγους του. Μάλιστα, σε ορισμένα σημεία μπορεί να πει κανείς ότι χάνεται και λίγο η μπάλα (ειδικά στην αρχή). Αλλά, να πάρει η ευχή να πάρει, αυτή είναι και η μαγεία του. Οι ολοζώντανοι διάλογοι, ο έντονος κυνισμός του, η μαύρη αίσθηση του χιούμορ, οι χαρακτήρες που μερικές φορές δεν μιλάνε σαν κανονικοί άνθρωποι αλλά έχει πλάκα να τους "ακούς", οι λιτές αλλά γραφικές περιγραφές του, ο όλος τρόπος γραφής του...
Γενικά, δηλώνω ικανοποιημένος. Το "Οικόπεδα με θέα" με ξετρέλανε, το "Αμερικάνικος βούβαλος" με κούρασε λιγάκι, εδώ μπορώ να πω ότι αν μη τι άλλο πέρασα ωραία. Πραγματικά καταλαβαίνω όσους διάβασαν το βιβλίο και δεν τους άρεσε, μιας και είναι ιδιόρρυθμα γραμμένο, ενώ και η πλοκή αυτή καθαυτή δεν λέει και πολλά πράγματα. Ας πούμε, αν επιθυμείτε να διαβάσετε ένα αστυνομικό νουάρ με σφιχτοδεμένη πλοκή και καλά σκιαγραφημένους χαρακτήρες, καλύτερα να διαβάσετε ένα άλλο βιβλίο (π.χ. του Τζέιμς Ελρόι). Όμως, αν θέλετε κάτι με ιδιαίτερο στιλ, με ευρηματικούς διαλόγους και με μια ενδιαφέρουσα ματιά στον κόσμο της Αμερικάνικης δημοσιογραφίας και τον κόσμο του οργανωμένου εγκλήματος στο Σικάγο της δεκαετίας του '20, τότε το βιβλίο αυτό είναι μια καλή επιλογή. Μπορεί στην αρχή παραλίγο να με "χάσει", μετά όμως το συνήθισα και μπορώ να πω ότι άρχισα να γουστάρω κιόλας! Οπότε... τέσσερα αστεράκια!
Αν μη τι άλλο, πρόκειται για ένα ιδιόρρυθμο νουάρ μυθιστόρημα. Η πλοκή γενικά είναι μάλλον αδύναμη και δεν προσφέρει πρωτοτυπίες, αν και οφείλω να παραδεχτώ ότι κατάφερε να μου κρατήσει το ενδιαφέρον από την αρχή μέχρι το τέλος. Πως κι έτσι; Θα έλεγα χάρη στους τρελούς διαλόγους, που είναι στοιχείο που χαρακτηρίζει όσο τίποτε άλλο τη γραφή και τον τρόπο σκέψης του Ντέιβιντ Μάμετ (άλλωστε υπάρχει και ο όρος "Mamet Speak"), όπως επίσης χάρη στην όλη φοβερή ατμόσφαιρα του Σικάγου της δεκαετίας του '20 και την κυνική ματιά του συγγραφέα. Ο Μάμετ ξεφεύγει σε διάφορα σημεία της πλοκής, αλλά και με κάποιους διαλόγους του. Μάλιστα, σε ορισμένα σημεία μπορεί να πει κανείς ότι χάνεται και λίγο η μπάλα (ειδικά στην αρχή). Αλλά, να πάρει η ευχή να πάρει, αυτή είναι και η μαγεία του. Οι ολοζώντανοι διάλογοι, ο έντονος κυνισμός του, η μαύρη αίσθηση του χιούμορ, οι χαρακτήρες που μερικές φορές δεν μιλάνε σαν κανονικοί άνθρωποι αλλά έχει πλάκα να τους "ακούς", οι λιτές αλλά γραφικές περιγραφές του, ο όλος τρόπος γραφής του...
Γενικά, δηλώνω ικανοποιημένος. Το "Οικόπεδα με θέα" με ξετρέλανε, το "Αμερικάνικος βούβαλος" με κούρασε λιγάκι, εδώ μπορώ να πω ότι αν μη τι άλλο πέρασα ωραία. Πραγματικά καταλαβαίνω όσους διάβασαν το βιβλίο και δεν τους άρεσε, μιας και είναι ιδιόρρυθμα γραμμένο, ενώ και η πλοκή αυτή καθαυτή δεν λέει και πολλά πράγματα. Ας πούμε, αν επιθυμείτε να διαβάσετε ένα αστυνομικό νουάρ με σφιχτοδεμένη πλοκή και καλά σκιαγραφημένους χαρακτήρες, καλύτερα να διαβάσετε ένα άλλο βιβλίο (π.χ. του Τζέιμς Ελρόι). Όμως, αν θέλετε κάτι με ιδιαίτερο στιλ, με ευρηματικούς διαλόγους και με μια ενδιαφέρουσα ματιά στον κόσμο της Αμερικάνικης δημοσιογραφίας και τον κόσμο του οργανωμένου εγκλήματος στο Σικάγο της δεκαετίας του '20, τότε το βιβλίο αυτό είναι μια καλή επιλογή. Μπορεί στην αρχή παραλίγο να με "χάσει", μετά όμως το συνήθισα και μπορώ να πω ότι άρχισα να γουστάρω κιόλας! Οπότε... τέσσερα αστεράκια!
February 24, 2018
This is a meandering tale about reporters, murders, and the mob. It wants to be a thriller but moves too slowly to generate suspense. The story is told primarily through dialogue between the main character, Mike, and his friend Parlow with little to no exposition.
If you don't mind your historical fiction with a heavy dose of what I can only call Literary Elements then perhaps Chicago is for you. As it is, I finished the story frustrated and wishing I'd just read a Raymond Chandler novel instead.
If you don't mind your historical fiction with a heavy dose of what I can only call Literary Elements then perhaps Chicago is for you. As it is, I finished the story frustrated and wishing I'd just read a Raymond Chandler novel instead.
February 13, 2021
Οχι, όχι, όχι....δεν μου άρεσε...
