ALIAS O. HENRY

A famous writer’s hunt for a blackmailer plays out against the corruption and colorful characters of turn-of-the-century New York City.

“My past is a locked book and I vow it will remain so,” declares William Sydney Porter, better known as short story master O. Henry, in Yagoda’s novel of the writer’s later years. Porter might want to keep his past hidden, but an anonymous blackmailer threatens to reveal it (Porter served prison time for embezzlement) unless he pays him the ungodly amount of $50 a week. (Yagoda notes that $1 back then would equal $36 today.) Though a fellow former inmate suggests he shouldn’t hide his past but instead write about the bad living conditions behind bars, Porter is worried that his secret will ruin his rising literary reputation. “The prison label is worse than the brand of Cain,” he says. “If the world once sees it, you are doomed.” The editor of an acclaimed edition of O. Henry’s stories for the Library of America, Yagoda brings his research skills, knowledge of the author, and love of the era to this tale of turn-of-the-century Manhattan, evoking its crowded streets, many vices, and colorful (and often dangerous) citizenry, not to mention the lucrative world of freelance writing at a moment when short stories reigned supreme. He weaves in a second story of a young artist named Anna, who struggles to support herself and gets enmeshed in the blackmail plot against Porter, who happens to live in the same building. With a dubious detective acting as a middleman between Porter and the blackmailer, the writer soon seeks help from a wide-ranging crew—including a street urchin named Bernie and legendary lawman Bat Masterson—to identify the malicious figure. What they discover provides a surprise twist reminiscent of any O. Henry story. And yet, the blackmail plot isn’t nearly as interesting or suspenseful as other aspects of the story, including, for instance, the convoluted (and heartbreaking) circumstances that landed Porter in jail, and the reason he hardly said a word in his own defense. Yagoda paints an interesting portrait of a rapidly changing metropolis of 4 million rife with opportunity, especially for a writer. “Each of the four million is a person,” Porter tells an antiprostitution crusader, “with his own sadness, aspirations, occasional joy or triumph. I want to do right by them.”

Gotham might be a perilous place for most, but it’s the perfect spot for a writer in need of material.