The Family by Naomi Krupitsky

Published by ‎G.P. Putnam's Sons on November 2, 2021

The Family isn’t quite a feminist version of The Godfather, but it does spotlight the role of two young women in a male-dominated crime family. Much of the time, their role is to fret and worry, but the two central  characters become an argument for the empowerment of women as they change the family dynamic.

Before World War II, two girls are born into an Italian crime family in New York. Sofia is the daughter of Joey Colicchio. Joey and his friend Carlo worked for Tommy Fianzo. Carlo wanted out of the Family business. To facilitate that goal, he began to skim some of the money that he has been tasked with collecting. Tommy noticed and Carlo disappeared. To assure that Joey didn’t turn against him, Tommy gave him a piece of the Family’s operation in Brooklyn in exchange of a slice of the profits.

For years, Carlo’s widow is a broken shell of a woman. She raises their daughter Antonia with the Family’s help. Sofia is Joey’s daughter. In their childhood, Antonia and Sofia are inseparable. They understand what happened to Carlo but they never talk about it. Separating family from the Family, they both realize, is a complicated task.

The story follows Antonia and Sofia into adulthood. Their lives are similar but with key differences. The same is true of their personalities. Antonia is reserved; Sofia is bold. They both marry men who work for the Family, despite the warning Antonia receives from her mother not to speak to boys with slicked back hair, Antonia views her husband as a security blanket. Sofia bases her choice on passion. She falls in love (and gets pregnant by) with a young Jewish man. Her husband must sell his soul to avoid Joey’s wrath.

Much of the novel focuses on the differences between the two women as they drift apart and come back together. Antonia is happy to be a wife and mother but would like to escape to a place that exists far from the Family that took her father away. Sonia wants something more than a domestic life. The Family might be the answer to her dreams if she can convince her father to let her play an untraditional role in a man’s world.

To the extent that The Family is a story about families, the story of Sonia’s husband, although saved for the last quarter of the novel, is its most compelling component. He is uprooted by the war, wonders if he will ever see his mother again, is made to disavow his heritage, and gets a glimpse (courtesy of a Jewish gangster) of the life he should have had and still desperately wants. He makes a dangerous choice that gives the novel its late-blooming drama.

Tension is slow to build, in part because Naomi Krupitsky devotes redundant passages to explaining exactly what Antonia and Sofia are feeling at all times in their lives. Neither woman has a moment of insecurity or regret that Krupitsky fails to express. A bit more showing and a bit less explaining would have tightened the story. Even at the end, a dramatic, fast-moving scene is slowed by a dissection of what the characters are feeling and what they recall of their past feelings. The reader just wants to know what’s going to happen. The walk to the story’s resolution should have been a sprint, or at least a jog.

The novel's redundant recitation of feelings is offset by Krupitsky’s fluid and evocative prose. The last quarter of the story is suspenseful and the ending is surprising. Sofia’s refusal to play a role written by the Family men seems to be the heart of the novel until Antonia has her own moment of truth — a moment that gives her a chance to grow as a woman in a man’s world of crime. The Family is a fresh and original take on the crime family genre.

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