“With Legs , Billy Phelan’s Greatest Game , and . . . Ironweed , William Kennedy is making American literature.”— The Washington Post Book World
Legs inaugurated William Kennedy’s celebrated cycle of novels set in Albany, New York. True to both life and myth. Legs evokes the flamboyant career of the legendary gangster Jack “Legs” Diamond, who was finally murdered in Albany, and his showgirl mistress as they blaze a trail across the tabloid pages of the 1920s and 1930s.
The second novel in the Albany cycle depicts Billy Phelan, a slightly tarnished poker player, pool hustler, and small-time bookie, as he moves through the lurid nighttime glare of a tough Depression-era town. Full of Irish pluck, he works the fringes of Albany sporting life with his own particular style—until he falls from underworld grace.
In the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, Ironweed , Francis Phelan, ex-ballplayer, part-time gravedigger, and full-time drunk, has hit bottom. Years ago he left Albany after killing a scab during a workers’ strike, and again after he accidentally—and fatally—dropped his infant son. Now, in 1938, Francis is back, roaming familiar streets and trying to make peace with ghosts of the past and present.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
William Joseph Kennedy is an American writer and journalist born and raised in Albany, New York. Many of his novels feature the interaction of members of the fictional Irish-American Phelan family, and make use of incidents of Albany's history and the supernatural.
Kennedy's works include The Ink Truck (1969), Legs (1975), Billy Phelan's Greatest Game (1978), Ironweed (1983, winner of 1984 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction; film, 1987), and Roscoe (2002).
There's no real story in any of the three of these ... there are a series of dull gangster episodes lifted from Albany newspapers in the 1930's or whatever, sort of warmed over by the author with the intention, apparently, of introducing some kind of human element into the people in those stories ... but the result all three times is mostly just a long litany of stale, worn-out, clichéd, corny, hackneyed stereotypes of the types of characters the author imagines were behind these newspaper stories and how they talked, etc., etc.
It's clear that the author is nostalgic for and deeply in love with a whole bunch of really banal stereotypes centered around the 1930's, the Irish and second- and third-generation Irish in America, Catholic church rituals, the working class, blah blah blah. Very loving, doting, and extremely uninteresting impressions of these run all through all of these stories.
I'd say don't waste your time with any of these ... go watch a few Humphrey Bogart movies or something.
Three separate novels in this collection, including the Pulitzer Prize winning Ironweed. The books totally immerse the reader in Albany, New York circa 1928-1938, and many characters appear, or are at least referred to, in all three stories. It's a lot to absorb in one volume, but generally the writing is good, loaded with period detail and deeply a descriptive setting. Albany is clearly close to the author's heart.
Legs (1975) tells the story of the rise and fall of Legs Diamond, a gangster living on the edge. Legs befriends local attorney Marcus Gorman, the narrator of the story. Marcus, like many in town, can't resist the celebrity of the gangster life. The books explores the public fascination with gangsters in this era, and their "talent for making virtue seem unwholesome, and for instilling vicarious amorality in the hearts of multitudes..."
Billy Phelan's Greatest Game (1978) is based on an the real life attempted 1933 kidnapping of John O'Connell Jr., the nephew of Albany Democratic boss Daniel P. O'Connell. Billy is pool hustler and gambler that won't rat out the suspected kidnapper of the nephew of Albany's political boss Patsy McCall. The story is a bit tedious as it delves deeply into the lives of many characters throughout the story. It is the longest of the three and took a little determination to get through.
Billy's father Francis is the focus of Ironweed (1983). Francis, once a great ballplayer, is a vagrant who abandoned his family after accidentally killing his infant son. His return to Albany in the story is grim and heartbreaking. It is relatively short, but packs quite a punch. Chronologically, it is set only a few days after the events in the previous book.
The novels here are the first three in a eight book cycle set in Albany, and are good enough for me to continue exploring the cycle.
So far I've read LEGS, which reminded me of Fitzgerald with a touch of Damon Runyon and late James Joyce. I liked the Irish cynicism.
Having finished the book -- both BILLY PHELAN'S GREATEST GAME and IRONWEED -- I find myself of several minds about William Kennedy's fiction. At base it is realistic, sort of in the tradition of the great newspaper writers who turned novelist. IRONWEED reminds me of Sherwood Anderson's WINESBURG, OHIO. There are grotesque, clearly dead, possibly imagined characters. But the down-and-out characters like Francis remind me of Steinbeck, at least a little, though without the raw passion and inner strength. BILLY PHELAN'S GREATEST GAME faces the everyday gamble and requirement for compromise that life requires, given the absence of charity and kindness. Still the novel's ending seems to me more tailored than dramatic, rather as if O. Henry had been consulted.
The three novels by which Kennedy made his name - and that of Albany's as a place of interest. The collection opens with a bang: "Legs" may be the best gangster novel ever written. While each work - the directly related "Billy Phelan's Greatest Game" and "Ironweed" are the others - is distinguished by Kennedy's gritty gifts for twisted heroism, oblique dialogue, and Joycean subtext, the most suitable beneficiary is his chronicle of the doomed Dapper Dan's dodgy time in New York's crime-ridden capital. Marvels as they are to read, track down the audio edition read by the ever-grizzled Jason Robards; like the works of O'Neill, Robards is a perfect match for these Irish-American tragedies.
