Author: Dennis Lehane
Publisher: HarperCollins
Binding: Hardcover
Publication Date: September 2008
The Given Day tells the story of two families — one black, one white — swept up in a maelstrom of revolutionaries, and anarchists, immigrants and ward bosses, Brahmin’s and ordinary citizens, all engaged in a battle for survival and power. Beat cop Danny Coughlin, Boston Police Department royalty and the son of one of the cities most beloved and powerful police captains, joins a burgeoning union movement and the hunt for violent radicals. Luther Laurence, on the run after a confrontation with a crime boss in Tulsa, works for the Coughlin family and tries desperately to find his way home to his pregnant wife.
For me historical fiction has two strengths, the ability to teach (in an entertaining way) about that era and to illustrate the cyclical nature of history by showing the parallels to the present, and the best examples of the form exhibit them both. Two recent examples that come to mind and that I’ve written about recently are Head Games by Craig McDonald and The Girl in the Glass by Jeffrey Ford. In the former I learned of the United States long and complex relationship with Mexico in the 20Th century and in the latter I learned of old movements to deter the immigration of Mexican citizens that sound awfully familiar. In these two categories The Given Day by Dennis Lehane is largely a success.
The amount of period detail and authenticity proves that Lehane has spent an immeasurable amount of time doing research and it shows on nearly every page. Great care is taken to show the different stratum of society in not only Boston but other parts of the country. The racial divide in this post-civil war America is given a new face. Far too often we see images of Deep South segregation and the focus stays south of the Mason Dixon line. But to assume that the divide was bridged in the north eastern states is folly. Even if there weren’t any explicit laws on the books cementing the institutional and societal racism it was still prevalent in other ways. We see this played out in the information-is-power thug policing style of Lt. Eddie McKenna. Even as the different sub-plots that involve terrorism and terrorists play themselves out it becomes increasingly obvious that McKenna himself may be the biggest terrorist of them all.
It’s these sub-plots that involve terrorism and terrorists that provide the strongest parallels to the present day. We see how a government who is interested in maintaining the status-quo can deem certain perceived threats as terrorists, even when we (as modern readers) can clearly see that they are not. For example it’s easy to say that a pipe bomb throwing man who blows up police stations is a threat but to lump a fledgling police union into the same group seems offensive to the modern reader. Especially when then we see full well the backdrop that this struggle is painted against and the working conditions that they endure. Defining something as “terror” becomes a mutable catch-all defense to encompass any and all acts and fit the needs of those in power. With this near-century of backdrop the war on terror suddenly seems unwinable.
Given the place that union activity holds in 20Th century American history, it’s hard not to construe the attack on unions as an attack on an essentially American thread in the fabric of that history. The question then becomes why are we so comfortable supporting the police union in hindsight and railing against the attempts to suppress them but we are uncomfortable in denouncing the crack squad of union busters that Wal-Mart employs to fly to ANY part of the country at the drop of a dime when there is even a hint of organized talking going on. So then the question becomes, in a time when union activity has dropped off is there a message buried here? That unions not only have a place but that they need to come back?
All of this also speaks to the notion of unchecked governmental powers which, regardless of which side of the political fence you sit, is something that is worth exploring in any day and age.
So, my inane ramblings aside the core question remains to be answered: is the book any good? Yes it is. Which isn’t to suggest that it is perfect, because it isn’t? There are some faults, but it’s to be expected in a novel with this grand of a scope, vision and execution. It’s part of the reasons that I like big, sprawling, messy novels to be honest. Because of the meandering almost stroll like pace, the cul-de-sacs that leave you bewildered, the parts that shoot out from the whole and exist on their own and the desire to see how it all weaves together. I think Scott Espisito was much better at explaining this in a post on 2666 by Roberto Bolano when he said “I’m a big fan of imperfection in literature. Although I can admire the tautly constructed small novel for the endless arguability and interpretability offered by its enigmatic clarity–think of The Metamorphosis, for instance–I like the imperfect, large novels for the very reason that I can feel things getting lost and going awry within them. It’s these detached or misshapen pieces that often become the most compelling moments in the novel for me.”
It’s a difficult task to juggle the sheer volume of information that gets turned up in the research of a novel so steeped in historical events and then presenting it in such a naturalistic way that it doesn’t feel forced. There are a couple of instances where the story slips away from Lehane and the naked research is on display but for the most part vivid portrayals of the people and time period are on display.
Due to the large cast some characters get lost in the shuffle and as a result are under developed. Danny’s brother, Connor, is a good example. The brothers are practically presented as an exercise in show versus tell when it comes to development. Danny is a dynamic firework of a character whose actions explode across the pages in vibrant colors. Danny is dynamic and robust and we know it. Whereas we are merely told about Connor then he disappears for quite awhile, then he pops back up again to provide some tension, then he’s found his place and now he’s back again. He’s like the literary equivalent of a whack-a-mole game. You don’t know when he is going to pop up again, but inevitably he will only to get smashed in the snout again. But there is actually a way that these dual approaches to developing the brothers work. It serves to make Danny look to be the favored son, and in the book he is, so there is an immersion to this brotherly dynamic that he reader feels coming from a very base level.
Of all of the things that I could possibly have been reminded of when reading about the relationship of the two oldest brothers in The Given Day, Jack Kerouac’s On The Road came as a surprise. But I couldn’t help but think of the following quote: “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…”, because it describes their relationship so well. Except in the case of Sal Paradise his meekness is downplayed due to the first person point of view and the dynamic Dean Moriarty is given fully the stage. With the third person point of view of The Given Day leveling the playing field for the characters the meekness of Connor stands in stark contrast to the dynamic Danny.
There are some great scenes in The Given Day that crackle with energy and the mental movies they create resonate long after the book is closed. Given the track record of Lehane’s movie adaptations it’s hard not to think of these scenes in big, wide screen glory. The opening baseball prologue is like this perfectly crafted gem. The right amount of sensory details paint a perfect picture; the gun fight in the club is wrought with peril and edge of the seat tension; the riot is rightly portrayed as a mess of bodies, actions, motives and crimes (also providing a morally grey climax — are the cops right or wrong?); and finally there was a speech that Danny gave before the union that gave me chills. These are only some of the moments in The Given Day that resonate
I will say this clearly, The Given Day was worth the wait. It’s a different book then Lehane’s previous novels and should be read that way. There are echoes of the plot mechanics of the Kenzie & Gennaro books; there are echoes of the densely compacted intensity of a few decades of history of Mystic River; there are echoes of the Gothic and dramatic setting of Shutter Island. The Given Day incorporates them all (and more) into a book that should be read, thought about and grappled with on its own terms, using the previous books only as a solid foundation. It is its own book and should be read that way. The Given Day is epic in scope and shows a great deal of growth and the sky is the limit with what Lehane is capable of accomplishing.
