Word: breslin
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Considering the competition, then, Jimmy Breslin and Dick Schaap have not committed any grievous sins in writing .44, a novelized account of Berkowitz's 14-month killing spree. But they haven't done much of a service, either: the book reads more like a dime-store cheapie than a presumably classy $10 hardback, and what goes between those hard covers is enough to make you yearn for the good old days, when the Papal Index kept the trash in the barrels and out of the bookstores. Breslin and Schaap offer little more than a Dragnet-style, names-have-been-changed...
...course, it is probably unfair to apply very high standards to a book that, after all, pretends to be nothing more than entertainment. Breslin is a marvelously gifted writer, no matter what his topic; a tough, grown-up Irish-American punk, he has a street-corner sense of humor and a sharp ear for dialogue, and his characterizations of middle-class New Yorkers seem to have stepped straight out of the subway. Even in dubious collaboration with Schaap--a sportswriter whose previous literary accomplishments, if that is the work for them, include a bunch of as-told-to locker-room...
UNFORTUNATELY, even if Breslin were in top form, which he isn't here, he would not be able to prevent the book from degenerating into a schlockish cops-and-robbers duel. Given the format--the authors were free to create interesting personalities for their fictionalized characters, but most of the plot was determined by Berkowitz's actions--and the purpose of the book--which was apparently to make lots of money--the authors had little freedom. What starts out as a penetrating portrait of the middle-class tragedy that was Berkowitz's first murder, of necessity turns into a fast...
Probably the saddest thing about .44 is that it could have been so much better. The book at times shows flashes of Breslin's brilliance, particularly in the searching descriptions of the various blue-collar, Budweiser-and-Yankees neighborhoods that witnessed Berkowitz's first attacks. In fact, Breslin--who received several letters from the killer, both before and after his capture--was in an ideal spot to portray the anguish and frustration of searching for, and being taunted by, a man who quite accurately referred to himself as "Mr. Monster." And when the book deals with the killings in Forest...
Still, one has to admire his chutzpah. He has hired pretty Shelley Hack (the Charlie girl of the perfume ads) and then hidden her fine face behind a huge pair of glasses. He has added Writers Jimmy Breslin and George Plimpton to the cast for curiosity value. He has even had the nerve to stage his big reconciliation scene on Christmas morning, heaping sentiment on sentiment. It may work...