Rule has concentrated on cosmetic surgeon Anthony Pignataro here, but has also collected a series of vignettes about other (primarily sadistic) sociopaths to round out what would otherwise been a novella-length book, sub-titled And Other True Stories.
"Last Dance, Last Chance" comprises 314 pages of the book's 463 page total and meticulously details the life of Pignataro, son of a somewhat cold medical father, from arrogant adolescent to convicted attempted uxoricide, via the death of a young and previously healthy woman who came to him for cosmetic surgery she didn't need and he was woefully unequipped to perform.
While the story itself is an interesting enough series of unfortunate events that seemed to inexorably lead to tragedy, and an illuminating insight into the mindset of a sociopath, the execution was laboured and painful.
It's been a long time since I read a true crime book - I stopped when I discovered I fit the profile of the typical true crime reader and didn't like being so predictable, but also because the writing was so consistently bad, and this foray into the genre has nothing to alleviate my perceptions. The author is heavily woven into the opening of the story, and assumes a familiarity with her work I don't have ("once again, just as I had been when I researched And Never Let Her Go, I was drawn back to a place I had lived long ago"). It's a minor enough flaw - I often write myself into my own work, too.*
What I found significantly more annoying was the belaboured writing, full of foreshadowing, declarations of the obvious, and hyperbole. For example: "She told me of an all-too-true scenario that seemed almost unbelievable." Or Rule's emphasis, following a quote that "'She said she was kind of afraid of him'" that "So Bertha had been afraid." Not so surprising, especially as there's no record of anyone denying Bertha had been fearful. Or her surprise at how things work out. Rule is clearly no psychic - "I never expected to return to Buffalo or Niagara Falls or the thin eastern belt of Ontario where the land barely separates Lake Ontario from Lake Eerie. But the twists and turns of our lives are nothing if not unpredictable." So true.
And yet, despite her surprise, again: "When I wrote about [Jack Gasser] the first time, I never expected to write about him again. But I did." Bad luck if you wanted to know why she wrote about him the first time, or why she returned to his "backward or 'inside out' story" (it reads as neither), because unless you're already familiar with Ms Rule's body of work you're out of luck knowing how this account varies from the first time she apparently documented his life and times.
"Last Dance, Last Chance" revolves primarily around Pignataro's wife, Debbie, and equal weight is given to her upbringing and experiences as is to his. But do we really need three paragraphs to set the scene of 1957, the year of her birth? I'm not American, and I wasn't alive then, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in knowing it was the era of the Beaver, Father Knows Best, the first research suggesting smoking may be harmful, and Capitalist fears of an invading Communist threat (the Cuban and Russian paranoia is downplayed and McCarthy doesn't rate a mention in this soft-edged idyllic meander down memory road).
There were a couple of inaccuracies that niggled at me, chief of which was Rule attributing the wrong condition to a minor player in the main story (Sarah Smith, who died as a result of Pignatoro's inept preparation and support, had a brother who developed kidney failure the same year she died - Rule attributes this to Wagner's disease, instead of Wegener's, the more likely cause - picky, perhaps, but significantly different), and the fact that she didn't insert a [sic] into the quote from Pignatoro that "a son and daughter needs their father" irritated me. Or the effortless gliding from a fact to a judgement (as in the way "Elledge's father was committed to a mental institution [in 1953, that era of highly accurate psychiatry]" is then characterised as "After his father went insane...").
But mostly it was the overwrought writing - brace yourself for a number of examples:
"Craven had an Irish mug, but then so did Finney, who liked to say he was 'a potato-faced Irish man" - a fascinating contribution to the work. How about "Although he looks as Italian as his name... [lawyer Frank Sedita] explains that he is half-Italian, half-Scots - which he is. His dog s a West Highland terrier, and his son is named Mac." I think my favourite part is the confirmation that he is, as he says, of both Scottish and Italian heritage. I now feel much more able to engage with the writing.
How about the fact that "the D.A.'s personnel always referred to Dr. Anthony Pignatoro as Mr. Tony Pignatoro, ignoring his pretentious 'Anthony' [and recognising the revocation of his licence]." I had no idea it was pretentious to use your full name, and am glad I go by the abbreviation here, lest you all think me up myself.
For those of you with an interest in redundancy, there's this bit of scene setting from a non-Pignatoro true crime account: "In the 1940's, detectives still wore fedoras, suits, white shirts, and ties. The group of men who gathered around the body [in 1948] resembled an outtake from a film noir movie..." - spare me. But wait, there's more - it may interest those of you born yesterday to learn that "...DNA was as unlikely in 1948 as a spaceship landing in downtown Seattle."
Apparently real pathologists, both then and now, are less precise than imaginary ones:
'Time of death?' Don Sprinkle asked, knowing it wouldn't be as specific as fictional pathologist's opinions.
"Probably between 2 and 3 A.M., give or take an hour either way," Dr. Wilson said.
I must be reading the wrong books, because that sounds like what I read and what I see on TV crime shows. I'm amazed that this was the case sixty years ago, too. Either that or Rule thinks her 1948 cop could compare his contemporary with pathologists more than half a century in the future.
Okay, pickiness like this is a sign I'm well over it. I'm sure you are, too. Once again, a book completed solely because I was travelling, and a good example of the Seventh Rule of Book Buying (or Reading) - sometimes there's a reason why it's sitting on the shelf/in the box almost a decade after you bought it. - Alex
*Although that's fairly standard in the social sciences, and is there to demonstrate bias and declare perspective
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