{"product_id":"fivefinger-discount-isbn-9780375758706","title":"Five-Finger Discount","description":"\u003cb\u003eNow a PBS documentary, this astonishing memoir of growing up in rough-and-tumble Jersey City “will steal your heart” (\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With deadpan humor and obvious affection, \u003ci\u003eFive-Finger Discount\u003c\/i\u003e recounts the story of an unforgettable New Jersey family of swindlers, bookies, embezzlers, and mobster-wannabes. In the memoir Mary Karr calls “a page-turner,” Helene Stapinski ingeniously weaves the checkered history of her hometown of Jersey City—a place known for its political corruption and industrial blight—with the tales that have swirled around her relatives for decades. Navigating a childhood of toxic waste and tough love, Stapinski tells an extraordinary tale at once heartbreaking and hysterically funny.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eFive-Finger Discount\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “By turns hilarious and alarming, [Helene Stapinski’s] book reads on the surface like something by Damon Runyon and Elmore Leonard, with a dark undertow of real-life pain and disillusion.”\u003cb\u003e—Michiko Kakutani, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “It’s a brilliant book, a darling book. It is the blessedly modest chronicle of a magical consciousness that seems to have been born pulling diamonds out of the muck, hearing angels’ voices in the fiercest thunder. . . . I adored every word of this wondrous book. Get it. Read it.”\u003cb\u003e—Michael Pakenham, \u003ci\u003eThe Baltimore Sun\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “In the tradition of . . . Rita Mae Brown and Amy Tan, Ms. Stapinski is an exciting writer, unabashedly candid, and at the same time unashamedly self-contained. \u003ci\u003eFive-Finger Discount\u003c\/i\u003e is a must-read.”\u003cb\u003e—Victoria Gotti, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Observer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What [Frank] McCourt did for Limerick, Ireland, Helene Stapinski does for Jersey City.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Star-Ledger\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Hugely entertaining.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003c\/b\u003e“By turns hilarious and alarming, [Helene Stapinski’s] book reads on the surface like something by Damon Runyon and Elmore Leonard, with a dark undertow of real-life pain and disillusion.”\u003cb\u003e—Michiko Kakutani, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “It’s a brilliant book, a darling book. It is the blessedly modest chronicle of a magical consciousness that seems to have been born pulling diamonds out of the muck, hearing angels’ voices in the fiercest thunder. . . . I adored every word of this wondrous book. Get it. Read it.”\u003cb\u003e—Michael Pakenham, \u003ci\u003eThe Baltimore Sun\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “In the tradition of . . . Rita Mae Brown and Amy Tan, Ms. Stapinski is an exciting writer, unabashedly candid, and at the same time unashamedly self-contained. \u003ci\u003eFive-Finger Discount\u003c\/i\u003e is a must-read.”\u003cb\u003e—Victoria Gotti, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Observer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What [Frank] McCourt did for Limerick, Ireland, Helene Stapinski does for Jersey City.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Star-Ledger\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Hugely entertaining.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003e Helene Stapinski\u003c\/b\u003e began her career at her hometown newspaper, The Jersey Journal,  and since then has written for \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York\u003c\/i\u003e magazine, and \u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e,  among other publications. She received her B.A. in journalism from New York University  in 1987 and her M.F.A. from Columbia in 1995. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband  and son.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMajestic Memory\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe night my grandfather tried to kill us, I was five years old, the age I\u003cbr\u003estopped believing in Santa Claus, started kindergarten, and made real\u003cbr\u003erather than imaginary friends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause Grandpa was one of two grandfathers in their family, my cousins\u003cbr\u003ecalled him Grandpa Jerry. For me, he was simply Grandpa. I had only one.\u003cbr\u003eThe other--my father's father, the Polish grandpa we called Dziadzia\u003cbr\u003e(pronounced Jaja)--was hit over the head during a burglary in his front\u003cbr\u003ehallway seven years before I was born and died after slipping into a coma.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone in Jersey City knew Grandpa \"Italian Grandpa\" as Beansie, because\u003cbr\u003ewhen he was young, he stole a crate of beans from the back of a truck.\u003cbr\u003eDetails about his life started to bubble into my consciousness during the\u003cbr\u003esummer of 1970, the year my memory kicked in full force. There were stories\u003cbr\u003eabout Grandpa \"going away\" to Trenton for murder. Being arrested for armed\u003cbr\u003erobbery. Beating my mother, her sister, and her three brothers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGrandpa was a well-known neighborhood bully and crook, though the only\u003cbr\u003estolen objects I knew of firsthand were the ones he swiped while working as\u003cbr\u003ea security guard at the Jersey City Public Library and Museum in the late\u003cbr\u003e1960s. The fact that Grandpa was able to get a city job as a security\u003cbr\u003eguard (through an uncle, who knew a local judge, who was connected to the\u003cbr\u003emayor) says a lot about Jersey City's patronage system and general\u003cbr\u003ereputation. Everybody stole. It was no big deal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy brother inherited most of the objects Grandpa took from the library and\u003cbr\u003emuseum--the shiny, shellacked coins with Indian feathered heads; a\u003cbr\u003ephotograph of Abraham Lincoln; small, black Indian arrowheads; a set of\u003cbr\u003eencyclopedias. I always wondered if Grandpa stole them book by book or had\u003cbr\u003eone of his friends with a car pull up to the library and help him load them\u003cbr\u003ein.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe only stolen object of Grandpa's that I possess is a dictionary, a\u003cbr\u003eWebster's Seventh New Collegiate edition, which he inscribed to my sister\u003cbr\u003ethe year I was born: \"From Grandpa. Hi Ya Paula. Year-1965.\" The call\u003cbr\u003enumbers on the spine and the blue stamp on a back page, which reads free\u003cbr\u003epublic library jersey city, n.j., have been crossed out in blue indelible\u003cbr\u003emarker, his attempt to legitimize the gift. Grandpa obviously had his own\u003cbr\u003einterpretation of the phrase free public library.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore I started school, my grandma Pauline baby-sat for me while my mother\u003cbr\u003eworked as a clerk at the Jersey City Division of Motor Vehicles office,\u003cbr\u003ethree blocks away. When Grandma died in February of 1970, my mother had no\u003cbr\u003eone to baby-sit, so she quit her job. Though I'm sure I missed my grandma--a\u003cbr\u003esaintly woman with a halo of white hair and small, pretty hands--my world\u003cbr\u003echanged for the better. I was suddenly the center of my mother's attention.\u003cbr\u003eWith Grandma gone, Grandpa was at the center of no one's.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBecause my grandmother had stayed married to Grandpa for four decades, she\u003cbr\u003edied fairly young. She was only sixty. She died on Ash Wednesday, the first\u003cbr\u003eday of Lent. By then Grandma hated Grandpa so much that on her deathbed,\u003cbr\u003ewith the smudge of ashes on her forehead, she made my mother promise that\u003cbr\u003eGrandpa wouldn't be buried on top of her when he died. She couldn't stand\u003cbr\u003ethe thought of his remains mingling with hers.[quote] --People National Bestseller","brand":"Random House Trade Paperbacks","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303971868901,"sku":"NP9780375758706","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375758706.jpg?v=1767727392","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/fivefinger-discount-isbn-9780375758706","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}