July 26, 2018
1,5*'s
I get he was going for Glengary Glen Ross meet Goodfellas but this felt so forced and fell so flat. The dialogue was choppy and the analogies mostly cheesy. In short a huge disappointment.
I get he was going for Glengary Glen Ross meet Goodfellas but this felt so forced and fell so flat. The dialogue was choppy and the analogies mostly cheesy. In short a huge disappointment.
April 5, 2018
This has to start with the dialogue, with the things these characters say and write. After all, it’s Mamet, and no one has a better ear for making music out of the hunger to sound tough.
Consider, for instance, the way our journalist-protagonist Mike Hodge puts it in one news story, “Jackie Weiss had died of a broken heart, it being broken by several slugs from a .45.” Yeah, that’s funny, and yeah, it’s in bad taste. But that just makes it funnier.
At one level – the level of the blurb on the back – this is a story of Hodge looking to get revenge on the gangsters who kill his girlfriend. [SPOILER] And that level works well enough as tight noir: her murder is parallel to but ultimately separate from a Syndicate consolidation around the murders of a pair of Jewish gangsters – Jackie Weiss and Morris Teitelbaum – but it turns out to be tied even more tightly to an IRA plot to steal tommy guns for its rebellion. Hodge goes from potential source to potential source, learning things he doesn’t want to know and getting slowly closer to figuring out whom he ought to try to kill himself.
Most of this book turns out to be conversation, though – from Hodges’s extended philosophical and artistic disputes with his friend and colleague Parlow, to his seeking information from his wise African-American madame friend Peekaboo, or his encounters with one after another underworld character who might be able to help him. In the hands of a lesser writer, it would get boring quickly, and the eventual resolution wouldn’t carry much weight. In Mamet’s hands, though, we get gems like these:
+ The first phrase he’d heard, in basic training, was that those looking for sympathy could find it in a dictionary, between “shit” and “syphilis.”
+ Peekaboo explains why a cheating husband should go to exceptional lengths to pretend innocence to his wife. “She knows the truth. She needs to be assured her husband is observing the proprieties.”
+ A friend observes to Ruth, moll to one of the murdered Jewish gangsters, that knowledge is power. Ruth answers, “Power is power. People say differently don’t understand power. Or knowledge. Knowledge is what gets you killed.”
+ A tough old detective type tells Hodge that the Chinese invented gunpowder “to foil the evil spirits.” “The question is, then” Mike said, “what is evil?” “Well, that is decided,” Doyle said, “by the fellow holding the gun.”
+ In the wake of Annie’s murder, Hodge descends into serious alcoholism. “He comprehended perfectly the concept that time would heal grief, but had lost all understanding of ‘time.”
+ Parlow tries at one point to rally him. “You were humbled by your love, you were humbled by her slim white body, you are humbled by death, but real humility is nothing to be proud of. And you, full stop, stink.”
+ When he returns to The Tribune and hands in a sob-sister type story, his editor responds with, “You either go out and drink less, or drink more. Something. But don’t break my heart come in here with this fucking valentine to your long-lost talent. Because someone at Hull House may care, but I’ve got to write a newspaper.”
+ Or the same editor later in his rant, “I don’t understand writer’s block. I’m sure it’s very high toned and thrilling, like these other psychological complaints. I, myself, could never afford it. As I had a Sainted Mother at home who, without my wages, would have been hard put to drink herself to death. Further: I think, if one can afford it, but one has nothing to say, one should not write. This is not writer’s block but common courtesy.”
+ Or, as a kicker, “Like most men who think they understand men,” Mike thought, “this man only understands fools.”
That’s a lot of top-shelf quotes, but I’ve restrained myself from others. As I say, it’s the dialogue – the particular Mamet poetry – that makes this go.
I can see the appeal of Prohibition Chicago for Mamet – who’s celebrated the sleaze of the city going back over the most recent half-century in works that stand among the best plays of our era. In many ways Chicago toughness came to a head in Capone’s city – a point Mamet helped to cement in contemporary readers’ imagination with his writing the screenplay for Brian De Palma’s The Untouchables.
In that regard, the tone here is just right. This is a way of looking back at the events of the 1920s with the sharper-edged language of today to shine light into corners the real journalists of the time allowed to remain dark. As such, this is solid historical fiction, work that gives you a fresh sense of the era, a book that makes you think your grandparents may not have been as sweet as they seemed when your parents bundled you up to see them in their retirement homes.
I feel a bit compelled to point out that this is not particularly good history. Dean O’Banion is somehow still alive after the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. And Nails Morton, long dead, would not have had the sort of residual gang that turns out to be responsible for blackmailing out IRA partisans.
I’ll acknowledge those points as the bugaboos of my work as a gangster historian, though. I won’t let those cultivated inaccuracies or the sometimes winding plot stand in the way of the general excellence of the prose here.
Mamet knows his way around a typewriter like few people, and it’s great to see him taking on the tommy gun era – with the tommy gun famously called a “Chicago typewriter” – in a way that makes it fresh and makes it sing. This may not be his best work, but even second-tier Mamet is worth celebrating.
Consider, for instance, the way our journalist-protagonist Mike Hodge puts it in one news story, “Jackie Weiss had died of a broken heart, it being broken by several slugs from a .45.” Yeah, that’s funny, and yeah, it’s in bad taste. But that just makes it funnier.
At one level – the level of the blurb on the back – this is a story of Hodge looking to get revenge on the gangsters who kill his girlfriend. [SPOILER] And that level works well enough as tight noir: her murder is parallel to but ultimately separate from a Syndicate consolidation around the murders of a pair of Jewish gangsters – Jackie Weiss and Morris Teitelbaum – but it turns out to be tied even more tightly to an IRA plot to steal tommy guns for its rebellion. Hodge goes from potential source to potential source, learning things he doesn’t want to know and getting slowly closer to figuring out whom he ought to try to kill himself.
