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A review by littlemonster
Kitty Genovese: The Murder, the Bystanders, the Crime that Changed America by Kevin Cook
2.0
In this novel about Catherine “Kitty” Genovese, instead of telling the usual story – 38 witnesses, 38 witnesses who stood at their windows and watched a helpless girl being stabbed to death – Cook seeks to tell the truth. Not Abe Rosenthal’s “truth,” or Martin Gansberg’s. The actual truth.
Kitty Genovese was born in 1935, and was 28 in 1964. At five foot one, she was a tiny but formidable woman, a bartender who was fearless and outgoing. She was the manager of Ev’s 11th Hour, a sports bar, while her girlfriend Mary Ann worked instead at Club Chris. The two had their own cozy, if tiny, apartment, where they strove to make a home. Mary Ann, Kitty and their poodle Andrew lived on Austin Street, their apartment building opposite from the large Mowbray. Their friends and neighbors included: Karl Ross, a nervous dog groomer (Kitty had bought Andrew from him), and the Farrar family. Sophie Farrar was one of Kitty’s closest friends, someone she was comfortable enough with to tell her deepest secrets to. Downstairs at their furniture store, there was also Billy Corrado and his dad, who helped Kitty when she and Mary Ann were first moving in. Everyone Kitty met thought she was interesting and funny, and though she was obviously very pretty, they said Kitty had “something more.” There was something about Kitty, something appealing. Victor Horan, who Kitty worked with, also attested to Kitty’s kindness and sensitivity, but also her sternness. She was not easily pushed around, but she was fundamentally a kind soul.
Cook wants us to know Kitty for Kitty. Not Kitty “the murder victim,” not Kitty “the martyr,” but Kitty the person. Kitty who was bright, who loved her girlfriend, who wanted to have children someday. Kitty who worked hard, Kitty who preferred nonfiction books and newspapers over fiction. He wants us to know Kitty outside of her murder, outside of her connection to Winston Moseley, outside of the tragedy that she ultimately faced. That’s one of the parts that I so admire about Cook’s book, even though overall I think it had more cons than pros. In one part of the book, when he retells Kitty’s fate for us, he skips over the sexual assault. Instead of giving into the salacious nature of most people, the urge to pry into dark things and know the most harrowing details, Cook instead just tells us how Kitty died. But more importantly than that, he tells us how Kitty lived.
The biggest issue I had with the book was the continual facts that I didn’t care to know. Every single time that I felt myself being sucked into the book, reading about Kitty’s life or Winston Moseley’s early days, I was put off by Cook suddenly telling us about the Mets, or Hank Greenberg, or the invention of the telephone itself. I can see Cook has a passion for New York and New York’s history, and while I can understand to some degree his inclusion of these things (New York is a big part of the story, not just the setting or the background, but almost a character herself), I wanted to read about Kitty. I didn’t purchase this book to have random facts drilled into my head. And more to the point, it was without any subtlety at all. It was heavy-handed. There are some tidbits that worked in the book better than others. For instance, reading about Greenwich Village – I felt that was a big part, because it showed us what Kitty liked to do, the clubs she and Mary Ann went to. The acknowledgment of Malcolm X, race riots, the rampant homophobia, and the brutality at the police’s hands were all important to not only history but also to Winston Moseley’s life, and Kitty’s. Another nicely done fact is the parallels of Jacqueline Onassis Kennedy and Caroline Kennedy attending the World Fair shortly after her husband’s death, and Mary Ann attending the same event so soon after Kitty had been murdered. That was really well done. But the sports teams, the facts about Alexander Graham Bell, the constant name-dropping of famous people who lived near or in Kew Gardens – it felt unnecessary and drew me away from the story.
