THE FAMILY

Two young Italian American women grow up under the shadow of organized crime in the 20th century.

It's hard to find fresh ways to write about the American mob in the wake of the cultural juggernaut that was The Sopranos. Krupitsky (who credits the HBO series in her acknowledgments) opts for looking back. She approaches the story through the eyes of two young women who grow up inside—and yet, because of their gender, outside—the family. Set in Brooklyn during the late 1920s through the late 1940s, the novel follows Sofia Colicchio and Antonia Russo as they grow up in an Italian American bubble. Sofia is impulsive, inquisitive, popular; Antonia, introspective and studious. Other children aren’t allowed to play with them, but this is not a problem, because they have each other. Their families are close, their fathers in the business of “helping people,” they believe. But then Antonia’s father disappears, and the dynamic shifts. Tenuously connected through weekly Sunday dinners, Sofia and Antonia drift apart, grow up, and come together again as their adult options narrow. What can they do besides get married and have children? Can they escape the family—and do they even want to escape? Krupitsky’s novel lacks the depth of Elena Ferrante's work, but the story is fast-paced and readable, and the ebb and flow between Sofia and Antonia as secrets threaten their friendship propel the reader forward. Krupitsky can construct a memorable image: Someone the girls dislike has teeth that “crowd into his mouth like commuters on a train platform.” But the finale feels unlikely, playing out in a way that can’t possibly be as seamless as Krupitsky makes it out to be. In the end, the novel turns out to be a little too facile for its own good.

A readable but somewhat shallow story about friendship and loyalty.