This is the twelfth edition of The Baltimore Online Book Club. After each meeting, I place a review of the book discussed online. Our next meeting will take place on July 26, 2018, during which we shall discuss "The Blue Flower" by Penelope Fitzgerald. Online members are encouraged to read that book along with us, and post comments in the comment section, once the review is posted.
The book selected for our June meeting was "Ironweed," by William Kennedy, which is the subject of the present review.
Ironweed
by William Kennedy
Penguin Books
New York, N.Y. 1984
227 pages
The novel portrays two unforgettable characters, Francis Phelan, and his on-and-off girlfriend, Helen Archer. They are, along with many other characters in the book, homeless. Neither Helen nor Francis are antiheroes, however. Francis might be less educated, but he is very strong, upright, and moral. What precipitated his downfall was a fatal accident: he dropped his infant son while attempting to change his diaper; he cannot handle the guilt and leaves his loving wife and two children and becomes, well, a bum. The novel takes place in the late thirties, as Francis winds his way back to Albany, his hometown, where his wife and family still live. That his family will welcome him back at the end of the novel, after over two decades of abandonment; that Francis had left behind his responsibilities due to guilt at his son’s death--a plot like this would at first blush seem nearly impossible to turn into a successful novel. And yet Kennedy pulls it off with mastery. Francis is an impulsive man who is not prone to reflection, to put it mildly. He is very hard on himself; he is pursued by inner demons, who never let him forget what he has done. The main reason why he didn’t return earlier is his feeling of utter worthlessness. Perhaps this feeling has attenuated over the years; perhaps this is the reason he is returning to Albany. We don’t really know, for in Francis’s case his feet do the planning, as it were, not his brain. He has no conscious plans to return, yet return he does.
Kennedy’s style is a combination of almost Joycean obscurity, lyricism, and wordplay, alternating with an almost Hemmingwayan directness and simplicity. I suppose the former was the reason many publishers hesitated to accept the manuscript. We can be grateful that they eventually did, for Kennedy’s Joycean side is quite admirable. The Hemmingway aspects allow the reader to follow the plot easily, without understanding every line.
I would like to underscore this characteristic by a discussion of the references to music in Kennedy’s portrait of the second unforgettable character of the book, Helen Archer.
Helen Archer and Music
First we must answer this question: why is Helen’s name Helen? We find out on page 56. The sentence begins after Helen sings a song at a seedy nightclub, to general acclaim:
The applause was full and long and gave Helen strength to begin “My Man,” Fanny Brice’s wonderful torch and Helen Morgan’s too. Two Helens.
Probably not too many readers will get this reference, and Kennedy, true to his fashion, does not belabor this. Helen Morgan, (1900-1941), was, in my opinion, the best torch singer of the first half of the past century. She sang in speakeasies and, unfortunately, became a self-destructive alcoholic. She attempted a comeback in 1941; she collapsed on stage, her liver being irrevocably damaged. Two Helens, two musicians, two alcoholics, one fictive, one real.
Why should Helen be humming this joyous piece at such an awful moment in her life? I will give two possible reasons. The first is that music has always been a refuge for her; the joyous music of Handel was at the moment much needed to drown out the horror of her recent experience, as well as her sorrow at Francis’s betrayal. The second reason is that Helen’s inner nature has always been an upbeat one; this piece was probably familiar to her since childhood—It reflects the way she sees or at least used to see the world. Kennedy’s subtlety and restraint are in full focus here; he just mentions the piece and moves on, leaving it to the musically educated to figure out the hidden meaning, and allowing the less musically-aware reader to skip over the reference and to read on.
As the chapter progresses, we are informed about Helen’s unlucky past. She was musically gifted from an early age, and, to her father's delight, practiced the piano diligently. She was well on her way to a promising career as a musician, when her father sent her to Vassar. After two months there, she was informed of her father’s death by suicide. We learn later that her father left her enough money for her to continue her education. Her mother however, conceals this. Her mother informs her, as narrated indirectly on pages 118-119:
Kennedy hereupon provides two music references of extreme importance:
…and on that awful day Helen sits down at Arthur’s grand piano and plays “Who is Silvia?” and then plays all she can remember of the flight of the raven from Die Winterreise.
“An Sylvia” is a famous Schubert lied, The text is a German translation of the following poem form Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona:
Kennedy mentions this lied at a poignant moment in the book, the significance of which is apparent only to those who understand the musical reference. The song represents the ideal image Helen has of herself; indeed, she was well on her way to become a modern version of Shakespeare’s Sylvia. We can be sure she knew this lovely piece by heart; she, in fact, plays it from memory.
Standing alone, this poem strikes one as being over-the-top; in context, however, supported by similar poems, one can understand the use of such an image by an average mind in the process of dying from despair. Schubert certainly took it seriously, very seriously. The image is indeed horrible: the protagonist pictures an impending future where his abandoned body is picked clean by a bird of prey.