I can tell, however, that Cook put a ton of research into this book, so I applaud his dedication. I just wish that he had kept it primarily about Kitty, her life, and Winston Moseley, instead of going off about these only tangentially – if that – related things. I know the book is slim at only 220 pages, but it felt like half of that were these random, pointless factoids. Even if he had had to slim down the book further, it would’ve worked much better as a 130 page book, or even a 119 page one, instead. I felt like Cook really respected Kitty, though, and admired her too. And that’s important in a book like this. It was nice to feel that Cook genuinely cared about Kitty, and at that, showing us that she lived a full life and could’ve lived a much fuller one if her future hadn’t been cut off so brutally. My heart broke for Mary Ann, for Kitty’s family and friends. But most of all, my heart broke for Kitty.
Also nice was the portrait painted of Winston Moseley. It’s hard to be involved in a book, in some ways, that tells the story of so horrific a killer. However, despite this fact, Winston’s life is fleshed out, too. Truly a merciless person, undeserving of sympathy, but Cook was true to the case. He showed us the life Winston had made for himself, told us what he thought and why, in some parts, he thought it. No excuses, no justifications – just Moseley’s story. I wish, though, that Cook would’ve just used “black people,” “black person/woman/man,” or “African-American,” even. I know his word usage was true to 1964 but in the narration it wasn’t necessary to keep using it, unless it was a quote. I know it’s the “better” word as opposed to another, but it’s still ultimately not okay to use. Hopefully I’m making sense here. I’m white, so this topic would be better suited to someone who understands the issue. So I’m kind of just running my mouth here.
I loved reading about the “bystander effect” and “diffusion of responsibility.” Because while it might not have been exactly as Rosenthal claimed, the phenomenon exists. The fact that only two people called the police (technically four, but two didn’t go through with their calls anyways); the fact that two men watched, uncaring, as Kitty died, without the excuse that some people had of not knowing exactly what was going on, proves it. And if Rosenthal had never did what he did, the efforts taken afterwards would not have happened, and people wouldn’t know the name of Kitty Genovese. And Kitty Genovese deserves to be known – but as Cook portrays her. As a real, living, breathing human being.
Kitty didn’t die on those steps alone, though. A small comfort at least. Sophie Farrar bravely took off into the night when she was told of what was happening to Kitty, and she rushed to Kitty’s aid. She loved Kitty fiercely, the two of them close friends and confidantes. On the anniversary of Kitty’s meeting with Mary Ann, March, Friday the 13th, Kitty Genovese was murdered. Remembering Kitty is important. Kitty’s death changed and touched a lot of lives, the way police work, and the way crime is reported. If anyone deserves to be remembered, it’s her.
Kitty Genovese was born in 1935, and was 28 in 1964. At five foot one, she was a tiny but formidable woman, a bartender who was fearless and outgoing. She was the manager of Ev’s 11th Hour, a sports bar, while her girlfriend Mary Ann worked instead at Club Chris. The two had their own cozy, if tiny, apartment, where they strove to make a home. Mary Ann, Kitty and their poodle Andrew lived on Austin Street, their apartment building opposite from the large Mowbray. Their friends and neighbors included: Karl Ross, a nervous dog groomer (Kitty had bought Andrew from him), and the Farrar family. Sophie Farrar was one of Kitty’s closest friends, someone she was comfortable enough with to tell her deepest secrets to. Downstairs at their furniture store, there was also Billy Corrado and his dad, who helped Kitty when she and Mary Ann were first moving in. Everyone Kitty met thought she was interesting and funny, and though she was obviously very pretty, they said Kitty had “something more.” There was something about Kitty, something appealing. Victor Horan, who Kitty worked with, also attested to Kitty’s kindness and sensitivity, but also her sternness. She was not easily pushed around, but she was fundamentally a kind soul.
