Ironweed: A Novel

With Ironweed, William Kennedy completes his three novels of Depression-era Albany, wrapping up this study of time, place, and people with an emotionally gripping Pulitzer Prize-winner (1984) that focuses on those who call themselves "bums," all of them living apart from society because their dreams have died. Francis Phelan, long-absent father of Billy Phelan, the main character in the previous novel, Billy Phelan's Greatest Game, returns to Albany for the first time in twenty-two years. In the previous novel, which concludes a week before Ironweed begins, Francis reconnects with his son Billy, who, stunned by Francis's reappearance, gets him out of jail, gives him money, and begs him to visit his mother and the family. Francis, a former pro ballplayer, lost his career when he lost part of a finger in a fight. He abandoned his wife Annie and his family when he accidentally dropped and killed his 13-day-old son Gerald, an act for which he still atones. Francis, however, now discovers from Billy that Annie has never revealed to anyone how Gerald died, a proof of forgiveness that Francis finds astounding. For the past nine years Francis has been living on the road with another down-and-outer, Helen Archer, who managed one year at Vassar studying classical piano before her father died and her life fell apart. Smart and perceptive about people, Helen, like Francis, has tried unsuccessfully to find solace in the bottle, and now, suffering from a tumor and the effects of alcoholism, she tries to make peace with herself and her life. Both Francis and Helen understand that they have chosen their lives, and they cast no blame on others or on fate. Their many acquaintances all have similar stories, and as these stories interweave and overlap, Kennedy endows them with a tenderness of feeling and, sometimes, with an overwhelming violence which stun the involved reader with their power. As Francis relives events in his life, his inner world takes shape. The opening scene, a trip to the cemetery, where Francis visits his parents' graves and that of baby Gerald for the first time, is one of the most dramatic openings ever written, and as Francis converses with his lost family, he establishes the contrasts with his present life. Scenes in which Francis, cursed with a hair-trigger temper, literally fights to the death alternate with scenes involving Annie and his family; scenes of his childhood and adolescence alternate with sad scenes involving the deaths of his homeless friends. A book so good it will leave you reeling, Ironweed tears at the heart without showing a trace of sentimentality, depicting hard lives lived by down-and-out people, most of whom still possess the redeeming virtues of the more saintly who live "normal" lives. Hard-edged, sometimes violent, and even cruel, it also reveals human kindness, sweetness, and love. Kennedy's naturalistic style and ability to create realistic dialogue give life to the stories of these charac

In life, we all make mistakes, some more than others. People do not grow into faultless perfection. That is something that is done through hard work and deep thought, and even then, it is not fully achieved - much to our dismay. People sometimes unsuccessfully surrender themselves to their fantasies, their ideologies, and thus, make big mistakes, for to err is human. The protagonist in William Kennedy's Ironweed - Francis Phelan - is certainly no exception. He is a man who has made one too many mistakes. From the murdering of a scab, to his accidentally killing his son, to taking refuge in alcohol, to family abandonment, it becomes a grim picture of a life not worth living. All this stretches out before and beyond the Great Depression of 1929. In youth, Francis had looks, health, vitality and a burgeoning baseball career that included such notables like Ty Cobb, Tris Speaker and Eddie Collins. But then it all disappeared to mediocrity and then into something even less than that. One would figure, like Job in the Bible, Francis would scream, "God, wht hast thou forsaken me?" He does not do that. In that respect, that is what makes this novel so refreshing. It does not evolve into a pity party, although the theme, plot and environment would lead a reader to think otherwise. Francis and his associates, specifically Helen Archer and Rudy, just propel themselves onward, despite or until mental and physical difficulities impede them. The characters don't whine or pout; they just deal with it. When the joys of life ebb away into that which we do not think we can handle, that's when the true self emerges, the thick skin manifests itself during adversity. Despite what I have written, it is not all grim and tragic. Far from it. In darkness there is light, and that is especially true in the latter part of the book. The jocularity of the dialogue and semi jocund personalities of the characters give this novel an uplifting air of hope and possibility. And it makes one belive that no matter how dark our times may be, no matter how tragic our circumstances are, somewhere, in the far off distance, there is a gleaming ray of hope at the end of the tunnel.

I had to read this novel for my AP english class and i wasn't exactly looking forward to reading it. But once i got down to reading it, the book took on a life of its own. William Kennedy's brilliant prose and selection of words defined the character of Francis Phelan. The reader can truly feel sorrow, joy, disgust with each action of Francis, all through the excellent writing of Mr. kennedy. The book is a sad look on a depressing era, but it is also a novel that demonstrates the love and bond of family and the tenacity of human nature to hold on. A great book...highly recommended.

This was the first book to show me what traumatic personal events in the story of immigration to America might have brought on the deep, collective sorrow that runs, unexplained, through my working-class background. No one in my family can discuss the particular incidents, for as they happened they were deliberately ignored. Of Kennedy's many achievements in "Ironweed" I'm most impressed by these two: the archaeology of our heritage of private suffering, and the poetry of our inarticulate ancestors. First person accounts of the isolated lives of the hapless poor are more than rare. Kennedy is well-educated in the history of his native Albany, and with threads of this great story he weaves Francis Phelan's humble tale. It is a lyric ballad for the poor souls who managed to bring children (like my grandparents) into this harsh, new world before meeting their unceremonious ends. In isolated moments of grace and dignity, Kennedy brings flickers of indelicate humor, intense beauty and slangy sweetness.