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Mad Sculptor, the: The Maniac, the Model, and the Murder That Shook the Nation
2015 Edgar Award Nominee
Beekman Place, once one of the most exclusive addresses in Manhattan, had a curious way of making it into the tabloids in the 1930s: SKYSCRAPER SLAYER, BEAUTY SLAIN IN BATHTUB read the headlines. On Easter Sunday in 1937, the discovery of a grisly triple homicide at Beekman Place would rock the neighborhood yet again—and enthrall the nation. The young man who committed these murders would come to be known in the annals of American crime as the Mad Sculptor.
Caught up in the Easter Sunday slayings was a bizarre and sensationalistic cast of characters, seemingly cooked up in a tabloid editor’s overheated imagination. The charismatic perpetrator, Robert Irwin, was a brilliant young sculptor who had studied with some of the masters of the era. But with his genius also came a deeply disturbed psyche; Irwin was obsessed with sexual self-mutilation and was frequently overcome by outbursts of violent rage.
Irwin’s primary victim, Veronica Gedeon, was a figure from the world of pulp fantasy—a stunning photographer’s model whose scandalous seminude pinups would titillate the public for weeks after her death. Irwin’s defense attorney, Samuel Leibowitz, was a courtroom celebrity with an unmatched record of acquittals and clients ranging from Al Capone to the Scottsboro Boys. And Dr. Fredric Wertham, psychiatrist and forensic scientist, befriended Irwin years before the murders and had predicted them in a public lecture months before the crime.
Based on extensive research and archival records, The Mad Sculptor recounts the chilling story of the Easter Sunday murders—a case that sparked a nationwide manhunt and endures as one of the most engrossing American crime dramas of the twentieth century. Harold Schechter’s masterly prose evokes the faded glory of post-Depression New York and the singular madness of a brilliant mind turned against itself. It will keep you riveted until the very end.
Beekman Place, once one of the most exclusive addresses in Manhattan, had a curious way of making it into the tabloids in the 1930s: SKYSCRAPER SLAYER, BEAUTY SLAIN IN BATHTUB read the headlines. On Easter Sunday in 1937, the discovery of a grisly triple homicide at Beekman Place would rock the neighborhood yet again—and enthrall the nation. The young man who committed these murders would come to be known in the annals of American crime as the Mad Sculptor.
Caught up in the Easter Sunday slayings was a bizarre and sensationalistic cast of characters, seemingly cooked up in a tabloid editor’s overheated imagination. The charismatic perpetrator, Robert Irwin, was a brilliant young sculptor who had studied with some of the masters of the era. But with his genius also came a deeply disturbed psyche; Irwin was obsessed with sexual self-mutilation and was frequently overcome by outbursts of violent rage.
Irwin’s primary victim, Veronica Gedeon, was a figure from the world of pulp fantasy—a stunning photographer’s model whose scandalous seminude pinups would titillate the public for weeks after her death. Irwin’s defense attorney, Samuel Leibowitz, was a courtroom celebrity with an unmatched record of acquittals and clients ranging from Al Capone to the Scottsboro Boys. And Dr. Fredric Wertham, psychiatrist and forensic scientist, befriended Irwin years before the murders and had predicted them in a public lecture months before the crime.
Based on extensive research and archival records, The Mad Sculptor recounts the chilling story of the Easter Sunday murders—a case that sparked a nationwide manhunt and endures as one of the most engrossing American crime dramas of the twentieth century. Harold Schechter’s masterly prose evokes the faded glory of post-Depression New York and the singular madness of a brilliant mind turned against itself. It will keep you riveted until the very end.
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First published February 18, 2014
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Displaying 1 - 29 of 199 reviews
June 8, 2015
I realized something about true crime when reading this book. If the author does not give the reader a head's up on what occurred during the murder, who was killed, how they were killed, etc., it becomes a very irritating book to read. This is not a mystery novel. There is no reason to wait until the end of the book to describe the murder. True crime readers like the process of *understanding* the murder, the investigation, the psychoanalytics and forensics of it all. Maybe a side story that parallels nicely with it or some socio-psycho revelation that relates to the murder. But for me to go through the book trying to *understand* Robert Irwin's ascent to murder, without knowing what he did (in his act as a murderer) was very cart-before-the-horse.
Second complaint. This book is supposed to be about one murder, but the author starts the book with two lengthy chapters on two other murders in the same neighborhood around the same time. He never really draws any conclusions or makes any keen observations to relate the three murders other than space and time. So what is the point of including the other two?
Also, at times it seems like the book was more interested in Samuel Leibowitz, Robert Irwin's attorney. Or, when we learn about Irvwin's childhood, we get far too many details about his *father's* early life.
In short, the book was all over the place, with the actual details of murder and investigation making up only a small part of the book.
Second complaint. This book is supposed to be about one murder, but the author starts the book with two lengthy chapters on two other murders in the same neighborhood around the same time. He never really draws any conclusions or makes any keen observations to relate the three murders other than space and time. So what is the point of including the other two?
Also, at times it seems like the book was more interested in Samuel Leibowitz, Robert Irwin's attorney. Or, when we learn about Irvwin's childhood, we get far too many details about his *father's* early life.
In short, the book was all over the place, with the actual details of murder and investigation making up only a small part of the book.
January 6, 2025
3,5*. Objektīvi, nav sliktākais true crime, kas lasīts, tomēr ļoti traucēja haotiskais sižeta izklāsts. Pats vērtīgākais likās, tā laika preses darbības apraksts, jāsaka, ka pa gandrīz 100 gadiem nekas diži nav mainījies.
"TO BECOME A TRUE TABLOID sensation, a murder has to offer more than morbid titillation. It needs a pair of outsized characters—diabolical villain and defenseless, preferably female, victim—a dramatic storyline, and the kind of lurid goings-on that speak to the secret dreams and dangerous desires of the public. In short, the same juicy ingredients we look for in any good potboiler."
"TO BECOME A TRUE TABLOID sensation, a murder has to offer more than morbid titillation. It needs a pair of outsized characters—diabolical villain and defenseless, preferably female, victim—a dramatic storyline, and the kind of lurid goings-on that speak to the secret dreams and dangerous desires of the public. In short, the same juicy ingredients we look for in any good potboiler."
February 10, 2015
6/2 - I read Schechter's The Devil's Gentleman some years ago and enjoyed it thoroughly, even with flow-breaking footnotes numbering in the hundreds. I had a quick flip through The Mad Sculptor and I'm pleased to see not a single footnote. While they do add extra information to some complicated points of the story, they also break the readers' concentration while they read through the sometimes copious subscript printing at the bottom of every page, trying to find the number that corresponds with the footnote they've just come across. I'm looking forward to reading this with more anticipation than before I knew about the lack of footnotes, and I'm not letting the low average rating dull my interest as these types of books rarely garner hundreds of four and five star reviews, so I was kind of expecting the lower than usual rating. To be continued...
