Bonnie and Clyde: The Making of a Legend - Book Review

Bonnie and Clyde: The Making of a Legend by Karen Blumenthal book cover [photo by Amazon.com]

Almost everyone recognizes the names Bonnie and Clyde, but to describe their lives is a

difficult task to undertake. Even if one knows nothing about the couple, the mere mention of

them – always said together, as they were in life – conjures half-baked fantasies of reckless

young lovers desperately fleeing from the law. Their presence occupies vastly different positions

in people’s psyche: for some, a tragic tale terminating in gunfire; for others, hardened criminals

whose very name invokes a raw, undiluted spike of fear. To put it simply, Bonnie and Clyde are

infamous. Yet, in reality, the details of their lives have faded from people's minds. What was

once a string of crimes so deadly that 50,000 people arrived to view their bullet-ridden corpses

has become an old legend, one romanticized, dulled around the edges, and used to glamorize an

era now lost. Consequently, one may wonder about the truth, as humans so often do, and seek a

legitimate account of the couple’s lives. To quote Karen Blumenthal, whose book Bonnie and

Clyde: The Making of a Legend fulfills this quota: “Stories change. Sometimes they change in

the retelling. Sometimes they change because the world around us changes. And sometimes they

change because other storytellers use them for their own purposes. So it has been with Bonnie

and Clyde” (Blumenthal 198).

Blumenthal illustrates not only their violent tendencies, but establishes a setting for their

lives. After all, humans are not just stories. We don’t spring from nothing, fully grown, with a

plan and motive for our actions. Everything starts somewhere. Bonnie and Clyde came from

humble beginnings, as did many during the first half of the 20th century. Born in the midst of a

shunned, poverty stricken neighborhood in West Dallas, Blumenthal takes care to humanize the

deadly duo, an effort continued throughout the biography. West Dallas is, as is described by

Blumenthal, “an unincorporated area just outside the city limits near the Trinity River bottoms.

There, in the shadow of the city’s ornate office buildings, were the poorest of the poor, an

underclass that was largely invisible to the city’s other residents” (14). In an area that housed

only those with nowhere else to go, Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker were, at least at first,

viewed as a sort of folktale – kids from nothing who made a name for themselves. After all, the

only way to acquire money seemed to be illicit, and turning to crime was not uncommon for

young West Dallas boys. The unfortunate cycle of poverty was only exacerbated with the Great

Depression, and, in the midst of a nationwide economic crisis, public opinion towards the

government fell drastically. Said opinion only plunged – nay, plummeted – further in a

government sanctioned attack on an encampment around Washington DC. It became easy to

ignore the harshness of outlaws, instead making them “seem like folk heroes to everyday people”

(77). In a few short chapters, Blumenthal contextualizes the notorious duo’s lives. She appeals to

the reader’s compassion and, though not negating their crimes, proves that they are, in fact,

human.

Thus, according to Blumenthal, the Barrow Gang is nothing out of the ordinary. If

anything, they are harbored and protected by their families, and, until their untimely demise, are

loved, though that sentiment may not extend past their household. Still, Blumenthal takes care to

balance the ugliness of their misdeeds with the humanity of their natures, a sentiment shared by

Clyde’s sister-in-law and former accomplice, Blanche: “They weren’t naturally mean. But they

were afraid [...] It was a terrible kind of life they lived” (Caldwell-Barrow qtd. in Blumenthal

138).

Now, none of this is to say that Bonnie and Clyde aren’t cold-hearted killers. Murdering,

pillaging, and instilling fear in the nation is no small feat. Despite her softer nature regarding

them, Blumenthal is aware of this, marked by a distinct shift in tone accompanying the

Grapevine murders. A “brutal, unprovoked attack” resulting in the murder of two young police

officers, partially due to a miscommunication, is the beginning of the end for Bonnie and Clyde

(158). While the preceding occurrences are treated as more lighthearted, even adventurous,

Blumenthal drastically changes her depiction of the pair. Despite maintaining her staunch

approach regarding their humanity, the rest of the biography is comparable to a funeral march;

one knows the end – it is only a matter of time before it arrives. It’s true, Blumenthal’s writing

displays her biases, most notably towards softening the atrocities of Bonnie and Clyde.

Nevertheless, this is not achieved in such a way that paints them as innocent, nor does it subvert

the facts so as to portray them as victims. Instead, Blumenthal compiles firsthand accounts

regarding the couple, provides a clear timeline, and explores each aspect of their lives as a

whole, not merely as parts.

After all, bias exists everywhere. The 1967 film is so rife with inconsistencies and

inaccuracies that those who had lived alongside Bonnie and Clyde denounced it. Newer

generations, however, have embraced the glamourized versions of the outlaws, essentially

rewriting the couple’s existence to fit the movie’s narrative. The hit blockbuster practically

singlehandedly revitalizes the outlaw hysteria that had gripped the nation mere decades earlier.

While Bonnie and Clyde were alive, they were dehumanized – talked about as monsters and

animals: Bonnie and her cigars, Clyde’s limp erased. After their deaths, Bonnie became the basis

for “seductive, troublesome women” (199), and Clyde was deemed effeminate, a man under the

power of his ruthless sweetheart. Still, if you were to ask Clyde’s mother, Cumie Barrow, her son

would have been an angel, entirely innocent, and incapable of the crimes he is accused of.

Although Blumenthal may stray slightly to the side of their – albeit not innocence – decency, she

does not erase their crimes. By combining all the stories about the couple, the tale created is one

with aspects from all sides, somehow intermingling into the messy truth that encompasses human

nature.

Bonnie and Clyde: The Making of a Legend is not a must read. It isn’t necessarily

extremely well written, nor does it carry the gravity that Bonnie and Clyde should invoke. Yet, I

recommend you read it. Yes, Blumenthal has her biases, some more prominent than they should

be in a biography. However, Bonnie and Clyde are legends, hence the title of the book, which

makes it inherently difficult to separate fact from fiction. Blumenthal has compiled an accurate

summary of their lives, which is an achievement in and of itself. How did Bonnie Parker and

Clyde Barrow become Bonnie and Clyde? To truly find out, Blumenthal’s work is the answer.