Brooks on Books: Public Enemies by Bryan Burrough

I dunno about Michael Mann's recent film, but the source material is outstanding. Subtitled "America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34," "Public Enemies delivers with vivid characterizations of the men and women involved, compelling accounts of the crimes, and sharp writing and analysis that puts it all in context of the Depression and the rise of a new approach to federal law enforcement.

Burrough worked hard on this one, going through a variety of sources and filtering out some of the myths and legends to provide a thorough account of this wild span. Not only is it credible as history, though, it's exhilarating reading. I found the book a tad hard to follow at first, not because of any lack of clarity by Burrough, but because there are so many players to follow--federal agents, policemen, two-bit hoods, and of course the "stars" of the book such as John Dillinger. Burrough chooses to tell the story chronologically, which I believe is ultimately an outstanding approach, but it necessitates some jumping around and juggling of the roster of names.

However, Burrough tells the story so well, you never really get lost. Most importantly, he includes invaluable supplemental material at the front of the book, including a chart listing all the major criminals with headshots. It took me a while to get a handle on everything, but at a certain point, I was hooked, and "Public Enemies" became difficult to put down. When the criminals are on the lam, with the nascent FBI desperately struggling to track them down, this is an amazing story full of twists and remarkable little details. It's a nonfiction thriller.

The biggest thing that jumps out at me in this book is how incompetent the FBI was. Burrough is not unsympathetic, frequently mentioning how overmatched and undertrained the feds were before they got powers even as basic as the authority to carry guns. Still, it's shocking to see the blunders that men like Melvin Purvis--adored in the press of the time--made time and again that allowed their targets to escape. And there's no excuse for the pettiness and dishonesty--and perhaps worse--that characterized J. Edgar Hoover's leadership and placed personal considerations over the public good. Burrough also described the corruption that plagued local law enforcement and often hampered legitimate crimefighting efforts.

The FBI grows, though, and it's fascinating to see their progression in tactics and strategy over the course of the book. Instead of glamorizing the criminals, Burrough shows proper respect for the hard-workers among the G-Men, offering nice touches like the footnotes that detail the agents' time spent in the Bureau and what they did afterwards. The title characters, though, and the draw of this work are the crooks.

The star among stars here is John Dillinger, the most charismatic of this bunch, even on the page. His saga dominates the narrative, but there are others who precede him. It's in no way just his book, as Burrough does his best to give the Enemies the coverage they warrant. Machine Gun Kelly is not much of a player in this period and doesn't appear much; similarly Pretty Boy Floyd is more a name mentioned than one actively appearing here.

There are plenty of other luminaries, though. Bonnie and Clyde engage in their share of mayhem before they're caught (and not by the Feds) , but Burrough makes a good case that they "have garnered an artistic and cultural relevance in death they never found or deserved in life." There is an unsettling portrait of the volatile Baby Face Nelson, who was so violent and wild he made Dillinger uneasy when they worked together.

Then there is the Barker Gang, a group of misfits purportedly headed by Ma Barker. As Burrough relates, though, Ma Barker was a doddering old lady interested in jigsaw puzzles, and her status as "criminal mastermind" was wholly fabricated by Hoover to save face after his men killed her. More significant and more compelling is Alvin Karpis, the last survivor of the major criminals, who Burrough calls "probably the smartest Depression-era criminal." He doesn't get a lot of ink today, but "Enemies" portrays him as one of the more effective, if not colorful, of the era's bad guys and worthy of more attention than he received then and since.

Bryan Burrough's "Public Enemies" combines outstanding writing and comprehensive research, and it's the kind of book that satisfies but it so good you almost want more. This is certainly a compelling topic, but the author lives up to it with a fascinating account. I highly recommend it, and I can only hope Michael Mann's film is as exciting and full of depth as this version of the real story.