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Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend
The daring movie revolutionized Hollywood—now the true story of Bonnie and Clyde is told in the lovers’ own voices, with verisimilitude and drama to match Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. Strictly nonfiction—no dialogue or other material has been made up—and set in the dirt-poor Texas landscape that spawned the star-crossed outlaws, Paul Schneider’s brilliantly researched and dramatically crafted tale begins with a daring jailbreak and ends with an ambush and shoot-out that consigns their bullet-riddled bodies to the crumpled front seat of a hopped-up getaway car. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow’s relationship was, at the core, a toxic combination of infatuation blended with an instinct for going too far too fast. The poetry-writing petite Bonnie and her gun-crazy lover drove lawmen wild. Despite their best efforts the duo kept up their exploits, slipping the noose every single, damned time. That is until the weight of their infamy in four states caught up with them in the famous ambush that literally blasted away their years of live-action rampage in seconds. Without glamorizing the killers or vilifying the cops, the book, alive with action and high-level entertainment, provides a complete picture of America’s most famous outlaw couple and the culture that created them.
320 pages, Hardcover
First published September 8, 2008
35 people are currently reading
812 people want to read
About the author
Paul Schneider
5 books28 followersPaul is currently the editor of Martha's Vineyard Magazine, the leading general interest magazine about the storied island off the coast of Massachusetts.
He is also the author of five books of non-fiction, most recently Old Man River: The Mississippi in North American History. (Henry Holt, 2013). The book was well reviewed in the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal, and elsewhere.
Previous books include:
Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend, which the LA Times called "extraordinarily immediate, not to mention lurid," and Oprah Magazine said "ignites like a combustion engine, driving the narrative toward its gruesome climax."
Brutal Journey: Cabeza de Vaca and the Epic First Crossing of North America, which Candice Millard, writing for the the New York Times, called "a fast-paced, moving story, one that is difficult to believe and impossible to forget."
The Enduring Shore: A History of Cape Cod, Martha's Vineyard, and Nantucket, which Paul Theroux, writing for the New York Times, called "a happy blend of the dramatic, the colorful, the outlandish and the monumental."
The Adirondacks: A History of America's First Wilderness, which was a New York Times notable book of the year.
He is also the author of five books of non-fiction, most recently Old Man River: The Mississippi in North American History. (Henry Holt, 2013). The book was well reviewed in the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal, and elsewhere.
Previous books include:
Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend, which the LA Times called "extraordinarily immediate, not to mention lurid," and Oprah Magazine said "ignites like a combustion engine, driving the narrative toward its gruesome climax."
Brutal Journey: Cabeza de Vaca and the Epic First Crossing of North America, which Candice Millard, writing for the the New York Times, called "a fast-paced, moving story, one that is difficult to believe and impossible to forget."
The Enduring Shore: A History of Cape Cod, Martha's Vineyard, and Nantucket, which Paul Theroux, writing for the New York Times, called "a happy blend of the dramatic, the colorful, the outlandish and the monumental."
The Adirondacks: A History of America's First Wilderness, which was a New York Times notable book of the year.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 81 reviews
April 19, 2013
The author of this book could not decide whether he was trying to write a novel that paid homage and tribute to the toughness of Clyde Barrow, or a well-researched biography. Therefore, he provides a book that is well-researched and covers all of the necessary angles (Was Clyde bisexual? etc.) but with a style that is so silly and absurd it reads almost like a love letter to Clyde Barrow.
Throughout the book the author provides sensory details and attributes thoughts to Barrow that cannot be known. In other words, he becomes overcome with artistic license. His goal is to make the book enjoyable and interesting, but instead he simply increases the word count with speculative dramatization.
On top of that, he writes as if he is writing to Clyde. Rather than saying Clyde did this and Clyde did that-- he says "You" and this approach becomes annoying, but no more so than in the final chapter AFTER Clyde is dead.
Here is an excerpt so you can see what I mean:
"A couple of different men in the posse claim that they personallyshot the first bullet and that it went right through your head.... Maybe you hear the first bullet, or the first ten, or twenty, or all of them...You remember Buck stealing chickens, Bonnie drinking hot chocolate.. You remember.. Funny thing is you can watch your own killing without anger--Who would have thought?"
This constant addressing Clyde get old by the end of the first chapter, making the remainder of the book a struggle to read.
Though the author carefully docuements his research in the notes in the back of the book, I view much of that as suspect. If he will exaggerate and imagine thoughts and attitudes as well as a death scene, how can we know he did not exaggerate other portions of the material?
The material offered is interesting, but now I have to go and get a factual account, written in a professional style, in order to know what is likely true here and what is exaggerated.
Which means that this book, was pretty much a waste of time.
Throughout the book the author provides sensory details and attributes thoughts to Barrow that cannot be known. In other words, he becomes overcome with artistic license. His goal is to make the book enjoyable and interesting, but instead he simply increases the word count with speculative dramatization.
On top of that, he writes as if he is writing to Clyde. Rather than saying Clyde did this and Clyde did that-- he says "You" and this approach becomes annoying, but no more so than in the final chapter AFTER Clyde is dead.
Here is an excerpt so you can see what I mean:
"A couple of different men in the posse claim that they personallyshot the first bullet and that it went right through your head.... Maybe you hear the first bullet, or the first ten, or twenty, or all of them...You remember Buck stealing chickens, Bonnie drinking hot chocolate.. You remember.. Funny thing is you can watch your own killing without anger--Who would have thought?"
This constant addressing Clyde get old by the end of the first chapter, making the remainder of the book a struggle to read.
Though the author carefully docuements his research in the notes in the back of the book, I view much of that as suspect. If he will exaggerate and imagine thoughts and attitudes as well as a death scene, how can we know he did not exaggerate other portions of the material?
The material offered is interesting, but now I have to go and get a factual account, written in a professional style, in order to know what is likely true here and what is exaggerated.
Which means that this book, was pretty much a waste of time.
September 21, 2021
Others have rated this lower, but I really liked this book.
A little background, I'm from/live outside of Dallas (Bonnie & Clyde's hometown) and used as their home base. In North Texas they are literally folk heroes, all the romantic images remembered, but none of the bad, none of the killing and robbing.
Two events mentioned in the book are legend in my hometown, Lewisville.
First. late in the book, B & C cohort Ray Hamilton talks of robbing the Lewisville bank (I believe in the late 30's) and mentioned getting caught. That event is mixed with a similar robbery and thus legend in my hometown, that somehow Hamilton was chased down by the high school football team (Based on claims over the years there was about 250 guys on that football team.), but that event was a mixed with a different robbery where a different crook was chased down. but forever connected to B&C. Also during that initial getaway my grandfather was standing on the main street corner on a pay phone calling my grandmother (to be) for a date when the getaway car sped by.
Second, also late in the book and their rampage, was the killing of two motorcycle policemen on a deserted road in Grapevine, TX the next town over from my hometown. This incident pretty much turned most local folks against them. No more romantic gangster thoughts, but rather looked at as cold blooded killers.