Oh goodness!! That's a terrible editing mistake. I was wrong about the lack of notes, they're just not footnotes, they're back of the book notes (which would usually mean I'd be in for a lot of flicking back and forth, usually). I've just finished the first chapter and pretty much straight away I noticed something screwy with the notes. The notes at the back of the book didn't seem to make sense when linked with their corresponding number within the text. I thought it was me, just not really getting what the notes were trying to link to, but then I got to note #5. Unfortunately for Schechter it looks like he, or whoever edited this book, completely stuffed up the notes and their corresponding numbers. It became clear once I got to note #5 of chapter one because the note explanations at the back of the book didn't go past #4, and #5 matched up with the explanation for #4 better than the real #4 did. Once I realised this mistake I went back and looked at the other notes that I hadn't understood and figured out that none of them matched up correctly with the corresponding number. This leads me to think that none of the notes will be correct. Considering how many notes there are per chapter let alone throughout the whole book, that's a lot of badly matched notes that aren't going to explain anything and will in fact further confuse the reader. I never really liked the notes anyway, so I think I might skip the notes altogether, most of them are just giving bibliographic details or dates of newspaper articles from where he found the information he's quoting in the text. Unless you really want to do some 'further reading' they aren't that interesting, it's not like I'll lose all meaning to the book if I skip them. To be continued...
8/2 - Finally read enough to be able to comment on the book itself, rather than its editing problems. All I can say after 47 pages is that I'm glad we aren't living with the newspapers of 1935. The lengths they were prepared to go to to grab the public's attention is horrifying. Compared to these newspaper companies Fox news are saints. Almost everything they published was either a sensationalised version of the truth or an outright lie. It really has shocked me. The two competing newspapers attempting to outdo each other with their 'scandalous new revelations' regarding the murder victims that are being splashed across the front page of the daily newspapers, except that none of what they wrote was true, in any sense of the word. It was all a complete fabrication in order to attract readers. Thank goodness today's media have a bit more integrity and ethics, plus there are laws to help them stay within those lines. To be continued...
9/2 - I love the Kirk Douglas cameo! How weird that this kid, born to Jewish immigrants from the region now known as Belarus, whose father was the local ragman, should meet and actually become friends with a serial-killer-to-be, all because he was able to talk his way into St Lawrence University.
While a little slow at the beginning, The Mad Sculptor has really picked up and now I actually want to get back to reading it, rather than simply knowing I have to or that I should and I'll be sorry if I don't. To be continued...
10/2 - The one thing you can never say about Harold Schechter is that he doesn't do his research. This guy looked into the background of the most minor of players involved in this story, and then he gave us some details about the minor player's parents. I can't imagine how much work, how much reading and searching of the archives he would have to do to be able to include all those details into the books he writes. It's not just this one, of course, the previous Schechter book I read was equally as well researched as this. The number folders of research that he has on American murderers going back to 1900 must be more substantial than almost any other private citizen. Schechter, once again, makes what could be a dry statement of facts with no insight into the whys of the crime or the perpetrator, into a riveting tale of murder and insanity. Definitely going to read more of Schechter's excellent tales of murderers and their crimes.
Forgot to add that the story really only goes for 306 pages, the last 46 pages are acknowledgements, references for the notes scattered throughout the book, a bibliography, and an index.
PopSugar 2015 Reading Challenge: A Nonfiction Book
Oh goodness!! That's a terrible editing mistake. I was wrong about the lack of notes, they're just not footnotes, they're back of the book notes (which would usually mean I'd be in for a lot of flicking back and forth, usually). I've just finished the first chapter and pretty much straight away I noticed something screwy with the notes. The notes at the back of the book didn't seem to make sense when linked with their corresponding number within the text. I thought it was me, just not really getting what the notes were trying to link to, but then I got to note #5. Unfortunately for Schechter it looks like he, or whoever edited this book, completely stuffed up the notes and their corresponding numbers. It became clear once I got to note #5 of chapter one because the note explanations at the back of the book didn't go past #4, and #5 matched up with the explanation for #4 better than the real #4 did. Once I realised this mistake I went back and looked at the other notes that I hadn't understood and figured out that none of them matched up correctly with the corresponding number. This leads me to think that none of the notes will be correct. Considering how many notes there are per chapter let alone throughout the whole book, that's a lot of badly matched notes that aren't going to explain anything and will in fact further confuse the reader. I never really liked the notes anyway, so I think I might skip the notes altogether, most of them are just giving bibliographic details or dates of newspaper articles from where he found the information he's quoting in the text. Unless you really want to do some 'further reading' they aren't that interesting, it's not like I'll lose all meaning to the book if I skip them. To be continued...
8/2 - Finally read enough to be able to comment on the book itself, rather than its editing problems. All I can say after 47 pages is that I'm glad we aren't living with the newspapers of 1935. The lengths they were prepared to go to to grab the public's attention is horrifying. Compared to these newspaper companies Fox news are saints. Almost everything they published was either a sensationalised version of the truth or an outright lie. It really has shocked me. The two competing newspapers attempting to outdo each other with their 'scandalous new revelations' regarding the murder victims that are being splashed across the front page of the daily newspapers, except that none of what they wrote was true, in any sense of the word. It was all a complete fabrication in order to attract readers. Thank goodness today's media have a bit more integrity and ethics, plus there are laws to help them stay within those lines. To be continued...
9/2 - I love the Kirk Douglas cameo! How weird that this kid, born to Jewish immigrants from the region now known as Belarus, whose father was the local ragman, should meet and actually become friends with a serial-killer-to-be, all because he was able to talk his way into St Lawrence University.
While a little slow at the beginning, The Mad Sculptor has really picked up and now I actually want to get back to reading it, rather than simply knowing I have to or that I should and I'll be sorry if I don't. To be continued...
10/2 - The one thing you can never say about Harold Schechter is that he doesn't do his research. This guy looked into the background of the most minor of players involved in this story, and then he gave us some details about the minor player's parents. I can't imagine how much work, how much reading and searching of the archives he would have to do to be able to include all those details into the books he writes. It's not just this one, of course, the previous Schechter book I read was equally as well researched as this. The number folders of research that he has on American murderers going back to 1900 must be more substantial than almost any other private citizen. Schechter, once again, makes what could be a dry statement of facts with no insight into the whys of the crime or the perpetrator, into a riveting tale of murder and insanity. Definitely going to read more of Schechter's excellent tales of murderers and their crimes.
Forgot to add that the story really only goes for 306 pages, the last 46 pages are acknowledgements, references for the notes scattered throughout the book, a bibliography, and an index.
PopSugar 2015 Reading Challenge: A Nonfiction Book
September 19, 2015
The 1920s and 1930s always seemed to have the "crime of the century"....some we have known (the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, Leopold and Loeb) but many we have never heard of. The lurid newspapers of the time loved that term and the messier the murder, the better. This story concerns one of those crimes that is unfamiliar to me but it doesn't make it any less interesting.
It is the story of a very talented but very disturbed man names Robert Irwin. In and out of mental institutions for most of his early life, he could be a likable fellow and suddenly fly into a violent rage for no particular reason. The author traces his life from his horrible childhood until his trial for the murder of three innocent people - a mother, daughter, and a boarder in their home. What made the press jump all over this story was the fact that the daughter was a "model" who posed nude or nearly nude in the detective pulp magazines which were so popular during the era. It gave the murders a twist that intrigued the public.
The outcome of the trial may surprise the reader as Irwin's attorney was famous for his court room techniques and he pulls out all the stops in his client's defense. A very readable and interesting look at one of the "crimes of the century".
It is the story of a very talented but very disturbed man names Robert Irwin. In and out of mental institutions for most of his early life, he could be a likable fellow and suddenly fly into a violent rage for no particular reason. The author traces his life from his horrible childhood until his trial for the murder of three innocent people - a mother, daughter, and a boarder in their home. What made the press jump all over this story was the fact that the daughter was a "model" who posed nude or nearly nude in the detective pulp magazines which were so popular during the era. It gave the murders a twist that intrigued the public.
