You know that feeling when you finish a book and just sort of stare at the wall for twenty minutes? That’s what The Given Day does to you. Honestly, most people know Dennis Lehane for the gritty, rain-soaked noir of Mystic River or the mind-bending twists in Shutter Island. But back in 2008, he dropped this absolute behemoth of a novel that basically tried to bottle the entire soul of early 20th-century America.
It’s huge. It’s loud. It’s messy.
And man, it is incredibly relevant right now. Set against the backdrop of 1918 and 1919, The Given Day tackles everything from a global pandemic (the Spanish Flu) to racial reckoning and a massive police strike that brought Boston to its knees. If you think today’s political landscape is "unprecedented," this book is a polite, 700-page reminder that we’ve been here before.
What is The Given Day actually about?
At its heart, this isn't just a "history book" with fictional names slapped on. It’s the story of two men from completely different worlds whose lives collide in a city that’s about to explode.
First, you’ve got Danny Coughlin. He’s Irish, he’s a beat cop, and his dad is a legendary police captain. Danny is the "golden boy" of the Boston PD, but he’s also kind of a mess internally. He gets sent undercover by his godfather, Eddie McKenna (who is genuinely one of the most hateful villains Lehane has ever written), to infiltrate the local anarchist and union movements. The goal? Sniff out "Bolsheviks." The problem? Danny starts realizing the guys he’s spying on actually have a point.
Then there’s Luther Laurence.
Luther is a young Black man fleeing Tulsa after a violent encounter with a crime boss. He ends up in Boston, working as a handyman for—you guessed it—the Coughlin family. Through Luther’s eyes, we see the "other" Boston. Not the one run by Irish ward bosses, but the one struggling for a foothold in a country that treats them as less than human. His friendship with Danny is the emotional spine of the whole story. It’s not a "magical" friendship where racism suddenly vanishes; it’s complicated, dangerous, and grounded in real-world survival.
The Boston Police Strike of 1919: The Real History
If you’re a history buff, the climax of the book is basically your Super Bowl. Lehane spends hundreds of pages building up to the 1919 Boston Police Strike.
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Think about this: in 1918, Boston cops hadn't had a raise since 1857. They were working 75 to 90 hours a week. They were literally sleeping in rat-infested precincts. When they finally tried to form a union and affiliate with the AFL, the city flipped out.
The book captures that chaos with terrifying detail. When the strike actually happens, 72% of the force walks off the job. For a few nights, Boston is basically a lawless zone. We’re talking looting, riots on the Boston Common, and the State Guard being called in to restore order at the end of a bayonet.
Lehane doesn't pick an "easy" side. He shows the desperation of the cops who just want a living wage, but he also shows the brutal reality of what happens when the thin blue line actually vanishes. It’s where Danny Coughlin has to decide who he really is: a loyal son of the department or a man who stands with the workers.
Historical Cameos That Actually Work
One thing Lehane does that’s pretty gutsy is weaving in real-life icons. You’ve got:
- Babe Ruth: He shows up right at the beginning and end. He’s depicted not as a legend, but as a guy who just wants to play ball and get paid.
- J. Edgar Hoover: Before he was the FBI boogeyman, he was a young, ambitious DOJ lawyer obsessed with radicals. Lehane paints him as cold, calculating, and deeply weird.
- Calvin Coolidge: The Governor who used the strike to propel himself to the White House.
Usually, these kinds of "celebrity" cameos in historical fiction feel cheesy. Here, they feel like part of the furniture. They’re just people moving through the same dirty streets as everyone else.
Why the "Human Factor" Makes it Rank Above Other Noir
A lot of historical novels feel like a costume drama—all outfits and no heart. The Given Day avoids that because Lehane focuses on the small, ugly details of life.
He writes about the Spanish Flu with a chilling accuracy that hits different after 2020. People wearing gauze masks, the sound of the "death wagons" in the streets, the sheer randomness of who lived and who died. He also touches on the Great Molasses Flood of 1919. Yeah, that was a real thing. Two million gallons of molasses burst out of a tank in the North End and killed 21 people. Lehane treats it like a tragedy, not a trivia fact.
The prose is vintage Lehane. It’s poetic but punchy. He’ll give you a sentence that’s thirty words long, describing the smell of the harbor, and then follow it with a two-word gut punch.
It’s a story about "the terrible smallness of men," as he puts it. Everyone is trying to be bigger than they are. The rich are trying to hold onto power they don't deserve, and the poor are trying to grab a piece of the American Dream before the door slams shut.
Actionable Insights for Readers and Writers
If you’re looking to dive into this era or this specific book, here’s the best way to approach it.
For Readers:
Don't rush the first 100 pages. The Babe Ruth intro feels like a tangent, but it sets the tone for the "American Mythos" that the rest of the book deconstructs. Also, if you love the characters, know that this is the first in a trilogy. The story of the Coughlin family continues in Live by Night and World Gone By, though the tone shifts more toward traditional gangster noir in those sequels.
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For Writers:
Study how Lehane uses "Atmospheric Research." He doesn't just tell you the date; he tells you what the coal smoke felt like in a character's lungs. He uses historical events as pressure cookers for his characters’ morality. If you want to write historical fiction that feels "real," stop looking at dates and start looking at the grievances people had.
For History Geeks:
Look up the Palmer Raids and the Red Scare of 1919 after you finish. Lehane’s depiction of the "Roxbury Lettish Workingman's Society" is a deep dive into how the U.S. government actually targeted immigrant groups under the guise of national security. It’s eye-opening stuff.
Summary: A Masterclass in Scope
Honestly, The Given Day is a miracle of a book. It’s rare for an author to take such a massive swing and actually connect. It’s a crime novel, a political thriller, and a family drama all wrapped into one. It shows us that while the technology changes, the "fist beneath the velvet glove of democracy" usually stays the same.
If you want to understand where the modern American identity came from—the good, the bad, and the incredibly violent—this is the book you need to pick up.
Deep Dive: Historical Landmarks to Fact-Check
- The Boston Social Club: The precursor to the police union.
- Greenwood District, Tulsa: Mentioned in Luther's backstory, foreshadowing the 1921 massacre.
- Edwin Curtis: The real-life hardline Police Commissioner.
- Mechanics Hall: The site of the boxing match that opens the main narrative.
Next Steps for the Curious
- Read the Book: Obviously. Grab the 10th-anniversary edition if you can; the foreword is great.
- Listen to the Audiobook: Narrated by Bobby Cannavale, it captures the Boston accents and the tension perfectly.
- Research the Strike: Check out the archives at the Boston Public Library or "A City in Terror" by Francis Russell for the non-fiction version of these events.