In Revere, in those days. By Roland Merullo

In Revere, in those days

Roland Merullo

Vintage Books. First published 2002.

The story follows the life of Anthony Benedetto from late childhood to early adulthood, through his adolescent school years and teenage years into college. Tonio, as he is called, is the only son of working-class Italian-American parents in a small, close-knit ethnic community in the small-town of Revere in Massachusetts, USA. His parents die in a plane crash, and then the two major influences in his life are his Uncle Peter and his grandfather Domenic, or Dom. Uncle Peter operates on the fringes of the law, making his money randomly, or not at all, by doing odd jobs, not all above board, or winning the occasional lottery. But he is a loving and lovable man, fiercely protective of Tonio, less so of his own daughter Rosie.  Grandpa Dom guides Tonio gently, but surely and certainly, away from the probable undistinguished working class life, into a good school, Exeter Academy, and then beyond into college and a career in art. Rosie is not so fortunate in her experience with adolescent complexes, and has to put up with a divorce in the family when her Norwegian mother deserts her father and the rest of the family. She drifts into aimless, unhappy existence, in the company of drugs and unsuitable boyfriends, until she finally drops away from Tonio and the family. The story ends with Grandpa Dom's funeral, just as Tonio graduates from Exeter.

The writing is superb, apparently deeply felt, and seemingly autobiographical. The story is conventional, and has many familiar elements, some more elaborately dealt with by other authors. The feel of the novel is also reminiscent of the novels of John Irving which are always set in New England. But its a well-crafted novel with the language evoking a melancholic sweetness and and gentleness. Here's a sample.

'Coincidence, Fate, Karma, Luck, the mood swings of a merciful God - it fascinates me now to listen to the ways we explain life to ourselves and to each other. This is how the Lord has made the world, some people say, and, reading from a simple list of rules, they pack the entire mystery of the universe into one cheek, and spit out to you through a syrupy smile. Or they insist, like petulant children, that nothing has any meaning, that everything from the angle at which sunlight strikes the earth to the chemical makeup of the blood running through the placenta is only the random careening of spiritless molecules'.