The outcome of the trial may surprise the reader as Irwin's attorney was famous for his court room techniques and he pulls out all the stops in his client's defense. A very readable and interesting look at one of the "crimes of the century".
July 17, 2014
I'd give this Harold Schechter book about a 3 1/2 stars, (if I knew how to make half stars). It tells about some murders that happen at Beekman Place in 1930's New York. The Beekman Place area used to be a tony area to live, upper crust, but has fallen on hard times after the depression. Killings that happened on Easter Sunday 1937, turn out to have been done by one man, a Robert 'Bob' Irwin, later dubbed 'The Mad Sculptor for his history in mental institutions. The victims are Mary Gedeon, her daughter Veronica, and a male boarder, Frank Byrnes.
The author really delves into the background of the story and all those involved, especially Irwin and his odd family situation. Also his strange beliefs.
The author really delves into the background of the story and all those involved, especially Irwin and his odd family situation. Also his strange beliefs.
January 5, 2016
Entertaining throughout with enough pulp sentiments to detach the reader from the horrific nature of the murders described within the bloodstained pages. Each character read as if crafted by fiction rather than fact such was the easy manner and heavy pulp overtones used to tell Bob Irwin's story and that of his unsuspecting victims. As a pulp enthusiast I lapped this up and will look to read more from this author.
February 25, 2020
This was one of those true crime events that I had no knowledge of whatsoever. I've never seen a movie of, heard it referenced, nothing. I went into this blind. After reading this, is still seems more fiction than fact. On Easter Sunday, New York City was aghast when it learned of a gruesome triple murder. A mother killed and stuffed under the bed; her daughter (entering the apartment later in the evening) was killed on top of the bed, most likely never knowing her mother's corpse laid beneath her. In the next room a boarder is murdered in his sleep; getting stabbed a dozen times in his head with an ice pick. Who would do this and why? Robert Irwin, dubbed the mad sculptor by the press, was in and out of mental institutions in his youth. He had a troubled childhood and was known to go into fits of rage. He was also a masterful art student, he was a talented sculptor and it seemed for a time that art would be his saving grace. It was not. A series of unfortunate events occurs and the author does a great job describing Irwin's life and that of the people he killed. Photographs are included and lots of other New York crime tidbits that I enjoyed. It's salacious, over the top, absurd, and sad. It doesn't read like most true crime novels, but it's still very engaging!
October 24, 2014
Let me start by admitting that I did not finish this book but that I came oh-so-so-so close. I had purchased the audiobook and was only two hours away from the finish line when I finally said fuck it. I’ve got Shirley Jackson’s marvelous “The Haunting of Hill House” on the side, and its just WONDERFUL, and so there is no reason to slog through drivel when I can just move on.
I do have reasons though for quitting. GOOD REASONS THAT THIS IS A BAD BOOK- maybe I can save you some pain:
First - Do NOT get the audiobook. The narrator is just pits. HE tries on these half-hearted accents willy-nilly, and he waffles between talking too slow and too fast for different “characters.” It’s very frustrating and it knocks you out of the listening experience.
Second - If you feel compelled to still get the actual book be prepared for disjointed and bad story telling!
The main problem with this book is that the crime isn’t interesting- it’s just sad. Robert Irwin was a man with very serious problems. He tried to castrate himself, he flew into uncontrollable rages, and in the end he though God would grant him infinite wisdom if he killed the two women, one of whom was Veronica Gedeon. That’s not an interesting crime. He didn’t try and cover his tracks. He didn’t premeditate. The poor man was just absolutely insane, a danger to himself and to those around him. I hate to say that it’s boring, because it’s tragic, but it’s a boring crime to wrap a nonfiction crime novel around. Now the author could have improved the narrative by using this crime as a platform to discuss the evolving state of mental health care in America (psychology was just starting to be widely accepted), about police brutality (17 hour long interrogations at the end of a fist), about shoddy and unscrupulous to the point of evil journalism, or even how crime scene investigation was finally becoming a thing that people did to solve crimes. BUT NO. At most the author nods to these themes by throwing information randomly about but never fully realizing a single idea.
Instead we learn all about Irwin’s crazy life… which isn’t that interesting and could have been done in a single chapter. We learn a little bit about Veronica Gedeon, the model he slew, but the author only talks about her to show why the media was obsessed with this case..
Oh, and randomly you’ll learn about 4 or 5 other murders around Beekman Place, because I think that’s what the author really wanted to write about. It’s really too bad, because the first murder is the most interesting one and it all goes downhill from there.
I would like to get to the part where Liebowitz represents Irwin. Now there is a guy to write a book around! In the last two hours, with Irwin unable to be found after the murders, the book veers wildly off course to ANOTHER murder and we proceed to learn about that victim’s entire family history.
The entire problem with the book can actually be summed up by saying the author had NO consistent thesis. He makes no argument. He just rambles through the story much to the loss of the listener.
I do have reasons though for quitting. GOOD REASONS THAT THIS IS A BAD BOOK- maybe I can save you some pain:
First - Do NOT get the audiobook. The narrator is just pits. HE tries on these half-hearted accents willy-nilly, and he waffles between talking too slow and too fast for different “characters.” It’s very frustrating and it knocks you out of the listening experience.
Second - If you feel compelled to still get the actual book be prepared for disjointed and bad story telling!
The main problem with this book is that the crime isn’t interesting- it’s just sad. Robert Irwin was a man with very serious problems. He tried to castrate himself, he flew into uncontrollable rages, and in the end he though God would grant him infinite wisdom if he killed the two women, one of whom was Veronica Gedeon. That’s not an interesting crime. He didn’t try and cover his tracks. He didn’t premeditate. The poor man was just absolutely insane, a danger to himself and to those around him. I hate to say that it’s boring, because it’s tragic, but it’s a boring crime to wrap a nonfiction crime novel around. Now the author could have improved the narrative by using this crime as a platform to discuss the evolving state of mental health care in America (psychology was just starting to be widely accepted), about police brutality (17 hour long interrogations at the end of a fist), about shoddy and unscrupulous to the point of evil journalism, or even how crime scene investigation was finally becoming a thing that people did to solve crimes. BUT NO. At most the author nods to these themes by throwing information randomly about but never fully realizing a single idea.
Instead we learn all about Irwin’s crazy life… which isn’t that interesting and could have been done in a single chapter. We learn a little bit about Veronica Gedeon, the model he slew, but the author only talks about her to show why the media was obsessed with this case..
Oh, and randomly you’ll learn about 4 or 5 other murders around Beekman Place, because I think that’s what the author really wanted to write about. It’s really too bad, because the first murder is the most interesting one and it all goes downhill from there.
I would like to get to the part where Liebowitz represents Irwin. Now there is a guy to write a book around! In the last two hours, with Irwin unable to be found after the murders, the book veers wildly off course to ANOTHER murder and we proceed to learn about that victim’s entire family history.
The entire problem with the book can actually be summed up by saying the author had NO consistent thesis. He makes no argument. He just rambles through the story much to the loss of the listener.
February 17, 2021
The book begins with a slow buildup leading up to the infamous ‘diabolical campaign of destruction’ of 1927, in the small town of Bath, Michigan. Lots of background info on the man who would become the monster. Perhaps too much. Around 40%, the lead-up pieces fall into place and the story kicks into high gear.