Outstanding trilogy set in Albany, NY -- the underworld scene earlier in the 20th century, and also the life and shared fellowship of self-professed "bums" just trying to live the best they can. I bought this at the library book sale, recognizing the author's name. Fabulous writer. I now want to see the movie "Ironweed'" starring Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep, the third novel in this trilogy.
I've only read Ironweed. I liked it. The Albany stuff is interesting, especially because I live in upstate New York now. Some of the prose was a bit overdone.
All 3 books in this trilogy were good but not great. I think Ironweed was probably the most straightforward and best, or maybe just the saddest.
Legs is about a gangster who does bad things to people who are neither good or bad. He’s evil and greedy and pays the price. The interesting part is that one of the narrators is his lawyer, who doesn’t get engaged directly in criminality but nevertheless finds himself living off the spoils of stolen property…he may be operating a legitimate law practice, after all, the guilty need good lawyers more than anyone. But he hasn’t turned completely immoral yet. He’s also not able to exert enough influence on Legs to get him on the straight and narrow, and retire from this life of crime.
The second story, Billy Phelan, is about a guy who is really neither good nor bad, but is just sort of misguided. Billy is involved in the petty underworld of bookies and casinos, pool halls and bowling. The stuff he’s involved in is not criminality to the extent of Legs Diamond behavior, so while it’s morally objectionable, the scale of the acts makes it sort of hard to cast judgement and label Billy a bad person. He plays cards and has a girlfriend who is married. He takes care of his family, he keeps his word, he stays away from the locals involved in politics and racketeering…until he can’t. Lot of characters in this story - hard to follow at times without a list of who’s who.
Ironweed is about a good guy who has done some bad things and is remorseful, but his alcoholism essentially keeps him stuck in his trauma. And the main character is the father of Billy from the second story. His name is Francis. He played baseball for a while. He accidentally killed 3 people. He’s haunted by it and just can’t stop drinking. He reconnects with his family that he left for 20 years. It’s a melancholy and somewhat sweet story because it feels very real.
The writing in all 3 books was very beautiful. I think overall these are the best books about down and out bums and degenerates I have ever read.
I'm not much for mob related books, and this was ok. I liked Ironweed the best then Legs, then Billy Phelan's Greatest Game. Ironweed had more true, believable emotion to it.
Revisiting "Ironweed" after 30+ years, to find it still one of my favorite novels. Neither "Legs" nor "Billy Phelan" are as moving, or as thoughtful, but both share Kennedy's love of rogues, dusty barrooms, and back-alley politics, the public and the personal. If those stories pale next to Francis Phelan's, most stories do, and they are still better than almost anything else I've read recently. It's just that "Ironweed" captures this country in a life, and that life goes on all around us, under our noses, every day. Tragic, hopeful, broken, but still sitting on a hanger to hit.
This book makes clear the difficulty of reviewing novels collected in a single volume. Even if the trio here is part of William Kennedy’s Albany Cycle, the novels can stand alone, especially Legs. The latter two books are much more closely related though and, since they are sufficiently independent from it, reward reading sequentially. Either way, the format here requires that I review all three together.
It’s easy in retrospect to call a book immature or preliminary. In this case it feels apt. Legs is a fine story but it’s a simple bit of historical fiction worked up around an already meaty bone. If Kennedy hadn’t written another book, this one would have been forgotten. The title character was an actual celebrity mobster and bootlegger in the early 20th century who operated in the Hudson Valley at times. However, Albany is merely an occasional backdrop to his story so, even with the novel’s frame, it feels artificially roped into the “Cycle.” The later books in this trio are more purposeful.
Kennedy writes well enough here but, again, the material is the selling point. Diamond’s life keeps the pages turning. Kennedy manages to keep things tense as the foretold demise approaches but it’s not truly gripping. Diamond comes across as sympathetic but Kennedy doesn’t quite achieve the pathos he appears to strive for.
The second installment in the trio rises to a higher standard and represents a more meaningful link to the city itself. Virtually all of the action takes place in Depression-era Albany, starting in a bowling alley and ranging through newsrooms, the homes of hustlers and political bosses, into bars and even prison.
The hero, so to speak, is Billy Phelan, but mostly as observed by newspaper columnist, Martin Daugherty. His story bubbles up out of a community within Albany all known to each other. The third person narrative has Martin Daugherty returning again and again to an ensemble photograph hung in a drinking club run by the family atop the political machine. The photograph exhibits the community, and features most of the primary and secondary actors in the novel.
The symbolism evoked by the photograph represents a more ambitious approach to his task than anything Kennedy attempts in the preceding book. That is to the author’s credit. While the characters propel the plot here, the nature of the city itself also begins to come into focus. If the photograph is a touchstone for the characters themselves then Albany asserts itself as the field on which Kennedy sows teeth.