Kennedy chose one the most despairing, yet beautiful, songs in musical literature.
Here is an excellent recording from YouTube, performed by Hans Hotter, baritone, accompanied by Gerald Moore at the piano:
Oh embrace now, all you millions,
1. The New Life by Orhan Pamuk
2..Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
3. Exit Ghost by Philip Roth
4. A Sport and a Pastime by James Salter
5. Life and Death are Wearing Me Out by Mo Yan
6. Tender is the Night, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
7. Pierre or the Ambiguities by Herman Melville
8. Time's Arrow by Martin Amis
9. Mumbo Jumbo by Ishmael Reed
10,The Book of Disquiet, by Fernando Pesso
11. Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
The book selected for our June meeting was "Ironweed," by William Kennedy, which is the subject of the present review.
Ironweed
by William Kennedy
Penguin Books
New York, N.Y. 1984
227 pages
Introduction
This
excelent novel received the Pulizer Prize in 1983, and several other awards as
well. This is not surprising; what is, surprising, however, is that the novel
was rejected many times before it was accepted for publication.
The novel portrays two unforgettable characters, Francis Phelan, and his on-and-off girlfriend, Helen Archer. They are, along with many other characters in the book, homeless. Neither Helen nor Francis are antiheroes, however. Francis might be less educated, but he is very strong, upright, and moral. What precipitated his downfall was a fatal accident: he dropped his infant son while attempting to change his diaper; he cannot handle the guilt and leaves his loving wife and two children and becomes, well, a bum. The novel takes place in the late thirties, as Francis winds his way back to Albany, his hometown, where his wife and family still live. That his family will welcome him back at the end of the novel, after over two decades of abandonment; that Francis had left behind his responsibilities due to guilt at his son’s death--a plot like this would at first blush seem nearly impossible to turn into a successful novel. And yet Kennedy pulls it off with mastery. Francis is an impulsive man who is not prone to reflection, to put it mildly. He is very hard on himself; he is pursued by inner demons, who never let him forget what he has done. The main reason why he didn’t return earlier is his feeling of utter worthlessness. Perhaps this feeling has attenuated over the years; perhaps this is the reason he is returning to Albany. We don’t really know, for in Francis’s case his feet do the planning, as it were, not his brain. He has no conscious plans to return, yet return he does.
Kennedy’s style is a combination of almost Joycean obscurity, lyricism, and wordplay, alternating with an almost Hemmingwayan directness and simplicity. I suppose the former was the reason many publishers hesitated to accept the manuscript. We can be grateful that they eventually did, for Kennedy’s Joycean side is quite admirable. The Hemmingway aspects allow the reader to follow the plot easily, without understanding every line.
Just like
with Joyce, Kennedy has packed a lot of information in his descriptions. He
does this with a remarkable sense of understatement, a very admirable quality.
I would like to underscore this characteristic by a discussion of the references to music in Kennedy’s portrait of the second unforgettable character of the book, Helen Archer.
Helen Archer and Music
Helen and
Francis are complimentary characters. Francis is uneducated; Helen attended
Vassar. Francis has a poor self-image; Helen, despite everything, respects
herself and remains as upbeat as possible. Inner dynamics drove Francis to
homelessness; Helen became homeless by the machinations of her family and on
the part of a former lover. Francis lacks insight; Helen has a sharp analytical
mind. Helen was
well on her way to becoming a professional musician before things collapsed,
through no fault of her own.
Kennedy masterfully uses Helen’s taste in music over the years as a means to illustrate her character. He does this with understatement and subtlety. Most readers might well gloss over the references. Being an amateur musician myself, I am able to sort most of them out. For those unfamiliar with the musical compositions mentioned in the novel, something is indeed lost, yet one can almost fully enjoy the novel nevertheless. Kennedy knew what he was doing.
Kennedy masterfully uses Helen’s taste in music over the years as a means to illustrate her character. He does this with understatement and subtlety. Most readers might well gloss over the references. Being an amateur musician myself, I am able to sort most of them out. For those unfamiliar with the musical compositions mentioned in the novel, something is indeed lost, yet one can almost fully enjoy the novel nevertheless. Kennedy knew what he was doing.
First we must answer this question: why is Helen’s name Helen? We find out on page 56. The sentence begins after Helen sings a song at a seedy nightclub, to general acclaim:
The applause was full and long and gave Helen strength to begin “My Man,” Fanny Brice’s wonderful torch and Helen Morgan’s too. Two Helens.