My first thought was that Andrew Kehoe was given way too much authority in the community. He held so many offices with little or no checks and balances. Though some people challenged him, mostly they shrugged off the red flags of his diabolical behavior, paranoia and stockpiling of explosives. In the end, so many children and teachers lost their lives needlessly. A small consolation was that one one of his larger bombs (504 pounds!) failed to detonate reducing the death toll. What a monster.
The horrific event would come to be called the greatest mass murder of children in American history. I loved the wrap-up epilogue. It was the cherry on top and brought tears to my eyes. Thanks to Little A Publishing for the ARC in exchange for my honest review.
My first thought was that Andrew Kehoe was given way too much authority in the community. He held so many offices with little or no checks and balances. Though some people challenged him, mostly they shrugged off the red flags of his diabolical behavior, paranoia and stockpiling of explosives. In the end, so many children and teachers lost their lives needlessly. A small consolation was that one one of his larger bombs (504 pounds!) failed to detonate reducing the death toll. What a monster.
The horrific event would come to be called the greatest mass murder of children in American history. I loved the wrap-up epilogue. It was the cherry on top and brought tears to my eyes. Thanks to Little A Publishing for the ARC in exchange for my honest review.
February 28, 2014
This book graphically and thoroughly details the frightful life of the spree-killer, Robert Irwin from his early childhood through his eventual imprisonment for life for the killing of three innocent victims on Mother's Day in 1937. The author carefully depicts Irwin's obsessions and delusions as they escalate from petty violence to murder. Schechter also provides an accurate perspective of the workings of the criminal law process, including insanity issues, and the sensationalism of the "news" coverage by various tabloids during this era. He also exposes some of the quacks in the medical field and acts of racism which were engrained into the general views concerning crime and punishment at the time. The book is easy to read and entertaining.
April 8, 2014
http://ensuingchapters.com/2014/04/08...
I first encountered Harold Schechter in the mid-’90s at the (sadly) now-defunct Twice-Loved Books in Youngstown, Ohio. My friend Todd and I would travel there often, lost for hours among their three floors of books and playing with the occasional store cat.
You would most often find me in the basement, where the true crime section was wedged into a nook behind the stairs. And you would most often find a Schechter book tucked beneath my arm.
I am not only a fan of crime writing, but an advocate. There is a stigma with the genre that I have always felt was undeserved. Even in progressive-minded bookstores like Twice-Loved (where I was able to order first-edition Aleister Crowley tomes in the pre-Internet age), crime reporting was given only subterranean shelf space.
That’s a shame. Crime writers like Schechter are historians, sociologists, documentarians and cultural commentators, and to be relegated to back-shelf status by the literary mainstream is a disservice to the many great writers (and well-informed readers) working in the genre.
I asked Schechter about the breadth of his work in a 2012 interview:
“You can certainly learn as much about a society by which crimes people are obsessed with at a particular time,” he said. “I think, in a general way, the crimes that become national obsessions, that strike a deep communal chord, symbolize the particular cultural anxieties of the moment.”
In the 1920s it was poisoners; in the ’70s Charles Manson personified the worst fears of the counterculture; the ’80s had phantom Satanists and the ’90s belonged to the serial killer; and today we have the rampage shooter.
But in the 1930s, it was the sexual deviant that haunted and titillated the public.
Enter Robert George Irwin, the subject of Schechter’s new book, The Mad Sculptor: The Maniac, The Model, and the Murder that Shook the Nation.
Irwin was a troubled and talented artist whose stunted psychosexual development (and religious obsession) fueled romantic fixations, violent outbursts, numerous hospitalizations and an attempted self-castration. It climaxed with a vicious triple murder in 1937, made all the more newsworthy because one of the victims, Veronica Gedeon, was a pulp magazine cover girl.
That in and of itself would make for a good read, but Schechter is a skilled storyteller and, more importantly, a devoted historian. His research into the man who would become The Mad Sculptor not only unearthed a traumatic upbringing, but also documented the changing post-Depression personality of the Beekman Hill neighborhood where the murders occurred.
Turns out this neighborhood was home to a series of sensational murders a year prior to Irwin’s massacre.
Weaving a wealth of historical documents into a cohesive narrative, Schechter gives us not only the crime and the cultural mindset, but also the role the media played in the tale, from the earliest indictment of an innocent man through fictional jailhouse confessions and a business arrangement with the Chicago Herald-Examiner so shady that it would make Rupert Murdoch cry foul.
In fact, all of the media coverage (including the persistent “blame-the-victim” approach that made a fuss over Gedeon’s modeling career and her father’s fondness for “French art” postcards) makes today’s television news seem downright ethical (well, almost) by comparison.
If I have one critique of The Mad Sculptor, it’s that we don’t learn much about Irwin’s time in prison. We get factual data, such as how long he lived after his conviction, when he died, and such, but not the in-depth reporting showcased in previous chapters.
But in a time when most movies and many books run far too long (only quantum physics can explain why it takes longer to watch The Great Gatsby than it does to read the book), it’s not really a bad thing to say that Schechter could’ve gone on for another hundred pages or so and I would have been with him all the way.
Schechter had a run in the 1990s that would make any writer jealous, penning best-sellers about Albert Fish, Ed Gein and Depraved, Schechter’s account of H.H. Holmes.
The latter is an example of the literary caste system writ large. Depraved, published in 1994, predated Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City by nearly a decade. While both tell the story of the same man—and the same crimes—one is relegated to the dusty shelves of true crime while the other is a modern classic and prominently displayed at the front of the store.
This is not a knock on Larson’s book (he did nothing wrong by writing an excellent book and reaping success), but rather an example of the double-standards that sometimes emerge in publishing. I point this out not to get on a soapbox but rather to appeal to readers who may never otherwise stray to the nether regions of the bookstore or think that crime writing isn’t for them:
Yes, you will find The Mad Sculptor in the true crime section, but it is greater than the sum of its kill count.
Yes, Harold Schechter is America’s finest crime writer, but he is so much more.
Let this book be your introduction to another historical viewpoint, and don’t be afraid to drift to those shadowy corners of the bookstore where you’ve feared to tread before. To quote Nietzsche: “I am a forest, and a night of dark trees; but he who is not afraid of my darkness will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”
Take it from the weird kid who spent hours in those shadowy basement corridors, collecting the flowers of history in the dark.
I first encountered Harold Schechter in the mid-’90s at the (sadly) now-defunct Twice-Loved Books in Youngstown, Ohio. My friend Todd and I would travel there often, lost for hours among their three floors of books and playing with the occasional store cat.
You would most often find me in the basement, where the true crime section was wedged into a nook behind the stairs. And you would most often find a Schechter book tucked beneath my arm.
I am not only a fan of crime writing, but an advocate. There is a stigma with the genre that I have always felt was undeserved. Even in progressive-minded bookstores like Twice-Loved (where I was able to order first-edition Aleister Crowley tomes in the pre-Internet age), crime reporting was given only subterranean shelf space.
That’s a shame. Crime writers like Schechter are historians, sociologists, documentarians and cultural commentators, and to be relegated to back-shelf status by the literary mainstream is a disservice to the many great writers (and well-informed readers) working in the genre.
I asked Schechter about the breadth of his work in a 2012 interview:
“You can certainly learn as much about a society by which crimes people are obsessed with at a particular time,” he said. “I think, in a general way, the crimes that become national obsessions, that strike a deep communal chord, symbolize the particular cultural anxieties of the moment.”
