So after probably hundreds of viewings of the movie version of The Godfather, I finally got around to reading Mario Puzo’s novel. Let’s just say it wasn’t good. Or I was really spoiled by Francis Ford Coppola’s production.
Frankly, the novel is basically a pretty lurid potboiler. While tons of people on Amazon love the book, I think Dick Schaap’s New York Times book review from 1969 hits the mark. (That Dick Shaap?) I actually thought he was making fun of the book, especially with this closing line, “Pick a night with nothing good on television, and you’ll come out far ahead.” It’s full of coarse sexuality and base violence. Some minor characters get way too much stage time to no good effect. And Puzo has a tendency to descend down into the weeds on given subjects. Luckily the actual story and accompanying narrative are pretty compelling.
The writing is AWFUL. I couldn’t tell if the overly long stretches of undistinguished exposition were worse than the horrible dialog. There were very few points where I disappeared into a scene and just felt the characters conversing with each other. I once had a creative writing teacher who pounded the mantra of “show, don’t tell”. Puzo does a lot of telling.
I will concede one point to Puzo though. His ending actually presents an even darker twist and would have made for an interesting cinematic finale.
If you’re a big fan of the movie the novel is still worth reading to get some more back story on a few characters. I could have done without the extra detail on Luca Brasi though. You’ll also be amazed at how closely the movie follows the book and how a great cast, screenplay, and director can pack so much drama and nuance into a few hours.