As for the book, and what I enjoyed, I wondered all the through if this was a biography or historical fiction because the author did a wonderful job of relaying Bonnie and Clyde’s mindset and recounting conversations that I wondered if the author got this from witnesses, fellow gangsters/girlfriends, and/or family. But, it gave the story from Bonnie & Clyde's perspective where most of the time the story is told from the law enforcement perspective.
I thought it was great.
A little background, I'm from/live outside of Dallas (Bonnie & Clyde's hometown) and used as their home base. In North Texas they are literally folk heroes, all the romantic images remembered, but none of the bad, none of the killing and robbing.
Two events mentioned in the book are legend in my hometown, Lewisville.
First. late in the book, B & C cohort Ray Hamilton talks of robbing the Lewisville bank (I believe in the late 30's) and mentioned getting caught. That event is mixed with a similar robbery and thus legend in my hometown, that somehow Hamilton was chased down by the high school football team (Based on claims over the years there was about 250 guys on that football team.), but that event was a mixed with a different robbery where a different crook was chased down. but forever connected to B&C. Also during that initial getaway my grandfather was standing on the main street corner on a pay phone calling my grandmother (to be) for a date when the getaway car sped by.
Second, also late in the book and their rampage, was the killing of two motorcycle policemen on a deserted road in Grapevine, TX the next town over from my hometown. This incident pretty much turned most local folks against them. No more romantic gangster thoughts, but rather looked at as cold blooded killers.
As for the book, and what I enjoyed, I wondered all the through if this was a biography or historical fiction because the author did a wonderful job of relaying Bonnie and Clyde’s mindset and recounting conversations that I wondered if the author got this from witnesses, fellow gangsters/girlfriends, and/or family. But, it gave the story from Bonnie & Clyde's perspective where most of the time the story is told from the law enforcement perspective.
I thought it was great.
July 25, 2017
True Crime Commemoration # 6
Setting: Depression era stretching from Texas up to Minnesota
Setting: Depression era stretching from Texas up to Minnesota
September 11, 2025
A grim and realistic account of the mythologized crime pair.
January 2, 2016
This is a very good biography with an affectation. I'll get to the affectation in a minute, but I want to state for the record that, really, this is a very good biography. Schneider uses primary sources, and he uses a lot of them. He extrapolates a little, but he doesn't theorize. He lets Bonnie and Clyde (and W. D. Jones and Blanche Barrow and Frank Hamer, prison guards and petty criminals and victims) speak in their own words, and he does a bang-up job of showing how Clyde Barrow became what he was, both the parts that he chose and the parts that he didn't. And Schneider writes very well.
However. As I said, this is a biography with an affectation. The affectation is that most (though not all, which makes it, if anything, worse) of the sections about Clyde are written in second person. (E.g., from a page chosen at random: "Two days after the killing of Howard Hall, Sheriff Reece puts out a wanted poster with your picture on it, offering two hundred dollars as a reward for your capture" (204).) Sometimes, this strategy is very effective, and I know why Schneider did it, because the last section of the book, after Clyde and Bonnie are dead, is a second person extrapolation of Clyde's reaction to his own death, ending:
Oh yeah, folks reach in and pull pieces of your clothes off, grab for souvenirs. One guy even gets his pocketknife out and is cutting at your ear. Even your stinking dead ear is famous now and the fellow wants it.
You would like to see him try that when you were alive. Ha! But there's nothing you can do about it now. And come to think of it, who cares? Hell, buddy, that doesn't even hurt, getting that ear cut off. Try chopping a toe off, or takin' the Texas bat on your backside with two fat trusties sitting on your head and feet. Try a half dozen bullets here and there over the years, pulling them out yourself or getting Bonnie to pull them. Try a whole arsenal all at once. Try hearing Bonnie scream like a panther in the seat next to you.
You don't need that old ear--go ahead and take it, friend. Take Bonnie's jewelry, too. Sure, take those guns, Captain Hamer, they might be worth something someday. You don't need any of it now. You and Bonnie are around the corner and out of sight. (344-45)
And I can see why he wants to get there, why he thought this piece of stunt writing would be a good idea. (Writers are just as susceptible as anyone else to the magnetism of bad ideas.) And for the most part, he executes his bad idea quite well; there are places where it's intrusive and fake-sounding, but it does generate the illusion, by the end of the book, that we as readers have some idea of what it was like to be Clyde Barrow.
On the other hand, it's an illusion. We don't know any more about what it was like to be Clyde Barrow than we know about what it was like to be Bonnie Parker, and the effect of the stunt writing that I most deplore is that, by spotlighting Clyde, it shoves Bonnie back, making her a second-class citizen in Bonnie-and-Clyde. (Which fits with Schneider's belief that Clyde was the dominant partner, but is still . . . what's the adjective I want? Annoying? Disappointing?) And frankly, of the two of them, Bonnie is the one who's harder to understand. It's not hard to see how Clyde became what he was, to trace the steps from petty theft to bank robbery and murder and to see why, after a certain point, Clyde thought he didn't have any choice except to continue as he was. And Schneider does an excellent job of showing those steps. But he never really digs into the question of why Bonnie chose to follow Clyde. He leaves it at "love" and leaves Bonnie an enigma.
I think I would be less annoyed by this if he'd just called the book Clyde Barrow and not pretended it was about Bonnie-and-Clyde. But it does make me want a good biography of Bonnie Parker.
However. As I said, this is a biography with an affectation. The affectation is that most (though not all, which makes it, if anything, worse) of the sections about Clyde are written in second person. (E.g., from a page chosen at random: "Two days after the killing of Howard Hall, Sheriff Reece puts out a wanted poster with your picture on it, offering two hundred dollars as a reward for your capture" (204).) Sometimes, this strategy is very effective, and I know why Schneider did it, because the last section of the book, after Clyde and Bonnie are dead, is a second person extrapolation of Clyde's reaction to his own death, ending:
Oh yeah, folks reach in and pull pieces of your clothes off, grab for souvenirs. One guy even gets his pocketknife out and is cutting at your ear. Even your stinking dead ear is famous now and the fellow wants it.
You would like to see him try that when you were alive. Ha! But there's nothing you can do about it now. And come to think of it, who cares? Hell, buddy, that doesn't even hurt, getting that ear cut off. Try chopping a toe off, or takin' the Texas bat on your backside with two fat trusties sitting on your head and feet. Try a half dozen bullets here and there over the years, pulling them out yourself or getting Bonnie to pull them. Try a whole arsenal all at once. Try hearing Bonnie scream like a panther in the seat next to you.
You don't need that old ear--go ahead and take it, friend. Take Bonnie's jewelry, too. Sure, take those guns, Captain Hamer, they might be worth something someday. You don't need any of it now. You and Bonnie are around the corner and out of sight. (344-45)
And I can see why he wants to get there, why he thought this piece of stunt writing would be a good idea. (Writers are just as susceptible as anyone else to the magnetism of bad ideas.) And for the most part, he executes his bad idea quite well; there are places where it's intrusive and fake-sounding, but it does generate the illusion, by the end of the book, that we as readers have some idea of what it was like to be Clyde Barrow.
