The first volume of 'Brooklyn Dreams' introduced us, in sprawling impressionistic fashion, to its principal character, Vincent Carl Santini and his notably memorable senior year in high school. The second doubled down on sprawling impressionism but deepened everything in the first, not least by actually exploring the arrest that book one built up to but never delivered. Having met Santini already, it felt more focused and thus more enjoyable. While I realise John DeMatteis's approach to an unreliable ADHD narrator, more focus translates to more enjoyable. Focus here means that there's an honest-to-goodness theme to explore.

For a book that's ostensibly about Santini's senior year in high school, it has to be said that we really haven't seen much high school yet. In fact, I don't believe we've set foot in the place until this third book begins and, given that it's the third of four, that means that we're halfway. He's not doing particularly well in school, but he is in an Honors English class and it's there that he's introduced to Fyodor Dostoyevskly, "that lovable epileptic". Mr. Horowitz has already put him on 'Crime and Punishment' and he's so into it that he's practically drowning in its world. So, his teacher throws him a copy of 'The Brothers Karamazov' and suddenly he's in Heaven.

It's all about duality, you see, with "good and evil so monstrously mixed up in man", and Santini knows duality. After all, he's a fraternal twin, which he hadn't seen fit to mention thus far. That isn't poor writing, by the way; it's DeMatteis's conscious decision to have his character recount his autobiography as a stream of consciousness. He knew Santini was a fraternal twin and so did Santini. It just wasn't important until this moment, so this is when they bring it up. That's part and parcel of the narrator having "limited perception" and "faulty memory". It's realistic.

Anyway, we haven't met his brother because he was a miscarriage. Or, maybe, in one of Glenn Barr's glorious full-page panels, he simply foresaw the future and chose to leap to his death instead of moving naturally into life. That's dark, man, but it seems like an appropriate darkness for this seventeen-year-old who's devouring Dostoyevsky, especially after being arrested for possession. Now jail becomes a metaphor for life. The key to this volume is the line, "You can't break out of prison until you know you're in prison." Now he knows. And he wants to break out.

Given that everything here is flavoured by that need to escape the life he's in, even though he has no idea what other life he wants to escape to, it might seem strange to find everything also focused on death. I don't just mean the brother he lost in the womb, the most substantial part of this book is Uncle Fred's funeral, which is a dramatic marvel for a dozen different reasons. It certainly seems fair to accept that it's one of young Santini's most vivid memories, even if part of it is taken up by the corpse's nose being visible over the lip of the coffin. Barr, of course, has a lot of fun exaggerating this hugely for effect. "Perception's a funny thing."

If you'll recall from Volume 2, Uncle Fred was married to Minnie Epstein of the Shadow Cabinet that ruled Santini's mother's life. Esther Santini was a particular gift to Barr, who relishes any opportunity to cariacature her neuroticism. While Barr's crowning achievements here may be a handful of full-page cartoons depicting the claustrophobic city or the slapstick riot that erupts at the funeral, my favourite may be the one of the humungous Aunt Minnie acting like a queen while laid back in bed with mystery novels littered around her. I think I need to write 'The Case of the Vomiting Dwarf', if not perhaps 'The Case of the Drooling Moron'.

Anyway, Uncle Fred was married before Aunt Minnie. He even has a couple of adult daughters, both of whom are older than his wife because he had twenty years on her. All three of these old relics of his past absolutely hate Minnie, steadfast in their belief that she stole him away from them, even though Fred left his ex-wife ten full years before he even met his second.

Of course, they all descend on the funeral, marking the first time that most people there have even heard of them. The rabbi has just asked Minnie whether he should mention anyone from Fred's first marriage during the service, to which suggestion she emerges from her shellshock to startle everyone with her vehemence that none should. And then they all walk in. The first Mrs. Bass walks up to the coffin, makes sure that all eyes are on her and promptly faints right in front of it. And Santini's memory turns this into the WWE. It's all glorious stuff.

Eventually, we get back to court, which is as underwhelming as we expect, given how dominant so many of the other stories from Santini's senior year are in his memory. But these many and disparate threads weave well together. Dostoevsky. Denial. Realisation of a metaphorical jail, if not a real one. And Honors English passing Santini a key to break out of it. It feels like it's all starting to coalesce together, every one of many asides, tangents and digressions serving as a growing set of puzzle pieces to a big picture that's coming into view. With only one book left, it feels stronger than ever. ~~ Hal C F Astell

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