Probably not too many readers will get this reference, and Kennedy, true to his fashion, does not belabor this. Helen Morgan, (1900-1941), was, in my opinion, the best torch singer of the first half of the past century. She sang in speakeasies and, unfortunately, became a self-destructive alcoholic. She attempted a comeback in 1941; she collapsed on stage, her liver being irrevocably damaged. Two Helens, two musicians, two alcoholics, one fictive, one real.
I would
like to insert here a recording of hers, a recording with which, I have no
doubt, Kennedy was familiar. It is from the 1936 film, Show Boat. It was recorded at the end of an age that favored sentimental interpretations; Fanny Brice’s rendition
of My Man does indeed strike modern listeners as being ‘over-the-top’. Yet
Morgan's sentimentality manages to transcend sentimentality. She was also a
consummate actress. Every note in the performance has been carefully thought out,
yet it also seems quite spontaneous. Listen to her exquisite, unexaggerated (for
the time) phrasing. Notice her hand gesture when she sings, “It’s surely not
his brain.” How wonderfully she sings and phrases “but I love him,” at the end
of the song. Whether one likes this type of music or not, there can be no doubt
that this is a spectacular recording. Kennedy chose his references well. It is a tribute to is musical sophistication.
Frequently,
homeless people have difficulty finding a place to sleep. One wintry night, Francis takes
Helen to a car where a homeless acquaintance, Finny, resides; there is only room for one guest.
Helen immediately realizes that this is a betrayal. Francis is “cuckolding”
himself, for he well knows that the both figuratively and literally dirty old
man, Finny, will expect sex in exchange for allowing Helen to sleep in his
car. He does indeed grope her and demands that Helen masturbate him, which
does not lead to orgasm, much to Finny’s chagrin, due to the debilitated state
of his health. Helen realizes that, after nine years, Francis is ending their
relationship—he is, after all, and even if he doesn’t realize it, in the
process of returning home to Annie, his wife. On page 111, Kennedy writes:
The day had
all but begun with music. She left Finny’s car humming the “Te Deum”; why she
could not say.
This
cryptic reference is almost certainly to Handel’s “Dettingen Te Deum,” the granddaddy of
all Te Deums. Helen is humming the opening fanfare, a trumpet and drum
orchestral delight. I invite everyone to listen to the opening section on
YouTube; any version will do. It is one of the most joyous pieces of
music ever written; Handel’s extroversion is in marked contrast to the inner world
of Bach.
Why should Helen be humming this joyous piece at such an awful moment in her life? I will give two possible reasons. The first is that music has always been a refuge for her; the joyous music of Handel was at the moment much needed to drown out the horror of her recent experience, as well as her sorrow at Francis’s betrayal. The second reason is that Helen’s inner nature has always been an upbeat one; this piece was probably familiar to her since childhood—It reflects the way she sees or at least used to see the world. Kennedy’s subtlety and restraint are in full focus here; he just mentions the piece and moves on, leaving it to the musically educated to figure out the hidden meaning, and allowing the less musically-aware reader to skip over the reference and to read on.
As the chapter progresses, we are informed about Helen’s unlucky past. She was musically gifted from an early age, and, to her father's delight, practiced the piano diligently. She was well on her way to a promising career as a musician, when her father sent her to Vassar. After two months there, she was informed of her father’s death by suicide. We learn later that her father left her enough money for her to continue her education. Her mother however, conceals this. Her mother informs her, as narrated indirectly on pages 118-119:
Archer
killed himself because he had squandered his fortune; that what money remained
would not be wasted in educating a foolish girl like Helen but would instead
finance her brother Patrick’s final year in Albany Law School; for a lawyer can
save the family. And whatever would a classical pianist do for it?
Years
later, while nursing her ailing mother, she discovers the will that her mother
had concealed. She leaves, leaving her mother in the care of her brother, who
promptly has their mother admitted into a nursing home, where she soon dies alone.
After Vassar, Helen gets a job with a man
who owns a music store. She plays various pianos in turn for customers,
some musically sophisticated, some not. She becomes the mistress of the owner, a
married man, who, after several years, dumps her for “a younger woman, a
tone-deaf secretary, a musical illiterate with a big bottom.”
Poor Helen!
Kennedy hereupon provides two music references of extreme importance:
…and on that awful day Helen sits down at Arthur’s grand piano and plays “Who is Silvia?” and then plays all she can remember of the flight of the raven from Die Winterreise.
p.126
“An Sylvia” is a famous Schubert lied, The text is a German translation of the following poem form Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona:
Who is Sylvia? what is she,
That all our swains commend her?
Holy,
fair, and wise is she;
The heaven such grace did send her,
That she
might admirèd be.
Is she
kind as she is fair?
For beauty lives with kindness.
Love
doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And
being helped, inhabits there.
Then to
Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She
excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her
let us garlands bring.
Here is an
excellent performance of this lied from YouTube, sung by Dietrich
Fischer-Dieskau, accompanied at the piano by Gerald Moore.