On the other hand, it's an illusion. We don't know any more about what it was like to be Clyde Barrow than we know about what it was like to be Bonnie Parker, and the effect of the stunt writing that I most deplore is that, by spotlighting Clyde, it shoves Bonnie back, making her a second-class citizen in Bonnie-and-Clyde. (Which fits with Schneider's belief that Clyde was the dominant partner, but is still . . . what's the adjective I want? Annoying? Disappointing?) And frankly, of the two of them, Bonnie is the one who's harder to understand. It's not hard to see how Clyde became what he was, to trace the steps from petty theft to bank robbery and murder and to see why, after a certain point, Clyde thought he didn't have any choice except to continue as he was. And Schneider does an excellent job of showing those steps. But he never really digs into the question of why Bonnie chose to follow Clyde. He leaves it at "love" and leaves Bonnie an enigma.
I think I would be less annoyed by this if he'd just called the book Clyde Barrow and not pretended it was about Bonnie-and-Clyde. But it does make me want a good biography of Bonnie Parker.
May 20, 2009
The author lets us know that no dialogue in his extensive biography of Depression Era hoodlums Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrows was made up, that it was taken from documents and interviews. In fact, I recommend you first read the "notes" section in the back of the book where Schneider described how he did his research to appreciate the scope of the effort. Yet this book is not "strictly non-fiction" as described on the dust jacket. It is more of a non-fiction novel as in the style of In Cold Blood though not nearly as good. The author constantly puts us in the mind of Clyde Barrows, using second person narrative. For instance, In the middle of Clyde's violent death he is depicted in this thought...
"You love Bonnie and you don't deserve her and you never deserved her and you know you never will deserve her and now it's over. Only the thing is she loved you, so maybe you do deserve her, right?"
And this is in a hail of bullets that probably killed him instantly?
Or this from the author's depiction of the Eastham Prison escape...
"Shut up, and keep quiet and keep ready with that gun and keep ready with that gun if you ever want your money from Raymond, Mullins. Whose lousy idea was this coming right here to the very edge of burnin' Eastham."
Keep in mind that these are not what Clyde actually said but the author's narration about what was happening during the event.
It is one thing to speculate about the protagonists' thought in a non-fiction book but to state them with such certainty brings the work into fiction, at least in the viewpoint of this reviewer.
There are a lot of admirable things in this book. While the second person narrative is disconcerting at the least, the author's use of present tense brings the reader into the Depression Era. Schneider has a fine mind for details communicating the poverty and desperation of the time. He also doesn't stoop to romanticism, depicting the Clyde Barrows Gang as what they were, a group of barely competent thugs whose reality was nothing like the hype and legend received after their deaths. Yet at the end, this experimental and ambitious work did not work for me and left me strangely disconnected.
"You love Bonnie and you don't deserve her and you never deserved her and you know you never will deserve her and now it's over. Only the thing is she loved you, so maybe you do deserve her, right?"
And this is in a hail of bullets that probably killed him instantly?
Or this from the author's depiction of the Eastham Prison escape...
"Shut up, and keep quiet and keep ready with that gun and keep ready with that gun if you ever want your money from Raymond, Mullins. Whose lousy idea was this coming right here to the very edge of burnin' Eastham."
Keep in mind that these are not what Clyde actually said but the author's narration about what was happening during the event.
It is one thing to speculate about the protagonists' thought in a non-fiction book but to state them with such certainty brings the work into fiction, at least in the viewpoint of this reviewer.
There are a lot of admirable things in this book. While the second person narrative is disconcerting at the least, the author's use of present tense brings the reader into the Depression Era. Schneider has a fine mind for details communicating the poverty and desperation of the time. He also doesn't stoop to romanticism, depicting the Clyde Barrows Gang as what they were, a group of barely competent thugs whose reality was nothing like the hype and legend received after their deaths. Yet at the end, this experimental and ambitious work did not work for me and left me strangely disconnected.
September 11, 2012
A pesquisa é acurada e interessante, mas o livro é mal escrito, assim, no nível de as retinas doerem. O cara usa onomatopéias quase toda vez que vai falar de tiros. Não dá, gente.
Mas de qualquer maneira, para interessados no assunto, no casal, no mito, na lenda e tals, vale a leitura. Eu não sabia quase nada sobre eles, não vi o filme e tinha uma idéia bem errada sobre eles. Eu imaginava que eles realmente tivessem uma gangue, que se tratasse de crime organizado, pra juntar fortunas. Meio que não. Eles só ficavam por aí fugindo da polícia e roubando praticamente só pra comer e vestir. Glamour do crime, cadê?
Mas de qualquer maneira, para interessados no assunto, no casal, no mito, na lenda e tals, vale a leitura. Eu não sabia quase nada sobre eles, não vi o filme e tinha uma idéia bem errada sobre eles. Eu imaginava que eles realmente tivessem uma gangue, que se tratasse de crime organizado, pra juntar fortunas. Meio que não. Eles só ficavam por aí fugindo da polícia e roubando praticamente só pra comer e vestir. Glamour do crime, cadê?
September 14, 2014
I'm a complete history geek, and I've read a lot about these famous lovebirds, each book only slightly different from the last, though all interesting. But in no other book have I ever seen Bonnie's poetry, which I quite enjoyed. Her last poem, her premonition of their deaths and demise, was sad yet hauntingly beautiful. So far this is my favorite Bonnie & Clyde book..
May 30, 2018
BONNIE AND CLYDE:
A life of robbing banks and anything with a bit of cash and being on the run is far from glamorous, and the stories of near misses and love unbound we hear so much about the couple although mostly true, leave so much out of the story for once there were so many others so deeply involved that I’ve never heard of, the prison farms of that time alone would give me nightmares for days to come.
It was both intriguing and harrowing to have a sneak peek into depression America; where just years before slavery was as common as cotton fields and even years later on racism wasn’t even acknowledged as something bad but a state of being; and the mobs, oh God the mobs, it gives me chills even now thinking back to it, it’s scary that so many people have it in them to be so cruel, so inhumane.
It was a good book, and as far as these books go seemed to be more or less accurate with the author taking so little creative liberty; if the forty pages of notes at the end are any indication, It also had lots of pictures and newspaper articles and was just so interesting I annotated the book like there was no tomorrow, especially that the author decided to write in first person when it was Clyde doing the thinking, and reading their last moments through such a perspective is something that sticks.
I’m so glad I picked it up at the second-hand store last summer it was such an enjoyable read ♥
A life of robbing banks and anything with a bit of cash and being on the run is far from glamorous, and the stories of near misses and love unbound we hear so much about the couple although mostly true, leave so much out of the story for once there were so many others so deeply involved that I’ve never heard of, the prison farms of that time alone would give me nightmares for days to come.