The action of Ironweed follows hard on the heels of its predecessor. The narration remains in the third person but the focus shifts from Billy Phelan to his father, Frances. Frances has moved on from being bailed out by his son to the cemetery job Martin Daugherty secures for him.
Early in this one, Kennedy makes clear he’s taken a further step in his ambitions. The ghost of Frances’ infant son appears in the cemetery, exhibiting agency. Other ghosts appear throughout the book as Phelan wrestles with the guilt he’s accumulated over a lifetime.
At times, the narrative borders on stream of consciousness but never goes as far as, say, Joyce or Faulkner, even though the deep sense of place Kennedy evokes is reminiscent of those earlier experimentalists. The nature of Kennedy’s ghosts, however, is more forward-looking, anticipating the likes of George Saunders in the way they interact with the living and one another.
As one might expect, the narrative is also less linear than its predecessors. Phelan’s introspection bounces the reader from event to event with only a bare regard for time, but returning always to the present of Albany. Kennedy’s writing is fine and the narrative hangs together well, both showcasing and veiling the book’s complexity.
And while Kennedy renders his main character completely and artfully, he also delves deeper into the nature of his city, portraying it more subtly this time as an elemental force rather than as a battlefield. On its own, Ironweed would rate five stars. But in this format, it cancels out Legs and allows Billy Phelan's Greatest Game to average the trio out to four stars.
Kennedy gets compared to many writers, but I think that he and Faulkner are dead-ringers. Both are concerned with the pervasiveness of time’s influence, both center the majority of their work around an area that becomes mythical in their hands, both concentrate on character, and both are sometime extravagant stylists. Of the Albany trilogy, I have come to think Billy Phelan’s Greatest Game perhaps a shade better than Ironweed. The reason for this is simply the pull of plot in Phelan. Ironweed is something of a paean to sadness and bum luck, but Phelan has a pull from its beginning chapter with its nearly perfect bowling game ended by a fatal heart attack to be quickly followed in the next chapter’s opening with a kidnapping. It’s the latter that provides the pull in this novel, along with the tandem narrations by Martin Daugherty and Billy Phelan, the pair that opened the novel with the bowling game, a pair separated by a generation. Daugherty’s fretting over Billy, over his own son Peter (who’s committed to becoming a priest), and over the kidnapped Charlie McCall provides a touching thematic motif in this novel. “Free the children” becomes a refrain in Martin’s mind, a refrain made all the deeper because he is caring for a senile, Alzheimer-ish father, who had not always taken the best care of his own son. Go for it with this novel. Two small warnings: Kennedy, as mentioned can dip his pen a bit heavily into the purple at time, but for every time he does this, there are ten times he writes wonders: “We are only as possible as what happened to us yesterday. We all change as we move.” The second warning floats along the zeitgeist of political correctness. This novel can seem heavy-handed on the male side of matters, but I would encourage readers to consider the depiction of Martin’s mother chastising a Christian Brother much as Christ chastised the moneylenders. I would also encourage readers to read the chapter where Angie bests Billy in a game of wit. And the terrible “N” word floats in frequently enough, I guess. Billy, at the bottom of his game, borrows $25 from Slope, a black man. They buy whiskey from a bootlegger and build a trash fire by the river. “How is it, being a nigger, Slope?”/ “I kinda like it.” / “Goddam good thing.” / “What, bein’ a nigger?” / “No, that you like it.” Minutes later, Slope saves a drunken Billy from getting a police beating by yanking him down as two wiseacre cops pass by. Kennedy touches humanity at every level with his truths.
Just finished reading Legs and enjoyed it pretty well. It's a relatively quick read, though in this book it feels sort of like you're making no progress at all because the typset is very small, in order to fit three novels in 600 smallish pages. Legs was a pretty straightforward story that narrates the life of Jack "Legs" Diamond, an Al Capone-like bootlegger and gangster during prohibition via the eyes of his lawyer Marcus Gorman. Like I said, it's pretty straightforward, but with a nice look into how easy it is to get swept up by such a charismatic guy, even if he is a really cruel, evil guy.
The Albany Novels delve into the lives of characters I don't care about--gangsters and their molls, gamblers, corrupt politicians, sad "drunks"--and the unappealing "underworld" they inhabit. And I inexplicably couldn't stop reading. Billy Phelan's Greatest Game is the standout, in my opinion, but each offered something to me, a middle-aged, pedantic woman--I find that the novels have a "masculine" sensibility. I picked this up just to have something to read, and I discovered a gem.
I'll be honest, I gave up. Didn't like it as much as 15 years ago, just seemed a bit overdone. Still liked it, but I was full after a while and just couldn't finish my dinner.
Ok, have to be honest, only read the first story in the trilogy. I liked it enough to give it three stars, but not enough to read the the next two stories. At least not right away...
I've only read Ironweed. I liked it. The Albany stuff is interesting, especially because I live in upstate New York now. Some of the prose was a bit overdone.