Most of this book turns out to be conversation, though – from Hodges’s extended philosophical and artistic disputes with his friend and colleague Parlow, to his seeking information from his wise African-American madame friend Peekaboo, or his encounters with one after another underworld character who might be able to help him. In the hands of a lesser writer, it would get boring quickly, and the eventual resolution wouldn’t carry much weight. In Mamet’s hands, though, we get gems like these:
+ The first phrase he’d heard, in basic training, was that those looking for sympathy could find it in a dictionary, between “shit” and “syphilis.”
+ Peekaboo explains why a cheating husband should go to exceptional lengths to pretend innocence to his wife. “She knows the truth. She needs to be assured her husband is observing the proprieties.”
+ A friend observes to Ruth, moll to one of the murdered Jewish gangsters, that knowledge is power. Ruth answers, “Power is power. People say differently don’t understand power. Or knowledge. Knowledge is what gets you killed.”
+ A tough old detective type tells Hodge that the Chinese invented gunpowder “to foil the evil spirits.” “The question is, then” Mike said, “what is evil?” “Well, that is decided,” Doyle said, “by the fellow holding the gun.”
+ In the wake of Annie’s murder, Hodge descends into serious alcoholism. “He comprehended perfectly the concept that time would heal grief, but had lost all understanding of ‘time.”
+ Parlow tries at one point to rally him. “You were humbled by your love, you were humbled by her slim white body, you are humbled by death, but real humility is nothing to be proud of. And you, full stop, stink.”
+ When he returns to The Tribune and hands in a sob-sister type story, his editor responds with, “You either go out and drink less, or drink more. Something. But don’t break my heart come in here with this fucking valentine to your long-lost talent. Because someone at Hull House may care, but I’ve got to write a newspaper.”
+ Or the same editor later in his rant, “I don’t understand writer’s block. I’m sure it’s very high toned and thrilling, like these other psychological complaints. I, myself, could never afford it. As I had a Sainted Mother at home who, without my wages, would have been hard put to drink herself to death. Further: I think, if one can afford it, but one has nothing to say, one should not write. This is not writer’s block but common courtesy.”
+ Or, as a kicker, “Like most men who think they understand men,” Mike thought, “this man only understands fools.”
That’s a lot of top-shelf quotes, but I’ve restrained myself from others. As I say, it’s the dialogue – the particular Mamet poetry – that makes this go.
I can see the appeal of Prohibition Chicago for Mamet – who’s celebrated the sleaze of the city going back over the most recent half-century in works that stand among the best plays of our era. In many ways Chicago toughness came to a head in Capone’s city – a point Mamet helped to cement in contemporary readers’ imagination with his writing the screenplay for Brian De Palma’s The Untouchables.
In that regard, the tone here is just right. This is a way of looking back at the events of the 1920s with the sharper-edged language of today to shine light into corners the real journalists of the time allowed to remain dark. As such, this is solid historical fiction, work that gives you a fresh sense of the era, a book that makes you think your grandparents may not have been as sweet as they seemed when your parents bundled you up to see them in their retirement homes.
I feel a bit compelled to point out that this is not particularly good history. Dean O’Banion is somehow still alive after the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. And Nails Morton, long dead, would not have had the sort of residual gang that turns out to be responsible for blackmailing out IRA partisans.
I’ll acknowledge those points as the bugaboos of my work as a gangster historian, though. I won’t let those cultivated inaccuracies or the sometimes winding plot stand in the way of the general excellence of the prose here.
Mamet knows his way around a typewriter like few people, and it’s great to see him taking on the tommy gun era – with the tommy gun famously called a “Chicago typewriter” – in a way that makes it fresh and makes it sing. This may not be his best work, but even second-tier Mamet is worth celebrating.
September 3, 2019
Mamet writes as if he has made a tacit compact with his readers. We expect a plot and he dutifully supplies one, quite a convoluted one which links a number of seemingly unrelated crimes perpetrated by several different parties. However, his pacing is leisurely and at times dismissive of the process of investigation. Given a protagonist who is a newspaperman in Prohibition-era Chicago, we expect an exploration of corruption from the back alleys all the way up to City Hall. Mamet delivers. However, this is no “Stop the presses” crusade for Truth vehicle. City desk editor Crouch reminds his reporters: “'News...is that which makes its consumer self-important, angry, or sufficiently whatever the hell to turn to page twelve, and, turning, encounter the ad for the carpet sale.'” (p.11) The corollary is understood by all: don't piss off any major advertisers.
In withholding these genre mainsprings, Mamet seems to be demanding: Is that why you're really here? If your answer is 'Yes,' you've visited the wrong book. Mamet is interested in the internal reconciliation of conflict in his main character, Mike Hodge, recently discharged World War I flyer. Mike is distrustful, guarded, cynical, and always aware that survival is a combination of vigilance and above all, luck. These are excellent traits for a reporter, and a number of flashbacks explore how he came to be this person. His war experience in France have made him something of an outsider, hyper-sensitive to the vicious racism that now surrounds him, and able to move with fluidity between Chicago's mosaic of partisan tribes: the Italians, the Irish, the Jews, the Blacks, the police, and the petty street criminals. They are careful to add a warning label for Mike's benefit to the ample bits of information they supply. Sergeant Doyle, a veteran police officer and ex-marine schools a class of rookies on the proper usage of a throw-away gun. To Mike he warns, “'Don't ask too many questions....And certainly don't know the answers.'” (p.109)
Mike is also a Romantic and he falls hard. At times Mamet almost suffocates us in Mike's delicate courtship. She is the young daughter of a major North Side Irish-Catholic florist who enjoys the custom of O'Banion's boys, frequent purchasers of elaborate funereal arrangements. Her name is Annie Walsh. Mike, of course, is not Catholic, and is weighed down by this fact and how it will affect Annie's family's approval of him as a suitor. Their trysts include a ride in a van filled with floral arrangements and coffee or tea at the Budapest Café, the sort of discreet site offering casual European sophistication that used to dot the Near North. Her name is Annie Walsh. Her very innocence guarantees this will not go well, but Mamet stretches out the tension while we await the inevitable.