It was both intriguing and harrowing to have a sneak peek into depression America; where just years before slavery was as common as cotton fields and even years later on racism wasn’t even acknowledged as something bad but a state of being; and the mobs, oh God the mobs, it gives me chills even now thinking back to it, it’s scary that so many people have it in them to be so cruel, so inhumane.
It was a good book, and as far as these books go seemed to be more or less accurate with the author taking so little creative liberty; if the forty pages of notes at the end are any indication, It also had lots of pictures and newspaper articles and was just so interesting I annotated the book like there was no tomorrow, especially that the author decided to write in first person when it was Clyde doing the thinking, and reading their last moments through such a perspective is something that sticks.
I’m so glad I picked it up at the second-hand store last summer it was such an enjoyable read ♥
April 11, 2018
The content of the story was very interesting. There were lots of primary sources and the information was obviously well-researched. The author provided new facts about Bonnie and Clyde that I was totally unaware of and I enjoyed the new perspective. My main complaint about the story was the point of view that the author wrote from. In order to put the reader in the story, the author chose to use a point of view I can only describe as the "video game" point of view. There were lots of statements, "You went here to see this person..." "You were thinking..." "You shot your BAR..." This got really confusing when the author tried to give information from another person's perspective.
March 9, 2024
it was an interesting choice to basically put the reader in Clyde Barrow’s POV. sometimes it pays off, and sometimes it seems a little unnecessary, but I guess you could say the same thing about crime itself
it’s clearly very well-researched, but I think that “hey reader, you’re Clyde!” perspective trades more scholarly detail for narrative value and that’s fine, that’s what the author was going for!
it’s clearly very well-researched, but I think that “hey reader, you’re Clyde!” perspective trades more scholarly detail for narrative value and that’s fine, that’s what the author was going for!
April 1, 2025
I’d like to officially give this book 4.5 stars. So much stuff I didn’t know. I was entertained from the beginning.
October 2, 2025
Paul Schneider’s Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend is a book that undertakes an almost impossible challenge: to strip the glamour from one of America’s most notorious outlaw couples while still acknowledging why that glamour has persisted for nearly a century.
Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow have lived in the American imagination in ways far beyond their actual lifespans, which were violently cut short in 1934. They were mythologized almost immediately, first in the tabloid press, then in pulp retellings, and finally in cinema, especially with Arthur Penn’s 1967 film Bonnie and Clyde, which turned Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway into doomed lovers of the Depression era. Schneider’s book attempts to retrieve them from the shadows of myth without becoming another hagiography or a cheap debunking.
What he does instead is a careful balancing act—an act that reveals how legends grow from the cracks in history, how media inflates human failings into tragic grandeur, and how the American psyche continues to be drawn to the romance of violence, rebellion, and doomed love.
Reading Schneider’s account is to step into the world of West Dallas, where Bonnie and Clyde grew up in grinding poverty, shaped by an environment that made survival itself a form of rebellion. Clyde Barrow, as Schneider reconstructs him, was not simply a thrill-seeking criminal but a boy scarred by hardship, prison, and the casual cruelties of the state.
Bonnie Parker, far from the gun-slinging vamp of tabloid lore, comes across as both fiercely loyal and deeply disillusioned with the narrow prospects of her world. Schneider constantly reminds us that their choices were not made in a vacuum. The Great Depression was not merely background but a determining condition, and he is careful to situate Bonnie and Clyde within the larger currents of economic collapse, social unrest, and cultural hunger for larger-than-life stories. This context makes his book not just a biography but an anatomy of American mythmaking.
What Schneider achieves, and where he differs from earlier chroniclers, is in his insistence on comparing the myth of Bonnie and Clyde to other outlaw traditions and cultural archetypes. He places them beside Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and John Dillinger, but also alongside fictional constructs like Romeo and Juliet or Tristan and Isolde. In doing so, he shows how the real Bonnie and Clyde were absorbed into a narrative pattern older than themselves, a pattern of lovers against the world, whose defiance is as intoxicating as their doom is inevitable. The comparative texture of his writing makes the book not merely an exercise in historical reportage but in literary and cultural analysis. We understand Bonnie and Clyde not only as historical figures but as part of a long lineage of romantic antiheroes.
Of course, Schneider does not ignore the blood and the violence. He does not allow the reader to forget that Bonnie and Clyde were responsible for deaths, for robberies, for terrorizing people who simply crossed their path. He stresses their incompetence as criminals as much as their daring. Many of their robberies yielded little money; their gang was frequently chaotic, and Clyde’s ambition to be a big-time outlaw often crashed against the reality of poor planning and desperate improvisation.
Yet here is the paradox that Schneider captures so well: that in their very failures, they became more fascinating. Hollywood and legend have always thrived on embellishing those failures into victories, on polishing every reckless act into a stroke of rebellious genius. Schneider insists on restoring the grime, the misfires, the hunger, and the raw human frailty. In doing so, he builds a comparative frame against the cinematic Bonnie and Clyde, inviting the reader to hold the actual and the fictional side by side.
This comparative approach becomes even more striking when Schneider turns to the cultural afterlife of Bonnie and Clyde. He examines how the 1967 film redefined them for a new era of discontent, how its sexual energy and stylized violence made it a touchstone for the counterculture, and how subsequent media—from songs to novels to documentaries—continued to adapt the legend.
He is acutely aware that any attempt to tell the “truth” about Bonnie and Clyde must wrestle with these layers of myth, and so he makes the book less a demolition of myth than a meditation on its inevitability. Just as Shakespeare’s Richard III cannot be disentangled from the historical Richard, so Bonnie and Clyde cannot be disentangled from their cinematic doubles. Schneider, wisely, chooses to embrace the tension rather than resolve it. His narrative voice oscillates between historian and cultural critic, allowing us to see the interplay of fact and fantasy in sharp relief.
Comparisons inevitably arise with other major studies of Bonnie and Clyde, particularly Jeff Guinn’s Go Down Together: The True, Untold Story of Bonnie and Clyde. Guinn’s book is massive, deeply researched, and has been widely praised for its detail and readability. Schneider’s work is more compact but also more reflective. Where Guinn aims for comprehensiveness, Schneider aims for resonance.
Where Guinn meticulously chronicles every robbery, escape, and lawman encounter, Schneider is more interested in what those events meant, in how they became building blocks of legend. Reading both side by side, one notices that Guinn is the journalist and historian par excellence, while Schneider leans toward the essayistic and interpretive.
Guinn gives us the exhaustive record, Schneider gives us the cultural aftershocks. The comparison is not a matter of superiority but of focus: Guinn tells us what happened, Schneider tells us why it mattered.
Another fruitful comparison is with Arthur Penn’s film itself. The movie shocked audiences in the late sixties with its stylized violence, but also enthralled them with its depiction of Bonnie and Clyde as glamorous outsiders, almost existential rebels. Schneider acknowledges the film’s power while refusing to be seduced by it.