In the 1920s it was poisoners; in the ’70s Charles Manson personified the worst fears of the counterculture; the ’80s had phantom Satanists and the ’90s belonged to the serial killer; and today we have the rampage shooter.
But in the 1930s, it was the sexual deviant that haunted and titillated the public.
Enter Robert George Irwin, the subject of Schechter’s new book, The Mad Sculptor: The Maniac, The Model, and the Murder that Shook the Nation.
Irwin was a troubled and talented artist whose stunted psychosexual development (and religious obsession) fueled romantic fixations, violent outbursts, numerous hospitalizations and an attempted self-castration. It climaxed with a vicious triple murder in 1937, made all the more newsworthy because one of the victims, Veronica Gedeon, was a pulp magazine cover girl.
That in and of itself would make for a good read, but Schechter is a skilled storyteller and, more importantly, a devoted historian. His research into the man who would become The Mad Sculptor not only unearthed a traumatic upbringing, but also documented the changing post-Depression personality of the Beekman Hill neighborhood where the murders occurred.
Turns out this neighborhood was home to a series of sensational murders a year prior to Irwin’s massacre.
Weaving a wealth of historical documents into a cohesive narrative, Schechter gives us not only the crime and the cultural mindset, but also the role the media played in the tale, from the earliest indictment of an innocent man through fictional jailhouse confessions and a business arrangement with the Chicago Herald-Examiner so shady that it would make Rupert Murdoch cry foul.
In fact, all of the media coverage (including the persistent “blame-the-victim” approach that made a fuss over Gedeon’s modeling career and her father’s fondness for “French art” postcards) makes today’s television news seem downright ethical (well, almost) by comparison.
If I have one critique of The Mad Sculptor, it’s that we don’t learn much about Irwin’s time in prison. We get factual data, such as how long he lived after his conviction, when he died, and such, but not the in-depth reporting showcased in previous chapters.
But in a time when most movies and many books run far too long (only quantum physics can explain why it takes longer to watch The Great Gatsby than it does to read the book), it’s not really a bad thing to say that Schechter could’ve gone on for another hundred pages or so and I would have been with him all the way.
Schechter had a run in the 1990s that would make any writer jealous, penning best-sellers about Albert Fish, Ed Gein and Depraved, Schechter’s account of H.H. Holmes.
The latter is an example of the literary caste system writ large. Depraved, published in 1994, predated Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City by nearly a decade. While both tell the story of the same man—and the same crimes—one is relegated to the dusty shelves of true crime while the other is a modern classic and prominently displayed at the front of the store.
This is not a knock on Larson’s book (he did nothing wrong by writing an excellent book and reaping success), but rather an example of the double-standards that sometimes emerge in publishing. I point this out not to get on a soapbox but rather to appeal to readers who may never otherwise stray to the nether regions of the bookstore or think that crime writing isn’t for them:
Yes, you will find The Mad Sculptor in the true crime section, but it is greater than the sum of its kill count.
Yes, Harold Schechter is America’s finest crime writer, but he is so much more.
Let this book be your introduction to another historical viewpoint, and don’t be afraid to drift to those shadowy corners of the bookstore where you’ve feared to tread before. To quote Nietzsche: “I am a forest, and a night of dark trees; but he who is not afraid of my darkness will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”
Take it from the weird kid who spent hours in those shadowy basement corridors, collecting the flowers of history in the dark.
March 3, 2025
v interesting book on a few 20th century murders all linked together by location (literally the same street). also liked that it explored the way female victims were (and, lets be honest, still are) portrayed. cant get over how much joseph quinn looks like ‘the mad sculptor’. crazy casting opportunity there and the story would be a good movie honestly
March 5, 2018
The 20's and 30's in the US seems to have been a heyday for flashy murders - cf Leopold & Loeb, the Lindberg baby kidnapping, the 'double indemnity' murder of Ruth Snyder and Henry Judd Gray... This is one of the lesser known ones. Robert Irwin, the 'mad sculptor' of the title, murdered the mother and sister of a woman with whom he was obsessed; he also murdered a boarder of the mother and sister.
Schechter does an excellent job of situating these murders in their time and place: the neighborhood had been earlier the site of two other notorious murders. He also does an excellent job of describing (though not accounting for) Irwin's progressing insanity. The book falls a little short at the end, although I suppose it's not fair to blame real life for failing in dramatic potential. Irwin pled guilty to second degree murder (rather than pleading not guilty by reason of insanity) and was sentenced, effectively, to life in prison. And then the story just drops off. I would have liked to know a little more about his life in prison (he lived about 40 years after sentencing). I'm also left wondering what became of Ethel (the woman with whom he had been obsessed) and her father, the surviving family members.
Schechter does an excellent job of situating these murders in their time and place: the neighborhood had been earlier the site of two other notorious murders. He also does an excellent job of describing (though not accounting for) Irwin's progressing insanity. The book falls a little short at the end, although I suppose it's not fair to blame real life for failing in dramatic potential. Irwin pled guilty to second degree murder (rather than pleading not guilty by reason of insanity) and was sentenced, effectively, to life in prison. And then the story just drops off. I would have liked to know a little more about his life in prison (he lived about 40 years after sentencing). I'm also left wondering what became of Ethel (the woman with whom he had been obsessed) and her father, the surviving family members.
May 19, 2021
I may need to stop listening to Harold Schechter's books and get back to reading the physical copies. Two reasons: one. the narrators aren't always the best; two. it's more difficult to keep track of where Schechter's information is coming from.
In the case of The Mad Sculptor number one was particularly difficult for me to take. Peter Berkrot's vocal performance grated on my nerves. For much of the book, I suspected the most annoying aspect of his narration, a sort of sing-songy breathiness that seemed to want to convey intensity (of emotion, of the violent acts, of reactions), was too put on, was not his natural style but chosen to fit the '30s. I spent this morning sampling his other work, and whether he was trying to fit the '30s or not, it is clear that the way he narrated The Mad Sculptor was his choice -- an affectation.
Berkrot's narration wasn't helped by an idea that the book itself implanted in my brain. You see, the killer in the book, Robert George Irwin, was once a roommate of a famous actor, Issur Danielovitch (a.k.a. Izzy Demsky). And from the moment their connection was revealed, I was desperate to hear Danielovitch or his son narrating this book, and that made Berkrot's narration all the more frustrating.
More easily forgiven and less disruptive to my enjoyment was the fact that I couldn't tell where Schechter's information was coming from. Usually, when I read his work I have a better sense of how a verbatim conversation has been reconstructed (say from a diary, or letters, or even a transcript) or where he found the intimate details of a killer or a victim, but in audio form, without footnotes or end notes, these connections are harder to grasp. There is a moment in The Mad Sculptor wherein Irwin's seduction of and engagement to a woman is conveyed in great detail (I presume it is reconstructed from Irwin's diary, but without the text in front of me all I can do is guess). We're talking real fly-on-the-wall levels of detail. Then once the conversation ends (and it was about seven straight minutes of dialogue), we skip to the "details" of their marriage, which are given to us in a single sentence telling us that no details could be found. The contrast of these two moments was jarring, and made me realize just how little I was able to trace Schechter's sources in audio form.
