Bibliothèque / Médiathèque

Twelve-year-old Dovey has never had the slightest problem speaking her mind. But now, faced with a murder trial, she may just have to keep her mouth shut while the slick city lawyer takes care of things. It all started when the wealthy, vain, greedy Parnell takes a notion to win Dovey's older sister, trying to convince her she's too pretty to go off to college. But behind her back, he treats Dovey and her deaf brother Amos like dirt all summer long. Dovey gets in her jabs whenever she can--until the day she finds herself trapped in a back room with an irate, vengeful Parnell. Things don't look too good for Dovey when she comes to and finds her enemy dead on the floor next to her.

Southern courtroom drama, a sassy female protagonist, a misunderstood yet gentle neighborhood character, vicious and narrow-minded villains--sound familiar? Yes, there's a lot of Harper Lee's Scout in Dovey, and Boo Radley in Amos (To Kill a Mockingbird). But Frances O'Roark Dowell's absorbing, readable story of families, prejudice, love, and hate has a life all its own. Dovey is an impeccably drawn heroine, complete with Southern dialect, sturdy self-esteem, and down-home wisdom. (Ages 9 and older) --Emilie Coulter

Because it is quite seriously abridged, the story concentrates primarily on the extended family of Mr. Peggotty: his orphaned nephew, Ham; his adopted niece, Little Emily; and Mrs. Gummidge, self-described as "a lone lorn creetur and everythink went contrairy with her." When Little Emily runs away with Copperfield's former schoolmate, leaving Mr. Peggotty completely brokenhearted, the whole family is thrown into turmoil. But Dickens weaves some comic relief throughout the story with the introduction of Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, and David's love for his pretty, silly "child-wife," Dora. Dark nights, mysterious locations, and the final destructive storm provide classic Dickensian drama. Although this is not David Copperfield in its entirety, it is a great introduction to the world and the language of Charles Dickens.

More crucial than the tersely described violence is the emotional setting: a traditional, loving clan menaced by traditional vendettas. With Don Aprile hit, the family's fate lies in the strong hands of his adopted nephew from Sicily, Astorre. The Don kept his own kids sheltered from the Mafia: one son is an army officer; another is a TV exec; his daughter Nicole (the most developed character of the three) is an ace lawyer who liked to debate the Don on the death penalty. "Mercy is a vice, a pretension to powers we do not have ... an unpardonable offense to the victim," the Don maintained. Astorre, a macaroni importer and affable amateur singer, was secretly trained to carry on the Don's work. Now his job is to show no mercy.

But who did the hit? Was it Kurt Cilke, the morally tormented FBI man who recently jailed most of the Mafia bosses? Or Timmona Portella, the Mob boss Cilke still wants to collar? How about Marriano Rubio, the womanizing, epicurean Peruvian diplomat who wants Nicole in bed--did he also want her papa's head?

If you didn't know Puzo wrote Omerta, it would be no mystery. His marks are all over it: lean prose, a romance with the Old Country, a taste for olives in barrels, a jaunty cynicism ("You cannot send six billionaires to prison," says Cilke's boss. "Not in a democracy"), an affection for characters with flawed hearts, like Rudolfo the $1,500-an-hour sexual massage therapist, or his short-tempered client Aspinella, the one-eyed NYPD detective. The simultaneous courtship of cheery Mafia tramp Rosie by identical hit-man twins Frankie and Stace Sturzo makes you fall in love with them all--and feel a genuine pang when blood proves thicker than eros.

This fitting capstone to Puzo's career is optioned for a film, and Michael Imperioli of TV's The Sopranos narrates the audiocassette version of the novel. But why wait for the movie? Omerta is a big, old-fashioned movie in its own right. --Tim Appelo