His Bonnie is not a flawless beauty but a young woman trapped in poverty and romance, who wrote poetry in school notebooks even as she drifted toward crime. His Clyde is not the suave Beatty figure but a troubled boy with a stunted sense of possibility, hardened by prison rape and brutalization. To read Schneider after seeing the film is to confront the dissonance between celluloid myth and human wreckage, and that confrontation is one of the book’s greatest strengths. He insists on bringing us back to the dirt roads, the cheap hideouts, the stench of desperation, and the haunting reality of lives cut short not in slow-motion beauty but in the horrifying rattle of machine-gun fire.
Schneider’s style, too, deserves comment. He writes with a clarity that avoids both sensationalism and dry academia. There is a storyteller’s cadence in his sentences, a willingness to let scenes breathe, to reconstruct dialogues, to paint vivid portraits of people and places. Yet there is also a restraint, a refusal to indulge in lurid detail for its own sake.
This balance allows him to keep the reader engaged while never forgetting that Bonnie and Clyde were not just legends but living beings whose choices caused pain and fear. The comparative element comes through even in the prose, where he frequently shifts from describing an event to reflecting on its mythic echoes, from recounting a robbery to noting how similar narratives appear in folklore and cinema.
The book itself performs the act of comparison as it goes along, showing us history and legend in overlapping layers.
Where the book gains further richness is in its treatment of the lawmen, the victims, and the ordinary people caught in the whirlwind. Schneider reminds us that while Bonnie and Clyde have become icons, their pursuers were also part of the story. Frank Hamer, the Texas Ranger who ultimately tracked them down, has often been cast as either ruthless executioner or heroic lawman. Schneider resists both simplifications, instead placing himself in a line of men who saw their duty as restoring order in a time of chaos.
Likewise, he never lets us forget the bank clerks, the storekeepers, the police officers, the bystanders who were traumatized, wounded, or killed. In this comparative move, he prevents Bonnie and Clyde from monopolizing the narrative. They may be the legends, but they were not the only lives at stake. By juxtaposing their glamorized story with the quieter, harsher truths of those they harmed, Schneider creates a morally textured account.
One of the book’s most compelling sections deals with the ambivalent public response to Bonnie and Clyde. While newspapers sensationalized their crimes, many ordinary Americans—especially those hit hard by the Depression—saw them as folk heroes. The sight of young, working-class lovers taking on the system resonated with those who felt abandoned by banks, governments, and law enforcement. This is where Schneider’s comparative instinct shines again, as he links Bonnie and Clyde’s reception to earlier outlaw myths of Jesse James, who was turned into a Robin Hood figure despite his own violent career.
The point is not that Bonnie and Clyde were heroes, but that the cultural conditions made it possible for them to be imagined as such. Schneider traces how this imaginative transformation happened, how poverty, resentment, and media colluded to create outlaws who were despised and adored at once. It is here that his book becomes not just a biography but a study of how societies create their antiheroes.
In the end, Schneider’s achievement lies in his ability to sustain two truths simultaneously: that Bonnie and Clyde were deeply flawed, often brutal young people whose lives ended in tragedy, and that they were also symbols, endlessly reshaped by cultural desire into figures of romance, rebellion, and doomed beauty.
His comparative method, weaving history with myth, fact with film, ensures that we never fall entirely into condemnation or romanticization. Instead, we are left with the complexity of human beings caught in forces larger than themselves and magnified by a culture hungry for stories of love and defiance.
To read Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend today is also to reflect on how little has changed. Modern media still elevates criminals into celebrities, still romanticizes violence, and still blurs the line between fact and fiction in pursuit of a compelling narrative. Schneider’s book holds up a mirror to that process, showing us that Bonnie and Clyde were not unique but archetypal, part of a continuing pattern. In this sense, the book is not merely about two doomed lovers of the Depression but about the enduring American appetite for legends that grow out of blood and poverty.
The comparative richness of Schneider’s narrative makes it an ideal counterpoint to both exhaustive biographies like Guinn’s and mythmaking spectacles like Penn’s film. He does not try to outdo them but to place them in dialogue, showing how each version—historical, cinematic, cultural—illuminates different facets of the legend.
The result is a work that lingers in the mind, not because it settles the story of Bonnie and Clyde once and for all, but because it reminds us why their story will never quite settle, why it will always remain in a state of motion between fact and fantasy. In that sense, Schneider’s book is not just a biography but a meditation on storytelling itself, on the way legends outlive their origins, on the power of narrative to transform human wreckage into cultural immortality.
And perhaps that is why, after closing the book, one feels neither the thrill of rebellion nor the satisfaction of moral judgment, but a more complicated emotion: a mixture of sorrow, fascination, and awareness of the fragile line between reality and myth. Bonnie and Clyde, as Schneider gives them to us, are less the glamorous figures of cinema and more the haunted, desperate children of the Depression.
Yet even stripped of glamour, they cannot be stripped of meaning. They remain, as the book’s subtitle insists, lives behind the legend—but lives that will always, in some form, return to legend again.
Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow have lived in the American imagination in ways far beyond their actual lifespans, which were violently cut short in 1934. They were mythologized almost immediately, first in the tabloid press, then in pulp retellings, and finally in cinema, especially with Arthur Penn’s 1967 film Bonnie and Clyde, which turned Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway into doomed lovers of the Depression era. Schneider’s book attempts to retrieve them from the shadows of myth without becoming another hagiography or a cheap debunking.
What he does instead is a careful balancing act—an act that reveals how legends grow from the cracks in history, how media inflates human failings into tragic grandeur, and how the American psyche continues to be drawn to the romance of violence, rebellion, and doomed love.
Reading Schneider’s account is to step into the world of West Dallas, where Bonnie and Clyde grew up in grinding poverty, shaped by an environment that made survival itself a form of rebellion. Clyde Barrow, as Schneider reconstructs him, was not simply a thrill-seeking criminal but a boy scarred by hardship, prison, and the casual cruelties of the state.
Bonnie Parker, far from the gun-slinging vamp of tabloid lore, comes across as both fiercely loyal and deeply disillusioned with the narrow prospects of her world. Schneider constantly reminds us that their choices were not made in a vacuum. The Great Depression was not merely background but a determining condition, and he is careful to situate Bonnie and Clyde within the larger currents of economic collapse, social unrest, and cultural hunger for larger-than-life stories. This context makes his book not just a biography but an anatomy of American mythmaking.
What Schneider achieves, and where he differs from earlier chroniclers, is in his insistence on comparing the myth of Bonnie and Clyde to other outlaw traditions and cultural archetypes. He places them beside Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and John Dillinger, but also alongside fictional constructs like Romeo and Juliet or Tristan and Isolde. In doing so, he shows how the real Bonnie and Clyde were absorbed into a narrative pattern older than themselves, a pattern of lovers against the world, whose defiance is as intoxicating as their doom is inevitable. The comparative texture of his writing makes the book not merely an exercise in historical reportage but in literary and cultural analysis. We understand Bonnie and Clyde not only as historical figures but as part of a long lineage of romantic antiheroes.