Meticulously researched historic details advance the dynamic of this novel by providing opportunity for colorful commentary. Mike wonders how Capone's men were able to get so many “Tommy Guns” to carry out the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Sergeant Doyle opines: “'My theory...is that the manufacturers gave 'em to 'em. I would....Best advertising campaign in history.'” (p.108) One event alludes to a tragedy that actually occurred in the '50's but had an impact in all of Chicago comparable to the Kennedy Assassination in the nation. The event was the “Our Lady of Angels School” fire. Mamet converts this into the “All Saints Catholic School” fire, a tragedy so moving that Mike's spare, unembellished story wins a gesture of respect from even the stolid compositors.
Neither death nor corruption are simple matters in this city. When Jackie Weiss, a front man for the O'Banion mob, is shot dead in the supper club (wink, wink: speakeasy) he managed, Mike vents some of his frustration with his job with a snarky lead: “Jackie Weiss, Mike Hodges wrote, had died of a broken heart, it being broken by several slugs from a .45.” (p.39) Of course that sentence will not get past “Rewrite,” but Mike is the hero of the day among his colleagues at the Sally Port, the daily watering hole of the reporters, four stories down from the City Room.
Mamet has distinguished himself in the worlds of live theater and film with his brilliant dialogue. Here, he lovingly encourages long monologues and soliloquies expounded with florid verbosity. JoJo Lamarr, creative con-artist and petty criminal, schools Mike on “The Funeral Dodge.” Peekaboo, the Black owner of an upscale whore house expounds on her theory of Irish patriarchy. Mike himself conducts long introspective chats with himself about guilt and loss, love and honor. When he shares these ruminations with his sole friend and confidante, Clement Parlow, a fellow reporter, the reader feels a sense of relief when Parlow applies some “tough love” and bluntly tells Mike to Shut Up!
I have always relied on superlative actors to give life to Mamet's lines. Although I've only given this book three stars, I feel like adding the apologetic disclaimer: it's not you, it's me. This is an interesting and worthwhile book, and will be of special interest to anyone who still identifies as a Chicagoan.
NOTES: An interesting profile of the author done several years back: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/19...
In withholding these genre mainsprings, Mamet seems to be demanding: Is that why you're really here? If your answer is 'Yes,' you've visited the wrong book. Mamet is interested in the internal reconciliation of conflict in his main character, Mike Hodge, recently discharged World War I flyer. Mike is distrustful, guarded, cynical, and always aware that survival is a combination of vigilance and above all, luck. These are excellent traits for a reporter, and a number of flashbacks explore how he came to be this person. His war experience in France have made him something of an outsider, hyper-sensitive to the vicious racism that now surrounds him, and able to move with fluidity between Chicago's mosaic of partisan tribes: the Italians, the Irish, the Jews, the Blacks, the police, and the petty street criminals. They are careful to add a warning label for Mike's benefit to the ample bits of information they supply. Sergeant Doyle, a veteran police officer and ex-marine schools a class of rookies on the proper usage of a throw-away gun. To Mike he warns, “'Don't ask too many questions....And certainly don't know the answers.'” (p.109)
Mike is also a Romantic and he falls hard. At times Mamet almost suffocates us in Mike's delicate courtship. She is the young daughter of a major North Side Irish-Catholic florist who enjoys the custom of O'Banion's boys, frequent purchasers of elaborate funereal arrangements. Her name is Annie Walsh. Mike, of course, is not Catholic, and is weighed down by this fact and how it will affect Annie's family's approval of him as a suitor. Their trysts include a ride in a van filled with floral arrangements and coffee or tea at the Budapest Café, the sort of discreet site offering casual European sophistication that used to dot the Near North. Her name is Annie Walsh. Her very innocence guarantees this will not go well, but Mamet stretches out the tension while we await the inevitable.
Meticulously researched historic details advance the dynamic of this novel by providing opportunity for colorful commentary. Mike wonders how Capone's men were able to get so many “Tommy Guns” to carry out the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. Sergeant Doyle opines: “'My theory...is that the manufacturers gave 'em to 'em. I would....Best advertising campaign in history.'” (p.108) One event alludes to a tragedy that actually occurred in the '50's but had an impact in all of Chicago comparable to the Kennedy Assassination in the nation. The event was the “Our Lady of Angels School” fire. Mamet converts this into the “All Saints Catholic School” fire, a tragedy so moving that Mike's spare, unembellished story wins a gesture of respect from even the stolid compositors.
Neither death nor corruption are simple matters in this city. When Jackie Weiss, a front man for the O'Banion mob, is shot dead in the supper club (wink, wink: speakeasy) he managed, Mike vents some of his frustration with his job with a snarky lead: “Jackie Weiss, Mike Hodges wrote, had died of a broken heart, it being broken by several slugs from a .45.” (p.39) Of course that sentence will not get past “Rewrite,” but Mike is the hero of the day among his colleagues at the Sally Port, the daily watering hole of the reporters, four stories down from the City Room.
Mamet has distinguished himself in the worlds of live theater and film with his brilliant dialogue. Here, he lovingly encourages long monologues and soliloquies expounded with florid verbosity. JoJo Lamarr, creative con-artist and petty criminal, schools Mike on “The Funeral Dodge.” Peekaboo, the Black owner of an upscale whore house expounds on her theory of Irish patriarchy. Mike himself conducts long introspective chats with himself about guilt and loss, love and honor. When he shares these ruminations with his sole friend and confidante, Clement Parlow, a fellow reporter, the reader feels a sense of relief when Parlow applies some “tough love” and bluntly tells Mike to Shut Up!
I have always relied on superlative actors to give life to Mamet's lines. Although I've only given this book three stars, I feel like adding the apologetic disclaimer: it's not you, it's me. This is an interesting and worthwhile book, and will be of special interest to anyone who still identifies as a Chicagoan.
NOTES: An interesting profile of the author done several years back: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/19...
August 19, 2018
Το αστυνομικής δομής μυθιστόρημα του Ντέιβιντ Μάμετ και δυστυχώς θεατρικών καταβολών παρουσιάζεται σήμερα στο μπλογκ
https://georgekatsoulas.blogspot.com/...
