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Mario Puzo’s novel was published in March of 1969. The famous “puppet strings” book cover was designed by S. Neil Fujita.
A few years ago, I designed a comparative studies course centered around Machiavelli’s unconventional political treatise, The Prince. The course focused on identifying Machiavellianism as a radically modern concept, tracing its development through various cultural adaptations and across diverse genres and media. Together with the students, I examined films such as The Godfather trilogy and A Bronx Tale, while also allowing them to pursue final projects on related nonfiction works like Peter Maas’s Underboss: Sammy the Bull Gravano’s Story of Life in the Mafia. My central argument was that, beyond the realm of politics, criminal organizations like the Mafia represented the closest approximation to the full-scale deployment of Machiavelli’s system of power.
What made the film adaptations of Mario Puzo’s 1969 novel so influential over the following three decades was their emphasis on the pure leadership qualities of the Mafia boss. These qualities were not only employed in the relentless power struggles within the crime family but also framed as justified and legitimized by higher social goals—such as preserving and protecting the unity of the boss’s family. Within this framework, we can better understand Puzo’s later paradoxical assertion that the Godfather’s fictional voice mirrored, in his memory, the voice of his own mother!
Whenever the Godfather opened his mouth, in my own mind I heard the voice of my mother. I heard her wisdom, her ruthlessness, and her unconquerable love for her family and for life itself, qualities not valued in women at the time. The Don’s courage and loyalty came from her; his humanity came from her. Through my characters, I heard the voices of my sisters and brothers, with their tolerance of human frailty. And so, I know now, without Lucia Santa, I could not have written The Godfather. (The Fortunate Pilgrim, Preface, 1998 edition)
The cinematic criminals of the first half of the 20th century were often depicted as savage beasts, their innate proclivity for violence condemning them to social marginalization, violent elimination, or forced exclusion. Alternatively, they were portrayed as morally weak sinners whose inevitable fall from grace stemmed from their irredeemably flawed nature. Both archetypes framed dramas rooted in the stark opposition between the corrupt morality of the central character and the moralizing, corrective actions of public institutions and enforcement agencies. These narratives left little room for ambiguity: evil was presented as an unforgivable aberration, destined for extinction.
In contrast, Vito and Michael Corleone are portrayed as ordinary individuals, endowed with courage and determination, who are compelled by circumstances beyond their control to engage in a high-stakes game of violence. The outcome of this game determines not only their survival and the preservation of their organization’s power but also the lives of their families and the social networks that sustain their existence and lifestyle. Much like Machiavelli’s ideal prince, the temporal and spatial contexts in which Vito and Michael operate often necessitate the calculated use of violence and violent threats when no other means can achieve the desired results. Whether they wish to resort to violence, deception, or betrayal, Puzo’s and Coppola’s Dons and Godfathers have no choice but to navigate a world where all players—including allies who can quickly turn into traitors, as well as business competitors and direct enemies—operate with few, if any, moral restrictions. This dynamic is encapsulated in the infamous line, almost a trademark of the series: “It’s not personal, it’s just business.”
Their deep attachment to their family and their unwavering commitment to securing their family’s future and well-being—both safeguarded and jeopardized by their criminal activities—render Vito and Michael Corleone profoundly tragic and endlessly ambiguous characters. Their leadership roles constantly oscillate between opposing extremes: good and bad, winner and loser, victimizer and victim. This duality reflects the harsh realities of their world, where the moral boundaries of power, loyalty, and survival are blurred, forcing them to navigate a precarious balance between their personal values and the brutal demands of their social environment.
Dr. Andrea Fedi