Still, despite the way those two issues hurt my enjoyment of The Mad Sculptor, it was a compelling tale, and Schechter's talent for tapping into history, for offering historical context, for delving into realities of American crime and showing us how the present is not all that different from the past elevates his work above his brethren. He really is unique in the world of true crime writing, and I always feel like I come away from a Schechter book with a better understanding of the people and places that rub up against Schechter's subjects.
I'll probably keep listening to books by Schechter regardless of what I've just written, but I promise myself right now that I won't listen to Deranged: The Shocking True Story of America's Most Fiendish Killer. I think old Albert Fish is going to require a hard copy to experience properly.
In the case of The Mad Sculptor number one was particularly difficult for me to take. Peter Berkrot's vocal performance grated on my nerves. For much of the book, I suspected the most annoying aspect of his narration, a sort of sing-songy breathiness that seemed to want to convey intensity (of emotion, of the violent acts, of reactions), was too put on, was not his natural style but chosen to fit the '30s. I spent this morning sampling his other work, and whether he was trying to fit the '30s or not, it is clear that the way he narrated The Mad Sculptor was his choice -- an affectation.
Berkrot's narration wasn't helped by an idea that the book itself implanted in my brain. You see, the killer in the book, Robert George Irwin, was once a roommate of a famous actor, Issur Danielovitch (a.k.a. Izzy Demsky). And from the moment their connection was revealed, I was desperate to hear Danielovitch or his son narrating this book, and that made Berkrot's narration all the more frustrating.
More easily forgiven and less disruptive to my enjoyment was the fact that I couldn't tell where Schechter's information was coming from. Usually, when I read his work I have a better sense of how a verbatim conversation has been reconstructed (say from a diary, or letters, or even a transcript) or where he found the intimate details of a killer or a victim, but in audio form, without footnotes or end notes, these connections are harder to grasp. There is a moment in The Mad Sculptor wherein Irwin's seduction of and engagement to a woman is conveyed in great detail (I presume it is reconstructed from Irwin's diary, but without the text in front of me all I can do is guess). We're talking real fly-on-the-wall levels of detail. Then once the conversation ends (and it was about seven straight minutes of dialogue), we skip to the "details" of their marriage, which are given to us in a single sentence telling us that no details could be found. The contrast of these two moments was jarring, and made me realize just how little I was able to trace Schechter's sources in audio form.
Still, despite the way those two issues hurt my enjoyment of The Mad Sculptor, it was a compelling tale, and Schechter's talent for tapping into history, for offering historical context, for delving into realities of American crime and showing us how the present is not all that different from the past elevates his work above his brethren. He really is unique in the world of true crime writing, and I always feel like I come away from a Schechter book with a better understanding of the people and places that rub up against Schechter's subjects.
I'll probably keep listening to books by Schechter regardless of what I've just written, but I promise myself right now that I won't listen to Deranged: The Shocking True Story of America's Most Fiendish Killer. I think old Albert Fish is going to require a hard copy to experience properly.
January 23, 2021
Unread shelf project 2021: book 10.
Oh man. So many thoughts about this.
First — this book was supposed to be about Robert Irwin. Yet the book opened with two lengthy chapters about other murders in Beekman Place. It also closed with a chapter on another murder in Beekman Place. No connection was drawn. No fascinating parallels were drawn either, aside from “these murders happened within a year or two of each other in the same neighborhood.”
Second — the focus of the book was unclear. Again, it was supposed to be about Robert Irwin and the related murders. But so much of the book was spent talking about Samuel Leibowitz, the lawyer that eventually represented Irwin (in the last 60 or so pages of the book). That was the ONLY (very tenuous) thing that connected Irwin to the murders described in the first two chapters and final chapter.
Third — don’t use filler content. If you don’t have enough content about a murder/crime to write a 300+ page book, then... don’t? Have your book be shorter? OR, if you really want to hit a specific length — take a page out of Ann Rule’s book (as well as James Patterson’s book) and have one book include 2-4 different cases so that way you DON’T have to use filler content/fluff. It’ll aggravate your readers less, I can almost guarantee...
Oh man. So many thoughts about this.
First — this book was supposed to be about Robert Irwin. Yet the book opened with two lengthy chapters about other murders in Beekman Place. It also closed with a chapter on another murder in Beekman Place. No connection was drawn. No fascinating parallels were drawn either, aside from “these murders happened within a year or two of each other in the same neighborhood.”
Second — the focus of the book was unclear. Again, it was supposed to be about Robert Irwin and the related murders. But so much of the book was spent talking about Samuel Leibowitz, the lawyer that eventually represented Irwin (in the last 60 or so pages of the book). That was the ONLY (very tenuous) thing that connected Irwin to the murders described in the first two chapters and final chapter.
Third — don’t use filler content. If you don’t have enough content about a murder/crime to write a 300+ page book, then... don’t? Have your book be shorter? OR, if you really want to hit a specific length — take a page out of Ann Rule’s book (as well as James Patterson’s book) and have one book include 2-4 different cases so that way you DON’T have to use filler content/fluff. It’ll aggravate your readers less, I can almost guarantee...
March 2, 2019
He was christened Fenelon Arroyo Seco Irwin, but would become better known as Robert “Bob” Irwin, the Beekman Hill Maniac, The Easter Sunday Slayer and The Mad Sculptor, dependent on the press source of the day.
Bob Irwin was infected by syphilis from the womb, as were his two brothers (almost certainly a legacy of his “whoremongering hypocrite” father) but proved an exceptional student in his early years, although that would soon change. Before he turned 10, Bob became unruly, argued with his mother and, a week prior to his twelfth birthday, found himself the subject of a court order placing him in juvenile custody. A lack of control would continue to dog him and rule his actions over the years,
Bob is The Mad Sculptor in Harold Schechter’s book of the same name. The first four chapters of the book start off at a pretty fair clip: we read about two prior murders in Manhattan’s luxury Beekman Place and are introduced to celebrated defence lawyer Samuel Leibowitz.
Thankfully, the book slows a little once its story turns to Bob Irwin and his dysfunstional pseudo-religious parents, and how the father, Benjamin, a travelling preacher, deserts the family, leaving the mother, Mary, to raise three sons unsupported. Mary, too, does her fair share of spreading her Pentecostal preaching, something to which she finally devotes her life.
By now the depth of research Schechter puts to his books is apparent. Personally, I found this of interest greater than the simple mechanics and sensationalism of the first 50-odd pages of crimes and trials.
Evidently caused by his congenital syphillis and the stresses of a disruptive childhood, Bob has difficulty keeping a job, frequently lashing out with his hair trigger temper, injuring workmates and others. In a mental institution for one of many times in his teen years, he picks up a piece of marble one day from a broken headstone and carves a hand in relief on the back of it. He realises he has a natural gift.
When finally set up in New York as a sculptor, Bob obsesses about a beautiful model. She spurns him. He feels slighted and, on Easter Sunday, 1937, sets out to murder her in the Beekman Place apartment where she lives with her family. In the event, he misses his intended victim, who is not at home on the night, and murders her model sister, her mother and a lodger who just happens to be present in bed in the apartment.
There is a lot of interesting detail through the book, in part Bob Irwin’s art, his philosophical outlook, his attempts at self-emasculation, and not least when he comes to trial, defended by the brilliant Sam Leibowitz. This is an eminently readable work, but probably more in how its writing encapsulates crime reporting in the day than in today’s investigative journalistic style. I believe Schechter has achieved what he intended, a good balance between the then and the now of crime recording.