January 26, 2018
My review for this book was published in the Feb. 1, 2018, edition of Library Journal:
In his first novel in more than two decades, legendary playwright Mamet (Glengarry Glen Ross) picks up where his Oscar-nominated screenplay for The Untouchables left off, with a panoramic portrait of the Chicago underworld during Prohibition. Mike Hodge, veteran of the Great War, is a 30-year-old newspaperman at the Tribune, working with his partner Parlow to find out who murdered mobbed-up restaurateur Jackie Weiss and courting the sweet Irish lass at the local floral shop, Annie Walsh. But when his beloved is killed in a post-coital ambush, Mike has more reason than professional curiosity to uncover the truth. The story is fast-paced and violent but often difficult to latch onto because of Mamet's infamously dense and jagged dialogue, which is on ample display throughout. Like the late novelist George V. Higgins, Mamet prefers to let his characters tell the story with a minimum of omniscient narration, trusting the reader to work out the plot through the lies and banter. VERDICT A hard-edged, though elusive return to form from the Pulitzer Prize winner.
Copyright ©2018 Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. Reprinted with permission.
In his first novel in more than two decades, legendary playwright Mamet (Glengarry Glen Ross) picks up where his Oscar-nominated screenplay for The Untouchables left off, with a panoramic portrait of the Chicago underworld during Prohibition. Mike Hodge, veteran of the Great War, is a 30-year-old newspaperman at the Tribune, working with his partner Parlow to find out who murdered mobbed-up restaurateur Jackie Weiss and courting the sweet Irish lass at the local floral shop, Annie Walsh. But when his beloved is killed in a post-coital ambush, Mike has more reason than professional curiosity to uncover the truth. The story is fast-paced and violent but often difficult to latch onto because of Mamet's infamously dense and jagged dialogue, which is on ample display throughout. Like the late novelist George V. Higgins, Mamet prefers to let his characters tell the story with a minimum of omniscient narration, trusting the reader to work out the plot through the lies and banter. VERDICT A hard-edged, though elusive return to form from the Pulitzer Prize winner.
Copyright ©2018 Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. Reprinted with permission.
May 9, 2019
"Va detto che un cuore spezzato ti tiene il peso sotto controllo. E ti rende pallido e interessante per l'altro sesso."
February 3, 2018
It's gangsters. It's Mamet. What else do you wanna know?
Review to come at memphisflyer.com
Review to come at memphisflyer.com
March 10, 2018
This was not what I was expecting. There was a tremendous amount of dialogue but no action. More about newspapers than gangsters, at least in the part of the book that I managed to read. I also got no feel of the period from this book. Abandoned.
July 11, 2021
It took me a while to fall into the rhythm of this novel, but once I did it was smooth sailing. It's about a newspaper reporter trying to get to the bottom of a murder, but the plot is incidental, the minimal period detail incidental, and the fact that the characters speak more like modern Mamet characters than men and women of the 1930s is incidental. What's important here is the dialog, as you'd expect, and what great dialog it is. Mamet is the king of a certain kind of street poetry; hell, he INVENTED a certain kind of street poetry. My first encounter with his work was reading American Buffalo. It changed the way I thought about narrative and the possibilities of dialog, and I've been an acolyte ever since. Tip: When I found myself getting a little lost in the looping verbal interplay during some scenes in the book, it helped to read the lines aloud, as if it were a play. The tangles shook right out.
December 30, 2017
I won a advance reader's copy of this novel on the Goodreads site. The title of this novel was a bit misleading in that it had more to do with newspaper reporting than it had to do with prohibition. The characters were interesting and original and the plot was engrossing. The problem I had with the novel was the vocabulary. I am not an extremely educated man and do not enjoy having to look up a word or two on every page in the dictionary. I realize this is the style of prose Mr. Mamet uses and looking at his success, it definitely works for him. However,speaking for myself, it seemed to take away from the story. In my humble opinion, simple is better and that cost David Mamet my 5 star rating.
March 29, 2018
Mamet is too smart and literary for my plebian self. Boooo.
March 3, 2019
The truth is Mamet it is too smart for me. But. O my. I just let his yarn flow through my brain and enjoy the hell out of it anyway. Brilliant.
The relationship between Peekaboo & Mike was outstanding. Their conversation starting on page 257 just killed me. I had to put the book down when I finished that chapter, just to soak it in fully. The depth of communication, with few words, between Mike & Parlow is also stellar. Their conversation in chapter 22 had me laughing out loud, earning me a pretty funny look when I told my partner it was about suicide, or the truth behind that urge.
What a writer -- what an observer! I could have marked so many great bits, but here's one good taste, Peekaboo speaking:
p258
"Reason I mention it. My brother? Before he died. However he died. He understood, spoken or not, you understand, his friends would take revenge. And he died with that. That's not nothing."
The relationship between Peekaboo & Mike was outstanding. Their conversation starting on page 257 just killed me. I had to put the book down when I finished that chapter, just to soak it in fully. The depth of communication, with few words, between Mike & Parlow is also stellar. Their conversation in chapter 22 had me laughing out loud, earning me a pretty funny look when I told my partner it was about suicide, or the truth behind that urge.
What a writer -- what an observer! I could have marked so many great bits, but here's one good taste, Peekaboo speaking:
p258
"Reason I mention it. My brother? Before he died. However he died. He understood, spoken or not, you understand, his friends would take revenge. And he died with that. That's not nothing."
April 13, 2020
Oh my goodness, I could NOT finish this book!!! The dialogue was so BORING!!!!! I literally skipped to the middle to see if the pace ever changed.... nope still could not understand what the hell the characters were talking about.... skipped to 3/4ths of the book..... skipped to the end.... and all in all I am happy that I never wasted more days reading this... my TBR list is just too long to waste time in books this level of boring and honestly... I’m a simple girl... I like reading sentences that I understand on my first read ... I’m okay if I need to reread some passages to understand, but when I find myself rereading PAGES because I simply cannot figure what the hell is going on... it’s time to move on ... everyone has a style of writing they enjoy... maybe you will enjoy this book... but this one is definitely not for me.... I can’t wait until the quarantine is over so I can donate it.