Of course, Schneider does not ignore the blood and the violence. He does not allow the reader to forget that Bonnie and Clyde were responsible for deaths, for robberies, for terrorizing people who simply crossed their path. He stresses their incompetence as criminals as much as their daring. Many of their robberies yielded little money; their gang was frequently chaotic, and Clyde’s ambition to be a big-time outlaw often crashed against the reality of poor planning and desperate improvisation.
Yet here is the paradox that Schneider captures so well: that in their very failures, they became more fascinating. Hollywood and legend have always thrived on embellishing those failures into victories, on polishing every reckless act into a stroke of rebellious genius. Schneider insists on restoring the grime, the misfires, the hunger, and the raw human frailty. In doing so, he builds a comparative frame against the cinematic Bonnie and Clyde, inviting the reader to hold the actual and the fictional side by side.
This comparative approach becomes even more striking when Schneider turns to the cultural afterlife of Bonnie and Clyde. He examines how the 1967 film redefined them for a new era of discontent, how its sexual energy and stylized violence made it a touchstone for the counterculture, and how subsequent media—from songs to novels to documentaries—continued to adapt the legend.
He is acutely aware that any attempt to tell the “truth” about Bonnie and Clyde must wrestle with these layers of myth, and so he makes the book less a demolition of myth than a meditation on its inevitability. Just as Shakespeare’s Richard III cannot be disentangled from the historical Richard, so Bonnie and Clyde cannot be disentangled from their cinematic doubles. Schneider, wisely, chooses to embrace the tension rather than resolve it. His narrative voice oscillates between historian and cultural critic, allowing us to see the interplay of fact and fantasy in sharp relief.
Comparisons inevitably arise with other major studies of Bonnie and Clyde, particularly Jeff Guinn’s Go Down Together: The True, Untold Story of Bonnie and Clyde. Guinn’s book is massive, deeply researched, and has been widely praised for its detail and readability. Schneider’s work is more compact but also more reflective. Where Guinn aims for comprehensiveness, Schneider aims for resonance.
Where Guinn meticulously chronicles every robbery, escape, and lawman encounter, Schneider is more interested in what those events meant, in how they became building blocks of legend. Reading both side by side, one notices that Guinn is the journalist and historian par excellence, while Schneider leans toward the essayistic and interpretive.
Guinn gives us the exhaustive record, Schneider gives us the cultural aftershocks. The comparison is not a matter of superiority but of focus: Guinn tells us what happened, Schneider tells us why it mattered.
Another fruitful comparison is with Arthur Penn’s film itself. The movie shocked audiences in the late sixties with its stylized violence, but also enthralled them with its depiction of Bonnie and Clyde as glamorous outsiders, almost existential rebels. Schneider acknowledges the film’s power while refusing to be seduced by it.
His Bonnie is not a flawless beauty but a young woman trapped in poverty and romance, who wrote poetry in school notebooks even as she drifted toward crime. His Clyde is not the suave Beatty figure but a troubled boy with a stunted sense of possibility, hardened by prison rape and brutalization. To read Schneider after seeing the film is to confront the dissonance between celluloid myth and human wreckage, and that confrontation is one of the book’s greatest strengths. He insists on bringing us back to the dirt roads, the cheap hideouts, the stench of desperation, and the haunting reality of lives cut short not in slow-motion beauty but in the horrifying rattle of machine-gun fire.
Schneider’s style, too, deserves comment. He writes with a clarity that avoids both sensationalism and dry academia. There is a storyteller’s cadence in his sentences, a willingness to let scenes breathe, to reconstruct dialogues, to paint vivid portraits of people and places. Yet there is also a restraint, a refusal to indulge in lurid detail for its own sake.
This balance allows him to keep the reader engaged while never forgetting that Bonnie and Clyde were not just legends but living beings whose choices caused pain and fear. The comparative element comes through even in the prose, where he frequently shifts from describing an event to reflecting on its mythic echoes, from recounting a robbery to noting how similar narratives appear in folklore and cinema.
The book itself performs the act of comparison as it goes along, showing us history and legend in overlapping layers.
Where the book gains further richness is in its treatment of the lawmen, the victims, and the ordinary people caught in the whirlwind. Schneider reminds us that while Bonnie and Clyde have become icons, their pursuers were also part of the story. Frank Hamer, the Texas Ranger who ultimately tracked them down, has often been cast as either ruthless executioner or heroic lawman. Schneider resists both simplifications, instead placing himself in a line of men who saw their duty as restoring order in a time of chaos.
Likewise, he never lets us forget the bank clerks, the storekeepers, the police officers, the bystanders who were traumatized, wounded, or killed. In this comparative move, he prevents Bonnie and Clyde from monopolizing the narrative. They may be the legends, but they were not the only lives at stake. By juxtaposing their glamorized story with the quieter, harsher truths of those they harmed, Schneider creates a morally textured account.
One of the book’s most compelling sections deals with the ambivalent public response to Bonnie and Clyde. While newspapers sensationalized their crimes, many ordinary Americans—especially those hit hard by the Depression—saw them as folk heroes. The sight of young, working-class lovers taking on the system resonated with those who felt abandoned by banks, governments, and law enforcement. This is where Schneider’s comparative instinct shines again, as he links Bonnie and Clyde’s reception to earlier outlaw myths of Jesse James, who was turned into a Robin Hood figure despite his own violent career.
The point is not that Bonnie and Clyde were heroes, but that the cultural conditions made it possible for them to be imagined as such. Schneider traces how this imaginative transformation happened, how poverty, resentment, and media colluded to create outlaws who were despised and adored at once. It is here that his book becomes not just a biography but a study of how societies create their antiheroes.
In the end, Schneider’s achievement lies in his ability to sustain two truths simultaneously: that Bonnie and Clyde were deeply flawed, often brutal young people whose lives ended in tragedy, and that they were also symbols, endlessly reshaped by cultural desire into figures of romance, rebellion, and doomed beauty.
His comparative method, weaving history with myth, fact with film, ensures that we never fall entirely into condemnation or romanticization. Instead, we are left with the complexity of human beings caught in forces larger than themselves and magnified by a culture hungry for stories of love and defiance.
To read Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend today is also to reflect on how little has changed. Modern media still elevates criminals into celebrities, still romanticizes violence, and still blurs the line between fact and fiction in pursuit of a compelling narrative. Schneider’s book holds up a mirror to that process, showing us that Bonnie and Clyde were not unique but archetypal, part of a continuing pattern. In this sense, the book is not merely about two doomed lovers of the Depression but about the enduring American appetite for legends that grow out of blood and poverty.
The comparative richness of Schneider’s narrative makes it an ideal counterpoint to both exhaustive biographies like Guinn’s and mythmaking spectacles like Penn’s film. He does not try to outdo them but to place them in dialogue, showing how each version—historical, cinematic, cultural—illuminates different facets of the legend.
