This is a novel of twos-- two brothers, two "houses", a woman severed in two pieces. They are the Spellacy brothers, Tommy the cop, Desmond the priest. The "houses" are the LAPD and the Catholic Church. The butchered woman is Lois Fazenda, lowlife, hooker, vagrant. Never a character in the book, Ms. Fazenda becomes the focal point for John Gregory Dunne's sprawling novel of crime and corruption in 1940's L.A.
Detective Tom and Father Des have a love/hate relationship. As brothers, their fierce competitiveness fuels their undoing. A failure in love, Tommy finds solace only in sex. The celibate Father Desmond, equally lonely, lives his brother's sex life in a sordid, vicarious fashion. (Tommy's girlfriends tend to find themselves in Desmond's Confessional.)
One can't help but think of John Gregory Dunne's troubled relationship with his well known brother Dominick. Brothers, writers, competitors, they loved and respected one another even as they fought and feuded. Good old Irish Catholic boys, masters of the Grudge. Much of this unfolds in the pages of True Confessions.
It becomes a contest as to which entity is more corrupt, the Police or the Church. It's a shameless money-grab from cover to cover.
I was struck by the honest, gritty depiction of the 1940's L.A. gutter. Mr. Dunne was the product of privilege, of Princeton, of copious Connecticut money. But he nails the sewer of Los Angeles. The narration and speech are faithfully ugly and racist. There are Mexicans, Negroes, Chinamen, Jews who enter the dialogue in the most disgusting of terms. Never a prude, I encountered sexual metaphors in this book that made me say, "ouch."
But it is the Irish, the Catholic Irish who drive the book. The Church has the power to select the Chief of Police. Father Desmond can save Detective Tommy from a corruption indictment. In return, Tommy can cover up the arrests of priests driving drunk. When Father Gagnon dies of a heart attack in the arms of a black hooker, it is Tommy who moves the body to a more appropriate venue. The cops and the church are a two-headed beast. The Police Department and the Archdiocese are dueling snake-pits.
This feels like classic L.A. Noir, and it is. But for me it is more, it is a red-blooded American novel that just happens to be about crime. Earlier, I referred to the book as "sprawling." Indeed it sprawls outward in countless threads. But in the world of Mr. Dunne everything is connected. The myriad tentacles of his plot find their way back through cops, bishops, contractors, hookers, bums, informers-- all the way back to its nexus which is the bisected body of Lois Fazenda who was tortured to death. If the top half of her body, the brain and heart, fell into the lofty domain of Father Des, the bottom half, the nether regions, was Detective Tommy's turf.
There is plenty of sin to go around here. Tommy is a serial adulterer and a vindictive prick. Desmond, a ruthless, careerist priest, falls prey to "the heresy of self." For him, Pride is the worst sin of them all. Flannery O'connor would approve.
In the end they reconcile, proclaiming themselves just "a couple of Harps." But they would be wrong. More to the point, they were just a couple of Americans.
Dunne's Los Angeles seems to spring from a relentless anger. Cops. Priests. A pox on both their houses.