December 9, 2020
Given that I picked this novel up in the thrift store for a mere dollar, and then saw that most people here on Goodreads were giving it only a star or two, perhaps my expectations were lowered, but I rather enjoyed this postmodern noir-ish gangster novel from David Mamet. Although I've seen Mamet texts performed in the theater and on the silver screen, this was the first I'd read on the page. The style is all his, and the dialogue here is excellent, if--also perhaps because of the 1920's setting--a tad reminiscent of early Hemingway. But then that's why I dubbed the novel postmodern: seems like it's a fairly original story, but one cobbled together, anachronistically, a century after the historical moment described, out of Hemingway's style, a bit of Nathanael West's Miss Lonelyhearts and other sassy and cynical books and films about newspapermen, and what we've seen lately in Peakey Blinders and Boardwalk Empire, that is to say, the socio-historical reading of 20's gangster-ism as a combination of returning WWI vets with PTSD and an addiction to violence coupled with the opportunity to crime, fast money, and social mobility provided by the Volstead Act.
It was a pretty quick and enjoyable read, if not in the brilliantly original or over-the-top masterpiece category. I see the word "meandering" popping up in reviews here, insinuating that the novel is incompetently structured, but I found the plot through-line pretty slick, and I also enjoyed the narrative detours into human nature, gun lore, police corruption (what noir doesn't scream not only to defund the police but to never have funded this institutionalized form of crime in the first place), race relations, whore house operations, etc. etc.
My only criticism, really, is that a couple of chapters seemed a bit out of place, giving me a twinge that they were added later or shuffled around at some point, which took me out of the narrative flow and got me thinking about the workings of the novel qua novel. Seems like it was chapter three or four struck me as an opening chapter--thus I thought that the ones that had come before had been added as an afterthought. These tracks could have been covered better. other than that, I enjoyed the heck out of it. It's at least a million times better than that pseudo-existential noir crap turned out by Paul Auster back in the day--that stuff really stank.
It was a pretty quick and enjoyable read, if not in the brilliantly original or over-the-top masterpiece category. I see the word "meandering" popping up in reviews here, insinuating that the novel is incompetently structured, but I found the plot through-line pretty slick, and I also enjoyed the narrative detours into human nature, gun lore, police corruption (what noir doesn't scream not only to defund the police but to never have funded this institutionalized form of crime in the first place), race relations, whore house operations, etc. etc.
My only criticism, really, is that a couple of chapters seemed a bit out of place, giving me a twinge that they were added later or shuffled around at some point, which took me out of the narrative flow and got me thinking about the workings of the novel qua novel. Seems like it was chapter three or four struck me as an opening chapter--thus I thought that the ones that had come before had been added as an afterthought. These tracks could have been covered better. other than that, I enjoyed the heck out of it. It's at least a million times better than that pseudo-existential noir crap turned out by Paul Auster back in the day--that stuff really stank.
November 21, 2019
The kind of writing you’d expect from the author of “Glengarry Glen Ross”, with plenty of play-like dialog, where timing and the way words sound together are very important, and you run across occasional monologues. And as you’d expect from a book called “Chicago” from an author known for Chicago ties, you get plenty of tastes of the city. And while this is a period story from right after WWI, Mamet drops plenty of well-known names, including an extended bit on Bessie Coleman, many well known street names, and more. My personal favorite mention was of Chicago neighborhood Hegewisch, where my wife grew up, as the swampy spot to dispose of murdered corpses. That and the Fox River duck hunting story that starts the book were excellent. These Chicago references on reflection seem a bit gratuitous, not really key to the story and chosen for that flicker of recognition they provided. The story was OK for a mystery, although it went on some tangents that I couldn’t always keep straight. The treasure of the book was not so much the story as the occasional sentence or paragraph or scene that just stood out.
January 29, 2020
«Απεχθανόταν τους οργανωτές του πολέμου, τους γραφειοκράτες και τον Τύπο. Αν μπορούσε με το πάτημα ενός κουμπιού να τους ξαποστείλει στην αιωνιότητα, θα το έκανε με αγαλλίαση. Στην αρχή, αναγνωρίζοντας το μίσος του, είχε αναρωτηθεί: και οι οικογένειές τους, τα παιδιά τους, τα υποτιθέμενα καλά έργα τους και τα λοιπά; Δεν ζύγιζαν τίποτα όλα αυτά; Διερωτήθηκε αν η διάθεσή του να σκοτώσει ήταν αντίστοιχη με τη δική τους. Όχι, συμπέρανε, η δική τους ήταν ιδεολογικής φύσεως. Ποτέ δεν θα μπορούσαν, ακόμα και στα πιο δολοφονικά τους όνειρα και με την υπέρτατη επιτυχία των ανεγκέφαλων, απρόσεχτων, βίαιων σχεδίων τους, να φανταστούν την αυτάρεσκη ευδαιμονία που τον κατέκλυζε όταν φαντασιωνόταν τον θάνατό τους.
Είχε ακούσει από πολλούς για τις γερμανικές θηριωδίες, για τα βρέφη που μαχαιρώνονταν με ξιφολόγχες, για τα παιδιά που τους έκοβαν τα χέρια και άλλα. Δεν είχε αμφιβολία ότι κάποιες από τις ιστορίες ήταν αληθινές. Θα πρέπει να ήταν αληθινές, σκεφτόταν, μιας και είμαστε ικανοί σχεδόν για τα πάντα.
Αλλά δεν κρατούσε μίσος στους Γερμανούς για όλα αυτά που άκουγε να τους αποδίδονται. Αν συναντούσε έναν Γερμανό, θα τον θεωρούσε απλώς έναν άνθρωπο σαν τον εαυτό του. Και θα προσπαθούσε να τον σκοτώσει».
