Dear Vito (2009) –Mickey Z.
By Gabriel Ricard
Dear Vito is wonderful on a number of levels. Its strongest point however is in how it reveals its author to be a man of seemingly endless literary capabilities. Mickey Z. has made much of his impact writing vicious, intelligent and often forebodingly comical works meant to draw attention to some of the more desperate details in our times. That’s been on the surface of a lot of his books, but a closer look at any one of them often proves Mickey can accomplish even more as a writer. Even his darkest comedies have shown a keen insight into the minute nature of people and a love for his characters that makes them more than a bunch of sad clowns scrambling around the land. It’s with his new novella, Dear Vito that he focuses on these particular skills. At the same time he still makes room for the kind of satire he has so eloquently delivered in books like CPR for Dummies (which in fact figures quite nicely into the proceedings).
Of course since its Mickey Z. the territory is still going to be strange and about as far from norm as a work of fiction can get. A quick glance at the story should indicate that you really don’t encounter characters like James Hemming. James is a personal trainer who spends his free time entering air guitar contests utilizing the technique of a heavy metal guitarist named Vito Bratta. When his aspiration moves from mere competitions to returning Bratta to public glory (while maybe getting in on some of that fame on fortune himself) he enlists the aid of a woman named Indigo. There’s no doubt that Indigo is just as strange as James. Both of these people are clearly disturbed players in a world bursting at all ends with outcasts, but there’s nothing grandiose about that. Indigo and James would likely make for very uneventful personalities in the hands of any other writer. They’re not monsters. It’s just that they’re quite simply delusional, ambitious personalities who have managed to put their marginal insanity to work for them. Mickey Z. has written about these kinds of people on many occasions. He seems to understand their mindsets, desires and fits of madness better than most of us. It might even be reasonable to suggest that he feels sorry for them. He certainly puts them through a good deal of tragic-comedy hell before the book is through. No one is going to deny that. Across the book’s chaotic assortment, including scripted conversation, Hemming’s letters to Vito, startling narrative and even snippets from Indigo’s personal notebook, Mickey is going to make them suffer through situations even stranger than they are. Through all that it is obvious that Mickey has a place in his heart for these hopeless individuals. They might be disturbed, but they’re also funny and even likable once in a while.
You don’t expect that from characters like these. A lesser writer would relegate them to one-dimensional burnouts of humanity. They would be basic and serve no other purpose but to fuel the opinions of the author. Mickey obviously has some thoughts of his own to share on the state of the world, America and its culture, but he doesn’t shortchange the story or characters to do that. He weaves his views with faultless proficiency into strong characters and a story that fits the most basic requirement of fiction. That requirement being that it stands as gripping bit of work that burns the brain like a motherfucker and gives your subconscious something to digest for a good while to come. That’s a lot for a fairly short book (less than a hundred and fifty pages) to hand off to you. It would seem that with every book Mickey Z. sets his personal bar for excellence just a little bit higher. Dear Vito puts that bar into territory that a lot of writers can only dream about. James Hemming is his best singular creation to date. Mickey Z. has penned a novella worthy of his fictional legend.