The result is a work that lingers in the mind, not because it settles the story of Bonnie and Clyde once and for all, but because it reminds us why their story will never quite settle, why it will always remain in a state of motion between fact and fantasy. In that sense, Schneider’s book is not just a biography but a meditation on storytelling itself, on the way legends outlive their origins, on the power of narrative to transform human wreckage into cultural immortality.
And perhaps that is why, after closing the book, one feels neither the thrill of rebellion nor the satisfaction of moral judgment, but a more complicated emotion: a mixture of sorrow, fascination, and awareness of the fragile line between reality and myth. Bonnie and Clyde, as Schneider gives them to us, are less the glamorous figures of cinema and more the haunted, desperate children of the Depression.
Yet even stripped of glamour, they cannot be stripped of meaning. They remain, as the book’s subtitle insists, lives behind the legend—but lives that will always, in some form, return to legend again.
Read
September 23, 2009Bonnie and Clyde, by Paul Schneider, narrated by Patrick Lawlor, produced by Tantor media, downloaded from audible.com.
This was a DNF (did not finish) for me. The story itself, a look behind the legend of the movie, was extremely interesting, but there were too many irritants to make it enjoyable. The publisher’s note likens it to Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”. That is a huge exaggeration. The voice in which Schneider wrote this book was irritating. Whenever he referred to Clyde he wrote it in the second person, as if he were telling Clyde what he did. “You did” etc. Very awkward construction. Patrick Lawlor, the narrator, was so irritating for this book that even if it had been well written I couldn’t have read it. His delivery turned it into a comedy, which it isn’t. Disappointing.
This was a DNF (did not finish) for me. The story itself, a look behind the legend of the movie, was extremely interesting, but there were too many irritants to make it enjoyable. The publisher’s note likens it to Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”. That is a huge exaggeration. The voice in which Schneider wrote this book was irritating. Whenever he referred to Clyde he wrote it in the second person, as if he were telling Clyde what he did. “You did” etc. Very awkward construction. Patrick Lawlor, the narrator, was so irritating for this book that even if it had been well written I couldn’t have read it. His delivery turned it into a comedy, which it isn’t. Disappointing.
Read
August 13, 2011Bonnie was only 4'10" and Clyde 5'5"?! wow.
March 30, 2012
Loved it! Very well researched and well written. A remarkable story about a most remarkable couple.
July 22, 2019
I have only read a couple of the countless books out there about Bonnie and Clyde, but I think I would be hard-pressed to find one I enjoyed more than Paul Schneider's action-packed undertaking. From the teaser opening - the January 1934 Eastham Prison breakout Clyde orchestrated - until the fatal shots fired by Texas Ranger Frank Hamer and his posse claimed the outlaws' lives in the book's final pages, I was completely hooked.
I know others did not like Schneider's writing style, namely that he slipped into an intimate 2nd person narrative when writing about Clyde specifically, but I thought the choice was humanizing. It strengthened the couple's story, and pulled it out - to some extent anyway - of the dense forests of legend. As Schneider himself says, there have been so many stories, so many rumors, so many accounts, and so much "information" about the duo, it is nothing short of a Herculean task to separate truth from fiction. In fact, several of the sources Schneider quotes changed their own stories over time, not to mention all of the tips and comments and "well, you know..." from those who claimed to know the outlaws. I think giving the reader some insight into Clyde's personality (which I am willing to bet Schneider based on the same family and friends' accounts he used throughout the book) helped me better appreciate the larger story he was telling.
And it is a story of violence, bloodshed, and horror, no doubt about it. Those two packed a lot into what was essentially 2 years on the run (and all of it is recounted in thrilling detail in Schneider's work), including countless robberies, kidnappings, murders, devastating car accidents, and police shoot-outs. The fact they both survived until that desolate road in Bienville Parish, Louisiana on May 23, 1934 is still a shock considering everything they had made it through.
So whether you like the writing style or not, Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend sure does tell an unbelievable story.
I know others did not like Schneider's writing style, namely that he slipped into an intimate 2nd person narrative when writing about Clyde specifically, but I thought the choice was humanizing. It strengthened the couple's story, and pulled it out - to some extent anyway - of the dense forests of legend. As Schneider himself says, there have been so many stories, so many rumors, so many accounts, and so much "information" about the duo, it is nothing short of a Herculean task to separate truth from fiction. In fact, several of the sources Schneider quotes changed their own stories over time, not to mention all of the tips and comments and "well, you know..." from those who claimed to know the outlaws. I think giving the reader some insight into Clyde's personality (which I am willing to bet Schneider based on the same family and friends' accounts he used throughout the book) helped me better appreciate the larger story he was telling.
And it is a story of violence, bloodshed, and horror, no doubt about it. Those two packed a lot into what was essentially 2 years on the run (and all of it is recounted in thrilling detail in Schneider's work), including countless robberies, kidnappings, murders, devastating car accidents, and police shoot-outs. The fact they both survived until that desolate road in Bienville Parish, Louisiana on May 23, 1934 is still a shock considering everything they had made it through.
So whether you like the writing style or not, Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend sure does tell an unbelievable story.
February 27, 2022
3.5 stars rounded up to 4. This book has been on my to-read list for years now, since when you grow up with the name of Bonnie, you hear a lot of verses of "My Bonnie lies over the ocean" and you hear a lot of references to Bonnie and Clyde, so I figured that at some point I should actually learn something about the famous outlaws.
The author does this weird thing where he'll randomly try to write the narrative from Clyde's point of view in second person (things like "The sheriff put up a wanted poster with your face on it" or "You love Bonnie"), and while I understand why he thought this would be a good idea, it ends up being jarring and breaks me out of the narrative more than it ever works.
I did appreciate that Schneider tried to be sympathetic to the couple and why they would choose the life that they did, without overly romanticizing what the outlaw life was like (Bonnie and Clyde were constantly hungry, tired, dirty, and frequently wounded. They they continually lived in their car, got into frequent shootouts, and essentially had to kidnap a nurse when they wanted medical care). I also liked that he included snippets of Bonnie's poetry- including an epic poem about themselves! Overall, when I could get past the weird second person thing, this seemed like a decent biography.
The author does this weird thing where he'll randomly try to write the narrative from Clyde's point of view in second person (things like "The sheriff put up a wanted poster with your face on it" or "You love Bonnie"), and while I understand why he thought this would be a good idea, it ends up being jarring and breaks me out of the narrative more than it ever works.
I did appreciate that Schneider tried to be sympathetic to the couple and why they would choose the life that they did, without overly romanticizing what the outlaw life was like (Bonnie and Clyde were constantly hungry, tired, dirty, and frequently wounded. They they continually lived in their car, got into frequent shootouts, and essentially had to kidnap a nurse when they wanted medical care). I also liked that he included snippets of Bonnie's poetry- including an epic poem about themselves! Overall, when I could get past the weird second person thing, this seemed like a decent biography.