Kennedy mentions this lied at a poignant moment in the book, the significance of which is apparent only to those who understand the musical reference. The song represents the ideal image Helen has of herself; indeed, she was well on her way to become a modern version of Shakespeare’s Sylvia. We can be sure she knew this lovely piece by heart; she, in fact, plays it from memory.
Her fall is
illustrated by another Schubert song, die Krähe from the song cycle, Winter’s
Journey. Schubert was very much capable of writing songs of musical delight such as An Sylvia; a
depressive, he was equally able to write songs of utmost despair. Winter’s Journey,
(Schubert omitted the definite article), consists of twenty-four lieder written to texts by
Wilhelm Müller. Experts contend that Müller is at best a mediocre poet, but I
think he is much better than he is given credit for. The texts provide a short story,
as it were, of a young man losing a battle with despair. What would sound like a bad
line in a poem standing alone becomes better when one considers that it is
spoken by a man whose mind is deteriorating. This is how, I think, The Raven is to
be understood. I translate the text, from memory, freely:
A raven (crow) has been following me since I left the city; it has been circling above me the entire time. Raven, strange creature, you will not abandon me? Are you seeking to capture my body as your prey? I doubt if I’ll be able to continue at my walking stick for much longer. Raven, let me finally see faith until the grave,
A raven (crow) has been following me since I left the city; it has been circling above me the entire time. Raven, strange creature, you will not abandon me? Are you seeking to capture my body as your prey? I doubt if I’ll be able to continue at my walking stick for much longer. Raven, let me finally see faith until the grave,
Standing alone, this poem strikes one as being over-the-top; in context, however, supported by similar poems, one can understand the use of such an image by an average mind in the process of dying from despair. Schubert certainly took it seriously, very seriously. The image is indeed horrible: the protagonist pictures an impending future where his abandoned body is picked clean by a bird of prey.
Kennedy chose one the most despairing, yet beautiful, songs in musical literature.
Here is an excellent recording from YouTube, performed by Hans Hotter, baritone, accompanied by Gerald Moore at the piano:
To
paraphrase Shakespeare, some are born to tragedy some have tragedy thrust upon
them. Kennedy supplies a wonderful little detail here: while Helen can play
the Sylvia lied by heart, “she then plays all she can remember of the flight
of the raven…” Helen doesn’t have the latter lied memorized, because tragedy has
been thrust upon her; a tragic outlook is not intrinsic to her nature. She has
probably phantisized that the “For Sylvia” lied might as well have been titled “For
Helen.” She probably had been aware of the Winter Journey lieder previously, due
to their extreme beauty; she didn't memorize any of them, however, due to their extreme sadness. Now, unfortunately, she gets the meaning.
At the end of the chapter, we find Helen dying alone from cancer in a seedy hotel room where she and Francis periodically stayed, when they had enough money. Before renting this room for the night, she steals a recording of Beethoven’s Ninth, so she can die holding the music she loved, if not the man she had loved, with a passion. Throughout the chapter, Kennedy quotes from the text
of Beethoven’s choral symphony, including this one, which
apparently sums up Helen’s view of music and humanity:
Oh embrace now, all you millions,
With one
kiss for all the world
Those
familiar with the score know what follows, sung with great conviction by the
chorus:
Brothers,
above the tent of the sky,
A loving
Father surely dwells.
One can
easily surmise why Kennedy left these two lines out. This is a modern novel. There
is no Providence at work above the many scenes of human suffering. There is
sorrow, there is joy; there is happiness, there is despair. God, however, has
nothing to do with it.
Yet
there is a hint of triumph in Helen's final misery. She has sacrificed herself for the one she loves; she has been true to herself in good times and in bad. She remains to the very
end a stranger to lies, deceit, greed, bitterness, and envy. Although she dies alone, she is not really alone; the last thing she
hears is the triumphant finale of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. The joy of music, if not
the joy of a happy life, remains with her until her last breath.
We have
gotten to know Helen through the music she loves. How subtly, understatedly, and artistically has Kennedy accomplished this task!
Ironweed is indeed a gem.
*
This is the twelfth edition of the Baltimore Online Book Club. You are welcome to read past book reviews of the Baltimore Online Book Club by googling the title of the novel along with my full name, Thomas Dorsett. You can also find them on my blog, thomasdorsettIronweed is indeed a gem.
*
1. The New Life by Orhan Pamuk
2..Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
3. Exit Ghost by Philip Roth
4. A Sport and a Pastime by James Salter
5. Life and Death are Wearing Me Out by Mo Yan
6. Tender is the Night, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
7. Pierre or the Ambiguities by Herman Melville
8. Time's Arrow by Martin Amis
9. Mumbo Jumbo by Ishmael Reed
10,The Book of Disquiet, by Fernando Pesso
11. Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