Είχε ακούσει από πολλούς για τις γερμανικές θηριωδίες, για τα βρέφη που μαχαιρώνονταν με ξιφολόγχες, για τα παιδιά που τους έκοβαν τα χέρια και άλλα. Δεν είχε αμφιβολία ότι κάποιες από τις ιστορίες ήταν αληθινές. Θα πρέπει να ήταν αληθινές, σκεφτόταν, μιας και είμαστε ικανοί σχεδόν για τα πάντα.
Αλλά δεν κρατούσε μίσος στους Γερμανούς για όλα αυτά που άκουγε να τους αποδίδονται. Αν συναντούσε έναν Γερμανό, θα τον θεωρούσε απλώς έναν άνθρωπο σαν τον εαυτό του. Και θα προσπαθούσε να τον σκοτώσει».
December 27, 2018
As the whole world knows, when Hollywood was filming Glengarry Glen Ross, there was a concern that the stage play wasn’t long enough to be a decent screenplay. So David Mamet added a scene to the screenplay, the famous scene where Alec Baldwin stomps into the story for a few minutes and berates the salesmen who aren’t Al Pacino. “Coffee is for closers,” he shouts. “Always be closing.” And, this being a Mamet project, a few words that I can’t include on a family book review website.
This is “snappy dialogue,” you understand, and Glengarry Glen Ross and Mamet’s other films are chockful of it. In the Miller’s Crossing screenplay, Joel and Ethan Coen note that the snappy dialogue tends to dry up “once a guy starts soiling his union suit,” but that’s never been a problem in Mamet’s universe. And CHICAGO, God bless it, is a veritable fountain of snappy dialogue, flowing from his pen as from a dark and corrupted stream.
The reader may come to this novel expecting a story, and said reader will not be overly disappointed. The protagonist, Mike Hodge, is a scrappy Chicago Tribune reporter in the age of Al Capone, a veteran of World War I air battles, and hangs out in disreputable bars and reputable whorehouses. It’s a man’s life in a man’s world, and Hodge makes his lonely way through it until he is surprised by love --- and then devastated by its loss.
That is the story, such as it is, a sad tale of loss and revenge, and it hardly matters. CHICAGO is not a typical historical mystery; it is more about human motivations than solving a crime. And it doesn’t rely a great deal on crime-solving technique; Hodge spends most of his investigation bumbling around, following up on leads, waiting for people to explain what is really going on. And none of it matters.
Despite its evocative cover of a gangster with a Thompson gun, CHICAGO is high-grade literary fiction, more about characters and worldviews than crime and corruption. More pearls of wisdom flash by than bullets. And if the wisdom is hard-edged, bitter and cynical, perhaps all the better.
The real question that the book has to address from a marketing perspective is whether or not it will be able to win readership from outside of Mamet’s fan base. I have followed his career ever since a college professor recommended House of Games, which is a fantastic character study wrapped around a deeply twisty and satisfying story. But if you’re not in the market for rapid-fire profane dialogue, will you be won over?
It is something of a close question, but the answer is “probably not.” The difficulty in dealing with CHICAGO as a reading experience is not so much with Hodge, but with the people he talks to. There is another reporter who is more or less his mirror image, an African-American madam in a comfortable brothel, and a collection of crooked cops and honest gangsters. There isn’t a character in the book outside of Hodge who couldn’t be filled by Central Casting without a moment’s consideration. (And I kept hearing Hodge’s voice in the same Irish lilt that Gabriel Byrne used in the aforementioned Miller’s Crossing, if that gives you an idea.) And the characters generally play true to type; there isn’t one moment when any of them surprise you, or themselves.
But neither the story nor the characters are the real point. The real point is Mamet himself, his skill, his ability to wring evocative prose out of the overworked, sterile soil of the hard-boiled crime novel. His understanding of the way people speak to each other, when to deliver the smart retort or the impassioned diatribe. This is a novel of big-shouldered conversations, the rough and tumble of speech, what people say and do not say, and how it all works together.
Hodge’s fellow reporter remarks at one point that he has stopped reading a certain author because of stark, staring envy at the writer’s prowess. This book evokes those same feelings for anyone who tries to write dialogue --- making it a teeth-grinding experience for some. But for the rest of us, who revel in snappy dialogue, CHICAGO is an unalloyed joy.
Reviewed by Curtis Edmonds
This is “snappy dialogue,” you understand, and Glengarry Glen Ross and Mamet’s other films are chockful of it. In the Miller’s Crossing screenplay, Joel and Ethan Coen note that the snappy dialogue tends to dry up “once a guy starts soiling his union suit,” but that’s never been a problem in Mamet’s universe. And CHICAGO, God bless it, is a veritable fountain of snappy dialogue, flowing from his pen as from a dark and corrupted stream.
The reader may come to this novel expecting a story, and said reader will not be overly disappointed. The protagonist, Mike Hodge, is a scrappy Chicago Tribune reporter in the age of Al Capone, a veteran of World War I air battles, and hangs out in disreputable bars and reputable whorehouses. It’s a man’s life in a man’s world, and Hodge makes his lonely way through it until he is surprised by love --- and then devastated by its loss.
That is the story, such as it is, a sad tale of loss and revenge, and it hardly matters. CHICAGO is not a typical historical mystery; it is more about human motivations than solving a crime. And it doesn’t rely a great deal on crime-solving technique; Hodge spends most of his investigation bumbling around, following up on leads, waiting for people to explain what is really going on. And none of it matters.
Despite its evocative cover of a gangster with a Thompson gun, CHICAGO is high-grade literary fiction, more about characters and worldviews than crime and corruption. More pearls of wisdom flash by than bullets. And if the wisdom is hard-edged, bitter and cynical, perhaps all the better.
The real question that the book has to address from a marketing perspective is whether or not it will be able to win readership from outside of Mamet’s fan base. I have followed his career ever since a college professor recommended House of Games, which is a fantastic character study wrapped around a deeply twisty and satisfying story. But if you’re not in the market for rapid-fire profane dialogue, will you be won over?