Cook wants us to know Kitty for Kitty. Not Kitty “the murder victim,” not Kitty “the martyr,” but Kitty the person. Kitty who was bright, who loved her girlfriend, who wanted to have children someday. Kitty who worked hard, Kitty who preferred nonfiction books and newspapers over fiction. He wants us to know Kitty outside of her murder, outside of her connection to Winston Moseley, outside of the tragedy that she ultimately faced. That’s one of the parts that I so admire about Cook’s book, even though overall I think it had more cons than pros. In one part of the book, when he retells Kitty’s fate for us, he skips over the sexual assault. Instead of giving into the salacious nature of most people, the urge to pry into dark things and know the most harrowing details, Cook instead just tells us how Kitty died. But more importantly than that, he tells us how Kitty lived.
The biggest issue I had with the book was the continual facts that I didn’t care to know. Every single time that I felt myself being sucked into the book, reading about Kitty’s life or Winston Moseley’s early days, I was put off by Cook suddenly telling us about the Mets, or Hank Greenberg, or the invention of the telephone itself. I can see Cook has a passion for New York and New York’s history, and while I can understand to some degree his inclusion of these things (New York is a big part of the story, not just the setting or the background, but almost a character herself), I wanted to read about Kitty. I didn’t purchase this book to have random facts drilled into my head. And more to the point, it was without any subtlety at all. It was heavy-handed. There are some tidbits that worked in the book better than others. For instance, reading about Greenwich Village – I felt that was a big part, because it showed us what Kitty liked to do, the clubs she and Mary Ann went to. The acknowledgment of Malcolm X, race riots, the rampant homophobia, and the brutality at the police’s hands were all important to not only history but also to Winston Moseley’s life, and Kitty’s. Another nicely done fact is the parallels of Jacqueline Onassis Kennedy and Caroline Kennedy attending the World Fair shortly after her husband’s death, and Mary Ann attending the same event so soon after Kitty had been murdered. That was really well done. But the sports teams, the facts about Alexander Graham Bell, the constant name-dropping of famous people who lived near or in Kew Gardens – it felt unnecessary and drew me away from the story.
I can tell, however, that Cook put a ton of research into this book, so I applaud his dedication. I just wish that he had kept it primarily about Kitty, her life, and Winston Moseley, instead of going off about these only tangentially – if that – related things. I know the book is slim at only 220 pages, but it felt like half of that were these random, pointless factoids. Even if he had had to slim down the book further, it would’ve worked much better as a 130 page book, or even a 119 page one, instead. I felt like Cook really respected Kitty, though, and admired her too. And that’s important in a book like this. It was nice to feel that Cook genuinely cared about Kitty, and at that, showing us that she lived a full life and could’ve lived a much fuller one if her future hadn’t been cut off so brutally. My heart broke for Mary Ann, for Kitty’s family and friends. But most of all, my heart broke for Kitty.
Also nice was the portrait painted of Winston Moseley. It’s hard to be involved in a book, in some ways, that tells the story of so horrific a killer. However, despite this fact, Winston’s life is fleshed out, too. Truly a merciless person, undeserving of sympathy, but Cook was true to the case. He showed us the life Winston had made for himself, told us what he thought and why, in some parts, he thought it. No excuses, no justifications – just Moseley’s story. I wish, though, that Cook would’ve just used “black people,” “black person/woman/man,” or “African-American,” even. I know his word usage was true to 1964 but in the narration it wasn’t necessary to keep using it, unless it was a quote. I know it’s the “better” word as opposed to another, but it’s still ultimately not okay to use. Hopefully I’m making sense here. I’m white, so this topic would be better suited to someone who understands the issue. So I’m kind of just running my mouth here.
I loved reading about the “bystander effect” and “diffusion of responsibility.” Because while it might not have been exactly as Rosenthal claimed, the phenomenon exists. The fact that only two people called the police (technically four, but two didn’t go through with their calls anyways); the fact that two men watched, uncaring, as Kitty died, without the excuse that some people had of not knowing exactly what was going on, proves it. And if Rosenthal had never did what he did, the efforts taken afterwards would not have happened, and people wouldn’t know the name of Kitty Genovese. And Kitty Genovese deserves to be known – but as Cook portrays her. As a real, living, breathing human being.