William Kennedy transports us to 1938 Albany and gives us the night-owl tour of its dive bars, whorehouses, greasy spoons, and pool-rooms. These are the churches of down-and-outers with colorful nicknames like Wrong-Way Corrigan, Daddy Big, and Slopie. Here men work hard at play. Here the fatherless numb their pain with gin and games. Billy Phelan is a skilled gambler; drinker; bowler; dicer; card dealer; pool-shooter; and shortstop. Self-possessed at 31, he exudes a “scarred sassiness.” Accepting the rules of the game, Billy plays by them and above them. He nonchalantly explains his success: “I say my prayers and vote the right ticket.” Even a neophyte to the rites of men will feel initiated after reading detailed descriptions of Billy’s high-stakes games. Yet despite his physical prowess, he does not comprehend the political forces with the same clarity with which he can spot a hustler. "Bleeding from sardonic wounds" and bewildered, Martin Daugherty still awaits a revelation, despite having lost his Catholic faith long ago. He dreams of sacred jaguars, hexagons and rhomboids but has no idea why. Describing himself as a “mystical naturalist,” he judges himself guilty of simony (selling his spiritual gifts). “The quest to love yourself is a moral quest.” Martin’s quest begins in the past. Buoyed by nostalgia, his mind, like the tide, returns to history–both personal and municipal.This is also a story about men aching for absent fathers. Billy and Martin live in the presence of their absent fathers: Billy’s father took off when he was 9; Martin’s father checked out with senility. Yet, your father is in your bones, regardless of his physical proximity. Likewise, there is the counter-theme of the sacrifice of children. Martin is losing his adolescent son, who is entering a “twig-bending” seminary where Martin fears he will be neutered with windy God-talk. Billy and Martin are men with codes. Martin’s code: “a man must give hairpins to sick whores whenever they require them.” Billy’s code: never snitch. Both codes are tested when they become entangled in the events surrounding the kidnapping of Charlie Boy McCall, son of the Irish potentate who runs Albany. The political machine brushes the life of every Albany citizen from diapers to dotage, and Billy gets caught in a Catch-22. Everybody is hustleable once you find the weak spot. Today’s domesticated man, who returns straight home after work, turns over his paycheck, and chauffers his kids around in a minivan, might enjoy a brief excursion from the safety of his arm chair into the neon Albany night of his risk-taking ancestors. March 6, 2012
Ostensibly this is a book about hustlers, grifters, writers, and political bosses. And this book has all of that, taking place in 1930's Albany. But in reality this is a book about fathers and sons.The plot is driven by the kidnapping of Charlie Boy McCall, son of Bindy. Bindy and his brother Patsy run Albany through intimidation, mob-like tactics, and influencing elections. The McCalls enlist Billy Phelan to help unearth Morrie Berman's role in the plot. Billy's father left when he was nine years old, and returns to town now after living a hobo's life. Billy's a hustler, and the town of Albany has been his surrogate father since his dad left.Morrie, meanwhile, is estranged from his father, Jake. But although they don't have a relationship, they have similar agendas - revenge on the McCall's. Finally, there is Martin Daugherty. Martin's father was a writer of some renown, a publisher of plays. Martin is perhaps not that talented, and writes for the local newspaper. Perhaps to make up for his falling short to his father in talent, he instead beds his father's former mistress (and muse). Martin's own son, Peter, has joined the seminary, rejecting Martin's life among the seedier elements in Albany for a life "in the world but not part of it." While much of Martin's existence is being in the middle of all the goings-on in Albany.As for the writing, there is real poetry here, as when Kennedy describes a bowling alley and its denizens: "He looked the crowd over: men sitting among unswept papers, dust, and cigar butts, bathing in the raw incandescence of naked bulbs, surrounded by spittoons; a nocturnal bunch n shirtsleeves and baggy clothes, their hands full of meaningful drink, fixated on an ancient game with origins in Christian ritual, a game brought to this city centuries ago by nameless old Dutchmen and now a captive of the indoor sports of the city. the game abided in such windowless, smoky lofts as this one, which smelled of beer, cigar smoke and alley wax, an unhealthy ambiance which nevertheless nourished exquisite nighttime skills."If I found out that Richard Russo counted Kennedy as an influence, it would not surprise me one bit. This is good stuff, going much deeper than the surface story.
Do You like book Billy Phelan's Greatest Game (1983)?
This style of writing annoys me no end. I don't really want to get into it right now (ask me sometime, maybe over a few beers). I once read Ironweed all the way the through and hated it and wondered why I had persevered all the way through it. I guess because it had won the Pulitzer Prize and because two trustworthy sources personally recommended it. Then I read Legs once and was often slightly annoyed by it throughout, but the story ended up being ok and worth finishing. So I thought I would read this as a sort of a rubber match and then consider maybe re-reading Ironweed. No chance of that now. This is such contrived shallow bs garbage ... aaaa, don't even get me started on this, at least not in this forum.
—Mike
William Kennedy knows how to write. This was my third Kennedy novel; I've also read 'Quinn's Book' and 'Legs.' In each one, he manages to create something light -- almost magical, nearly whimsical, just lovely -- and dark -- shot through with the hardship and dirt and bone poverty of 1930's Albany, New York.Also, I picked this for my book group and it ended up being a great selection. We had a lively discussion and I think almost everyone felt kind of crushy about Billy. I've never seen that happen! Anyway, highly recommended.
—Molly
A significant improvement over the first in the trio, "Billy Phelan's Greatest Game" showcases William Kennedy's developing knack for poignancy in the mundane. The stereotypical exciting plot points take a backseat to the every day trappings of the main characters, who seem somehow less concerned with the underlying danger of their shady dealings and more with the minutia of living. Oddly refreshing, and leaves you with a sense that everyone is hustling for the same thing when stripped down to the core. A solid 3.5 stars in truth, leaving me looking forward to "Ironweed."
—Samantha Mason