It is something of a close question, but the answer is “probably not.” The difficulty in dealing with CHICAGO as a reading experience is not so much with Hodge, but with the people he talks to. There is another reporter who is more or less his mirror image, an African-American madam in a comfortable brothel, and a collection of crooked cops and honest gangsters. There isn’t a character in the book outside of Hodge who couldn’t be filled by Central Casting without a moment’s consideration. (And I kept hearing Hodge’s voice in the same Irish lilt that Gabriel Byrne used in the aforementioned Miller’s Crossing, if that gives you an idea.) And the characters generally play true to type; there isn’t one moment when any of them surprise you, or themselves.
But neither the story nor the characters are the real point. The real point is Mamet himself, his skill, his ability to wring evocative prose out of the overworked, sterile soil of the hard-boiled crime novel. His understanding of the way people speak to each other, when to deliver the smart retort or the impassioned diatribe. This is a novel of big-shouldered conversations, the rough and tumble of speech, what people say and do not say, and how it all works together.
Hodge’s fellow reporter remarks at one point that he has stopped reading a certain author because of stark, staring envy at the writer’s prowess. This book evokes those same feelings for anyone who tries to write dialogue --- making it a teeth-grinding experience for some. But for the rest of us, who revel in snappy dialogue, CHICAGO is an unalloyed joy.
Reviewed by Curtis Edmonds
February 13, 2018
I thought, from the title, this book would be more about prohibition than it was. It was more of a gangster/murder story. I had a hard time following this book. Seemed jumpy and choppy at times. I could not finish it. Sorry! Thanks to Goodreads and publisher for an Advanced Reader Copy. I gave it a good shot, but I just could not get into this book.
March 16, 2018
Weirdly anachronistic dialogue combined with deceptive marketing
Mamet can usually be counted on for memorable tough-guy dialogue laced with a liberal use of profanity and the breaking of all rules of grammar ("There is nothing that I will not do" - Spartan; "Put. That coffee. Down. Coffee's for closers only." - Glengarry Glen Ross; "Don't you want to hear my last words?" "I just did." - Heist; etc.). The dialogue in this latest novel (not his usual genre, so one wonders whether an abandoned screenplay or theatre work was recycled) uses an odd out-of-period Elizabethan or Victorian English in the mouths of the supposed 1920's Prohibition era Chicago characters. At one point after a character jumps into a grave (à la Hamlet) I though the plot might continue with Shakespearean allusions but that didn't come to pass.
Although the Thompson machine gun depicted on the cover does make a late cameo appearance in the plot, the story has actually very little to do with the gangsters and the Chicago bootlegging wars between the O'Banion and Capone gangs that one would expect in a book promoted as "A Novel of Prohibition." Instead we mostly have two newspapermen fumbling their way through an investigation of a series of homicides that turn out to have nothing to do with the illegal alcohol trade.
#ThereIsAlwaysOne
I listened to the Audible audiobook and was startled to hear about a character's "late demise by lead" with "lead" pronounced to rhyme with "heed" instead of "led."
Mamet can usually be counted on for memorable tough-guy dialogue laced with a liberal use of profanity and the breaking of all rules of grammar ("There is nothing that I will not do" - Spartan; "Put. That coffee. Down. Coffee's for closers only." - Glengarry Glen Ross; "Don't you want to hear my last words?" "I just did." - Heist; etc.). The dialogue in this latest novel (not his usual genre, so one wonders whether an abandoned screenplay or theatre work was recycled) uses an odd out-of-period Elizabethan or Victorian English in the mouths of the supposed 1920's Prohibition era Chicago characters. At one point after a character jumps into a grave (à la Hamlet) I though the plot might continue with Shakespearean allusions but that didn't come to pass.
Although the Thompson machine gun depicted on the cover does make a late cameo appearance in the plot, the story has actually very little to do with the gangsters and the Chicago bootlegging wars between the O'Banion and Capone gangs that one would expect in a book promoted as "A Novel of Prohibition." Instead we mostly have two newspapermen fumbling their way through an investigation of a series of homicides that turn out to have nothing to do with the illegal alcohol trade.
#ThereIsAlwaysOne
I listened to the Audible audiobook and was startled to hear about a character's "late demise by lead" with "lead" pronounced to rhyme with "heed" instead of "led."
March 8, 2019
Like Sienna, who loaned me this book, I am mystified. About a third of the time, I don't understand what the author is conveying; it's too deeply mired in cutesy dialogue, and too thinly qualified by substantive narrative. I do enjoy the dialogue; Mamet's grasp of the way people talk to each other is uncannily accurate, even if sometimes it doesn't survive the journey from writer through printed page to reader's eye. (Sienna's advice: read the unclear passages out loud. Sometimes that works.) At times, I feel cheated, because there will be pages upon pages of clarity and compelling storytelling ...and then, just when I need to know what's really happening, the fog descends. I recognize this as "not my fog" but the author trying too hard to be a wordsmith, not a storyteller. Mamet is famous enough that he shouldn't be criticized for the want of competent editing, but in my view, that's what's missing here: he gets carried away with the sound of his own voice, and fails to give his readers enough to keep up with the story. His editor ought to say, "Um, David, this passage is a bit too opaque..." I want to understand something like 95% of what I'm reading. When my understanding falls below 90% (and I'm pretty sure I'm a Pretty Good Understander) I'm annoyed ...and so, while I enjoyed reading this book (and understanding maybe 70% of it) I wish David would slow down a little.
July 12, 2018
There are some good lines in this book like this one – “Every swinging dick with a typewriter is crafting an indictment of the American Way” – but it’s way too dialogue heavy and though Mamet has created an interesting cast of characters, this was just not what I was expecting when I think of Mamet’s previous work. Story was meh. Ending was meh. Love the city and love Mamet’s other stuff with the exception of this one.
April 13, 2018
I found David Mamet’s Chicago lugubrious and vapid. I cannot think of a positive thing to say about the work. To imagine this is the same man who wrote Glengarry Glen Ross is unthinkable. This novel is unfocused and barely readable. The plot, such as it is, about journalists and cops and prohibition goes nowhere. Not even acceptable as bad crime writing.
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