One warning, though, there are instances in which the squeamish might take minor pause, including Bob’s attempt to sever his penis. Nonetheless, I am happy to give the book a healthy four-and-a-half star rating.
Bob Irwin was infected by syphilis from the womb, as were his two brothers (almost certainly a legacy of his “whoremongering hypocrite” father) but proved an exceptional student in his early years, although that would soon change. Before he turned 10, Bob became unruly, argued with his mother and, a week prior to his twelfth birthday, found himself the subject of a court order placing him in juvenile custody. A lack of control would continue to dog him and rule his actions over the years,
Bob is The Mad Sculptor in Harold Schechter’s book of the same name. The first four chapters of the book start off at a pretty fair clip: we read about two prior murders in Manhattan’s luxury Beekman Place and are introduced to celebrated defence lawyer Samuel Leibowitz.
Thankfully, the book slows a little once its story turns to Bob Irwin and his dysfunstional pseudo-religious parents, and how the father, Benjamin, a travelling preacher, deserts the family, leaving the mother, Mary, to raise three sons unsupported. Mary, too, does her fair share of spreading her Pentecostal preaching, something to which she finally devotes her life.
By now the depth of research Schechter puts to his books is apparent. Personally, I found this of interest greater than the simple mechanics and sensationalism of the first 50-odd pages of crimes and trials.
Evidently caused by his congenital syphillis and the stresses of a disruptive childhood, Bob has difficulty keeping a job, frequently lashing out with his hair trigger temper, injuring workmates and others. In a mental institution for one of many times in his teen years, he picks up a piece of marble one day from a broken headstone and carves a hand in relief on the back of it. He realises he has a natural gift.
When finally set up in New York as a sculptor, Bob obsesses about a beautiful model. She spurns him. He feels slighted and, on Easter Sunday, 1937, sets out to murder her in the Beekman Place apartment where she lives with her family. In the event, he misses his intended victim, who is not at home on the night, and murders her model sister, her mother and a lodger who just happens to be present in bed in the apartment.
There is a lot of interesting detail through the book, in part Bob Irwin’s art, his philosophical outlook, his attempts at self-emasculation, and not least when he comes to trial, defended by the brilliant Sam Leibowitz. This is an eminently readable work, but probably more in how its writing encapsulates crime reporting in the day than in today’s investigative journalistic style. I believe Schechter has achieved what he intended, a good balance between the then and the now of crime recording.
One warning, though, there are instances in which the squeamish might take minor pause, including Bob’s attempt to sever his penis. Nonetheless, I am happy to give the book a healthy four-and-a-half star rating.
September 5, 2017
I listened to this on audiobook. I wish I hadn't because I found the narrator's voice annoying. It reminded me of Christian Slater's which has always set my teeth on edge, for some reason.
The structure of this book was odd, in that it began with two separate murders that were not connected with the one this book was meant to be focused on. The only thing they had in common was that happened in the same building/neighbourhood. Also, I found myself at least two thirds of the way through the book before I found out what the perpetrator had actually done.
The parts about Robert Irwin's family and childhood were very thorough and interesting. So too was the description of the sorts of sensationalism that existed in the media around murder reports, at the time.
The crime itself was covered, as was his eventual surrender and sentencing. But that came with more padding - pages and pages about his lawyer's other cases. Even the epilogue went on about other murders in that neighbourhood.
All this other detail just wasn't needed in the telling of the Robert Irwin murders. Or at least, they could have been scaled back a fair bit.
Oh, and I was getting pretty tired of hearing the term 'the little upholsterer' being used over and over again.
The structure of this book was odd, in that it began with two separate murders that were not connected with the one this book was meant to be focused on. The only thing they had in common was that happened in the same building/neighbourhood. Also, I found myself at least two thirds of the way through the book before I found out what the perpetrator had actually done.
The parts about Robert Irwin's family and childhood were very thorough and interesting. So too was the description of the sorts of sensationalism that existed in the media around murder reports, at the time.
The crime itself was covered, as was his eventual surrender and sentencing. But that came with more padding - pages and pages about his lawyer's other cases. Even the epilogue went on about other murders in that neighbourhood.
All this other detail just wasn't needed in the telling of the Robert Irwin murders. Or at least, they could have been scaled back a fair bit.
Oh, and I was getting pretty tired of hearing the term 'the little upholsterer' being used over and over again.
January 2, 2020
DNF.
Wow I lasted 42 minutes of mostly waning and waxing attention.
I dove into this hoping to listening to something about a murder as the title suggested but instead I was given a fairly long section about the lawyer who I don't even care about. Maybe the credentials of this lawyer would mean something down the line but I never got to care at all. It just bored me and when I saw there was still about 10 hours left I just knew the thing about the lawyer might still go on for another hour and decided I don't want to waste anymore time with this.
The first few minutes were a bit promising though at least. I unfortunately just couldn't care enough to want to keep listening.
Definitely not a book for me.
Wow I lasted 42 minutes of mostly waning and waxing attention.
I dove into this hoping to listening to something about a murder as the title suggested but instead I was given a fairly long section about the lawyer who I don't even care about. Maybe the credentials of this lawyer would mean something down the line but I never got to care at all. It just bored me and when I saw there was still about 10 hours left I just knew the thing about the lawyer might still go on for another hour and decided I don't want to waste anymore time with this.
The first few minutes were a bit promising though at least. I unfortunately just couldn't care enough to want to keep listening.
Definitely not a book for me.
April 15, 2023
Not my favorite Harold Schechter thus far, but as well-written as always, and a pretty interesting case.
July 20, 2016
I read little true crime because it tends to upset me. The only other true crime book I've read is In Cold Blood and I've read it several times. Mainly because I enjoy Truman and I've heard he was the creator of the genre. When I read that The Mad Sculptor could be compared to the talents of Capote, I snatched it up and yes, I was disturbed and I compulsively read it.
I enjoy reading New York history and this story revolves around the area of Beekman Place where the wealthy came to roost when the last century was young. It didn't help the crime statistics however, and the story of The Mad Sculptor is also the story of Beekman place and the sordid murders it endured in the 1930s.
This is a very good read. Mr. Schechter manages to talk about many issues of the 1930s aside from the rapes and murders at Beekman Place. Sensationalism was also born of this era and reading detective magazines became a national pastime and the tabloids began to run rampant with sordid details, true or otherwise. There is a lot of tantalizing information in this book regarding crime, detection and famous murderers of the day.
The main meat of the story is about the Mad Sculptor, Bob Iriwn, who, as far as I can tell, never had a break in his life and was born in the losing lane, however, he did get the famed, Samuel Leibowitz as his defense attorney so maybe there he got a break. Irwin may have had Congenital Syphilis from birth which could have made him crazier than a loon and there is a lot of evidence regarding his outlandish beliefs though he was a talented artist.
I read The Mad Sculptor is just a couple of days. I enjoyed the writing style of the author and the New York history and appreciate the amount of research that must have been done to recreate the life and times of the maniacal, Mr. Irwin. I definitely give The Mad Sculptor-two thumbs up. If you enjoy history, or true crime, this story will interest you.
I enjoy reading New York history and this story revolves around the area of Beekman Place where the wealthy came to roost when the last century was young. It didn't help the crime statistics however, and the story of The Mad Sculptor is also the story of Beekman place and the sordid murders it endured in the 1930s.