September 1, 2024
Score: 3/5 (worth listening once)
************
Themes: history, bandits
************
What makes this book different is the way it makes its attempt to write Clyde Barrow as a sympathetic character.
To see why this doesn't work as intended, we have to borrow from principles of fiction writing: to have a successful villain protagonist you need 1) a sympathetic and flawed protagonist 2) some antagonist even worse than they are. For examples that are successful, consider the film "Pulp Fiction" or the comic series "Darth Vader" (2015).
The author succeeds at the first point (at least to start) with the simple expedient of writing "you" when narrating Clyde's personal history (e.g. "you're not a killer. Sure, you pull the trigger when you need to...").
But since this isn't fiction, there's no antagonist worse than Clyde to be had. This is a man who would rob (and sometimes murder) for small amounts of money, even preying on people who had tried to help him. And he gets worse over time. That makes it difficult--or impossible--to maintain sympathy for any of the gang, and when they are murdered in their turn it's not really an emotional moment.
Instead the book ends up as something of a parable about how crime limits your options to either escalation or death until the inevitable end.
But it's still worth one listen for the clever "you" gimmick.
************
Themes: history, bandits
************
What makes this book different is the way it makes its attempt to write Clyde Barrow as a sympathetic character.
To see why this doesn't work as intended, we have to borrow from principles of fiction writing: to have a successful villain protagonist you need 1) a sympathetic and flawed protagonist 2) some antagonist even worse than they are. For examples that are successful, consider the film "Pulp Fiction" or the comic series "Darth Vader" (2015).
The author succeeds at the first point (at least to start) with the simple expedient of writing "you" when narrating Clyde's personal history (e.g. "you're not a killer. Sure, you pull the trigger when you need to...").
But since this isn't fiction, there's no antagonist worse than Clyde to be had. This is a man who would rob (and sometimes murder) for small amounts of money, even preying on people who had tried to help him. And he gets worse over time. That makes it difficult--or impossible--to maintain sympathy for any of the gang, and when they are murdered in their turn it's not really an emotional moment.
Instead the book ends up as something of a parable about how crime limits your options to either escalation or death until the inevitable end.
But it's still worth one listen for the clever "you" gimmick.
June 25, 2019
I really liked this book.
Its was interesting though as it was a historical biography but mixed in with chapters of fiction.
The author used "first hand" narration by Clyde to describe some scenes and some decisions. These narration parts were indeed based on interviews and testimonies, all based in fact. Sometimes it took a minute to realize we had switched from biography to thr narration but it would flow fine once you knew the switch happened.
It was very well researched, alot of sources used. Probably one of the most thorough books Ive read on them.
It always angers me when I get to the end of every book about them and they talk about how they wernt buried together even though thats what they wanted.
Seems like a get even, control issue from Bonnies mother. They said they wanted to be buried together that should have been respected. I hope future family members remedy that for them.
Its was interesting though as it was a historical biography but mixed in with chapters of fiction.
The author used "first hand" narration by Clyde to describe some scenes and some decisions. These narration parts were indeed based on interviews and testimonies, all based in fact. Sometimes it took a minute to realize we had switched from biography to thr narration but it would flow fine once you knew the switch happened.
It was very well researched, alot of sources used. Probably one of the most thorough books Ive read on them.
It always angers me when I get to the end of every book about them and they talk about how they wernt buried together even though thats what they wanted.
Seems like a get even, control issue from Bonnies mother. They said they wanted to be buried together that should have been respected. I hope future family members remedy that for them.
December 22, 2020
Schneider's work is somehow a cross between a textbook and historical fiction. He fills his book with details chronicling Bonnie and Clyde's life of crime, humanizing them by showing both their relatable characteristics and their psychotic tendencies. Everything in the book are true events, each properly cited, giving us an accurate picture of "the lives behind the legend". Yet, he presents the events in novel-style prose, much to my appreciation. This elevates this from a simple history text to a enjoyable novel. At the same time, I feel bad calling it historical fiction because of the citations and matter-of-fact presentation of the events. If you have a friend who refuses to read novels because they only read history/educational novels (first off, ew), this is a good entry point for showing them the way. Similarly, if you have a friend who refuses to read anything aside from novels, this is a good jumping point as the language and prose are very accessible. Although, my one disclaimer in where you can see Schneider's creative freedom is in the language he uses in the dialogue. There are a decent amount of curses thrown in which may or may not have been said, so if your friend you are recommending this to has a problem with language, you should warn them. Also Clyde was raped in prison, which this recounts, so that is another potential warning as many are off put by such content. BUT it still remains a solid read for both emotional feels and education.
December 16, 2024
It’s a fascinating story for sure. They were quite the pair and they were both young when they met and when they died. They were both quite talented and could have lived such a different life. Once they began their crime spree together- it was a sad and tragic experience. They were cold blooded killers. It’s crazy how brutal they became. Interesting how famous they were when they lived a horrible existence for that infamy.
July 30, 2017
A very interesting account of the outlaws. The author uses many first hand accounts and primary sources to tell the story from both an external view and Clyde's. It interrupts the flow of the overall story a little but all in all it reads very well. My workplace, the Texas State Library and Archives Commission and two colleagues are mentioned in the references and acknowledgements.
August 25, 2017
"They was hell-bent on running till the end, and they knowed there was only one end for them. Bonnie was like Clyde. They had grit. They meant to stay free or go down together.
Some day they'll go down together
They'll bury them side by side
To a few it'll be grief-
To the law a relief-
But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde"
Some day they'll go down together
They'll bury them side by side
To a few it'll be grief-
To the law a relief-
But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde"
July 15, 2025
What did I just listen to?
This book was written oddly. Why is the Author telling Clyde his own story? How is it factual but he knows what Clyde is thinking?
And WHY did the narrator actually make the gun sounds?!?! He even did the Screech Owl sounds!
I admit that made listening to this massacre of a book fun. Ratta-ta-tat, Bang, Bang!
Very well researched that is for sure!
This book was written oddly. Why is the Author telling Clyde his own story? How is it factual but he knows what Clyde is thinking?
And WHY did the narrator actually make the gun sounds?!?! He even did the Screech Owl sounds!
I admit that made listening to this massacre of a book fun. Ratta-ta-tat, Bang, Bang!
Very well researched that is for sure!
February 2, 2021
I remember reading this and giving a presentation about it. It is boring. There is a graphic prison rape scene and the author talks about dropping the soap. That part felt like a meme and I remember laughing, and I talked about it in my presentation and laughed about it then also.
July 8, 2021
The story was told in the voices of both the lead characters, which made for an interesting audiobook. The narrator's style sometimes got on my nerves, particularly while reading descriptions of gun battles, but was effective for the book. Well worth your time.
March 4, 2018
Terrible writing, extremely hard to follow.
January 7, 2019
It is a really good book
May 22, 2019
This author is infuriating. He’s constantly adding thoughts in Bonnie and Clyde’s head that he has no way of knowing. He should’ve written a historical fiction book, not a non fiction one.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 81 reviews