This is a very good read. Mr. Schechter manages to talk about many issues of the 1930s aside from the rapes and murders at Beekman Place. Sensationalism was also born of this era and reading detective magazines became a national pastime and the tabloids began to run rampant with sordid details, true or otherwise. There is a lot of tantalizing information in this book regarding crime, detection and famous murderers of the day.
The main meat of the story is about the Mad Sculptor, Bob Iriwn, who, as far as I can tell, never had a break in his life and was born in the losing lane, however, he did get the famed, Samuel Leibowitz as his defense attorney so maybe there he got a break. Irwin may have had Congenital Syphilis from birth which could have made him crazier than a loon and there is a lot of evidence regarding his outlandish beliefs though he was a talented artist.
I read The Mad Sculptor is just a couple of days. I enjoyed the writing style of the author and the New York history and appreciate the amount of research that must have been done to recreate the life and times of the maniacal, Mr. Irwin. I definitely give The Mad Sculptor-two thumbs up. If you enjoy history, or true crime, this story will interest you.
August 27, 2016
This is a compelling look at Robert Irwin and the murder of Veronica Gedeon (as well as her mother and a male boarder). While I found it really interesting to read about the clear progression of Irwin's psychological issues, I was a little confused about why it was sandwiched between murders that happened in the vicinity during the same time period. Since the book focuses so much on Irwin, these other cases really feel like an afterthought. Yes, it seems a little strange that so many murders happened in the same area, but I don't know if it's worth including if you're going to make so little meaning from it.
December 13, 2015
This book was just okay for me. The case was interesting enough and a gave complete look at the case. I can't help but feel irritated at how flawed police procedure and trials were during this time period. The killer himself also had an intriguing story. It was clear that he had some severe issues both biological and environmental. It's not hard to see how he ended up as he did. The book itself is a bit all over the place making references to a variety of cases that are loosely connected. This sometimes makes it difficult to follow. Still it was an interesting case.
August 8, 2014
This was not entirely uninteresting...I mean, I'm not a psychopath so I don't find the recounting of a triple homicide tiresome, as a rule, but the writing was just so damn dull. So dull, in fact, that it took forever to read it because I kept falling asleep. I breathed a sigh of relief when I FINALLY got to the epilogue. Which I didn't bother to read. I couldn't subject myself to any more...and I was getting sleepy.
March 15, 2014
Definitely an interesting read. I suspect what other readers are responding to is that the premise of this book may have changed over time. Was it about Beekman Place murders, the murderers defended by a certain high profile attorney, or a biography of Bob Irwin?
February 25, 2014
This read like a very boring text book.
December 28, 2014
Not a fan of this book. Interesting story but the story-telling was all over the place and not captivating. Would have done better as a short story.
September 27, 2016
Only moderately interesting.
March 4, 2014
tedious
November 1, 2018
BUZZKILL ALERT!
I think it's finally time to admit that my appetite for true crime is just not that large. (I've actually admitted this many times before, mostly on my locked and therefore unembeddable twitter, but let's gloss over that.) I appreciate a good story, especially a pulpy one like this, but I grow tired of reading about some young woman (or in this case, young and old woman) brutally murdered by a man whose violence is classified as psychotic or psychopathic. The details of these cases change, but the skeleton remains the same. (Obviously there are those that build on this to create something more interesting, like Michelle McNamara's wonderful and wrenching weaving in of her own experience and hardship writing I'll Be Gone in the Dark.)
I had a whole extra paragraph written up but it essentially just repeated the one above. At the end of the day, while this book tried to tie the crime in with 19whatevers New York and Beekman Place specifically, it was just another man who brutally murdered women. What's the point? There were interesting parts of the book of course, mostly having to do with the trial & insanity defense, and the twist (I guess) of the waitress discovering him in Denver or Chicago or wherever, but those weren't the focus, and the murderer being an artist, which I suppose is the unique part of the central story, didn't change the book's bones.
The reason I keep bringing up gender is because as with many crime stories, it does play out within the standard paradigm. Mandy Patinkin said it when he quit Criminal Minds:
(I don't totally buy that Homeland is the "antidote," but a man's gotta make a living, so I forgive it.)
If the "point" of this book is just to tell this story I guess I'm struggling to see why the story needs to be told. Does it tell us anything we didn't already know about the terror a jealous man can inflict upon a woman? Does it tell us anything we didn't know about how innocent people - women - get caught when a frustrated man turns to violence? Does it tell us anything we didn't know about how growing up neglected and in poverty can continue the cycle of crime and abuse? Why should I spend time reading this story?
Of course this isn't Schechter's fault. I'm sure he's a fine crime writer. Everything I've said here could apply, with tweaks, to most true crime we're exposed to nowadays. It really is just Not My Thing, and perhaps it's pearl-clutching to say, but it concerns me that it's still Our Thing as a society. I think more true crime could do to ask what these horrific acts of violence can teach us rather than just what happened, how we can treat them with respect rather than literary rubbernecking, and whether it's a story that truly hasn't been told before.
I think it's finally time to admit that my appetite for true crime is just not that large. (I've actually admitted this many times before, mostly on my locked and therefore unembeddable twitter, but let's gloss over that.) I appreciate a good story, especially a pulpy one like this, but I grow tired of reading about some young woman (or in this case, young and old woman) brutally murdered by a man whose violence is classified as psychotic or psychopathic. The details of these cases change, but the skeleton remains the same. (Obviously there are those that build on this to create something more interesting, like Michelle McNamara's wonderful and wrenching weaving in of her own experience and hardship writing I'll Be Gone in the Dark.)
I had a whole extra paragraph written up but it essentially just repeated the one above. At the end of the day, while this book tried to tie the crime in with 19whatevers New York and Beekman Place specifically, it was just another man who brutally murdered women. What's the point? There were interesting parts of the book of course, mostly having to do with the trial & insanity defense, and the twist (I guess) of the waitress discovering him in Denver or Chicago or wherever, but those weren't the focus, and the murderer being an artist, which I suppose is the unique part of the central story, didn't change the book's bones.
The reason I keep bringing up gender is because as with many crime stories, it does play out within the standard paradigm. Mandy Patinkin said it when he quit Criminal Minds:
The biggest public mistake I ever made was that I chose to do Criminal Minds in the first place. I thought it was something very different. I never thought they were going to kill and rape all these women every night, every day, week after week, year after year. It was very destructive to my soul and my personality... I’m concerned about the effect it has. Audiences all over the world use this programming as their bedtime story. This isn’t what you need to be dreaming about.
(I don't totally buy that Homeland is the "antidote," but a man's gotta make a living, so I forgive it.)
If the "point" of this book is just to tell this story I guess I'm struggling to see why the story needs to be told. Does it tell us anything we didn't already know about the terror a jealous man can inflict upon a woman? Does it tell us anything we didn't know about how innocent people - women - get caught when a frustrated man turns to violence? Does it tell us anything we didn't know about how growing up neglected and in poverty can continue the cycle of crime and abuse? Why should I spend time reading this story?
Of course this isn't Schechter's fault. I'm sure he's a fine crime writer. Everything I've said here could apply, with tweaks, to most true crime we're exposed to nowadays. It really is just Not My Thing, and perhaps it's pearl-clutching to say, but it concerns me that it's still Our Thing as a society. I think more true crime could do to ask what these horrific acts of violence can teach us rather than just what happened, how we can treat them with respect rather than literary rubbernecking, and whether it's a story that truly hasn't been told before.
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