Boys and Girls Together – William Goldman (1964)

Boys and Girls Together by William Goldman, published in 1964, is a sweeping, ambitious literary novel that explores the dreams, failures, and inner torments of a group of young people drawn to New York City in search of love, meaning, and identity. Written by the acclaimed author best known for The Princess Bride and Marathon Man, this novel is a profound departure – a gritty, layered, psychologically intimate narrative filled with unflinching honesty and emotional depth. Goldman’s early magnum opus was not initially embraced by critics but became a popular success, and it remains a potent example of mid-20th-century American fiction.

Plot Summary

New York, the glittering trap, waits with open arms. And from scattered corners of the country, they come – five lives, each marked by ruin and hope, drawn toward the illusion of reinvention. They are young, wounded, brilliant, desperate. Boys and girls together, chasing something that shimmers until it slips.

Aaron Firestone was never meant to be ordinary. His father, a powerful man with a rough voice and dreams for his son, died on a lawn one summer afternoon while his boy screamed from the top of a jungle gym, waiting to be lifted down. After that, Charlotte Firestone poured her love into her daughter, Deborah, and left Aaron to raise himself between pages. Books became his armor, writing his weapon. He wrote through pain, through silence, through the cruelty of a sister who scorned him and a mother who only saw through her mirror of regret. When a truck shattered his legs and left him limping, Aaron learned to live in his head, where he reigned as Aaron Fire – not the unloved boy, but a god of language, watching the world burn with words.

Deborah, radiant and hollow, bloomed under Charlotte’s gaze. Pretty enough to dazzle and cunning enough to wield it, she became the family’s instrument for salvation. Suitors paraded through their worn yellow house in Princeton, vetted for their potential, their pockets, their pedigree. Dominic, the dark-eyed Italian, gave her something else – danger. It couldn’t last, of course. Charlotte arranged Jamie Wakefield, a boy too good for the part. And when the pregnancy couldn’t be hidden, they forged a fiction, pinned it to Jamie’s decency, and waited for the ring. But someone had slipped a note under Jamie’s door. Someone who saw everything. Jamie never showed.

Aaron stood on the porch that night, beside the mother and sister who had never once chosen him. He watched their faces melt with betrayal and fear. He felt his own rage curl into joy. Taste it, he thought. Taste the wrath of Aaron Fire.

Across the country, in a mansion trimmed with wealth and sorrow, Walt Kirkaby chased gangsters through St. Louis’ sleepy streets, imagining himself a hero. While he crouched behind trees and scribbled notes on criminals who turned out to be encyclopedia salesmen, his mother Emily slipped out of the world. She had been his refuge, soft and kind, the only soul who saw him without contempt. When she died, everything collapsed – his brother’s fists, his father’s indifference, the Whizzer’s cape. The boy who once sang Gilbert and Sullivan into the wind began to fall, piece by gentle piece.

Walt was sent to school, to learn the Kirkaby way – ambition, calculation, dominance. But he clung to decency like a threadbare coat. He tried acting, and in time, it became the only place where truth felt safe. On stage, he didn’t need to pretend. He just had to become. Years later, he would step into New York with a suitcase full of dreams and a smile too soft for the city’s teeth.

Jenny Deane had her own war. Raised in a household that fed her beauty but starved her soul, she escaped to New York chasing theater lights and meaningful glances. A man named Charley seduced her with promises of art and understanding. What he gave her instead was a slow erosion – of pride, of boundaries, of choice. When he passed her among his friends like a shared indulgence, Jenny broke in silence, not in screams. But she stayed. Because somewhere deep inside, she still believed she could be loved.

In New York, their paths crossed and tangled. Aaron, brittle and electric, became a playwright of dark brilliance, too honest for comfort, too cruel for kindness. Walt auditioned for one of his shows and found something unexpected – not just a role, but a flicker of connection. Jenny, discarded and aching, wandered into the same circle, orbiting Aaron’s fire and Walt’s warmth, not yet knowing which would burn and which might heal.

Aaron wanted Jenny. Not her smile or her laugh or her body – he wanted to possess her pain, to make it part of his story. He wooed her with words, drowned her in declarations, and tore her from Charley’s fading grip. For a while, she believed him. She followed him into the dark, trusting that the man who saw her so clearly might also hold her gently. But Aaron only knew how to dissect what he loved. Jenny became another script, another scene to control.

Walt watched it all from the wings, unsure whether to speak or retreat. He loved Jenny quietly, without theatrics, without claim. When Aaron’s obsession cracked – when the weight of his brilliance collapsed into madness – Walt reached for her, not to save her, but simply to stay near. Jenny, weary of being wanted only for her pain, turned toward him like a flower straining for sun. And for a while, they held each other above the wreckage.

Time, in its quiet cruelty, pulled them forward. Aaron’s career soared, but his heart shriveled. Jenny found steadier ground, but not peace. Walt kept performing, never quite famous, never quite forgotten. Their friendships frayed, reformed, unraveled again. They were adults now, carrying ghosts and memories like second skins.

Years later, they gathered briefly – a quiet reunion in a city that had changed, or maybe they had. The past hung between them, unspoken but felt. They did not forgive, not entirely. But they understood. And maybe that was enough.

So they left – boys and girls together once, now walking alone in the same direction, scattering again into the vastness of a world that had taken so much and, in small moments, given something back.

Main Characters

• Aaron Firestone – A brilliant, emotionally damaged young man whose physical disability and turbulent childhood foster in him a searing intellect and deep-seated misanthropy. Marked by rejection and emotional neglect, Aaron channels his alienation into writing, adopting the name “Aaron Fire” as his literary identity. His story is a bitter arc of withheld love, manipulative revenge, and intense self-loathing.

• Deborah Firestone – Aaron’s sister, a beauty favored by their mother, Charlotte. Deborah is manipulative and self-absorbed, seeking validation through relationships and appearance. Her toxic dynamic with Aaron, marked by cruelty and scorn, fuels his rage and sense of injustice.

• Charlotte Firestone – The widowed matriarch of the Firestone family, who is emotionally distant from Aaron but lavishes attention on Deborah. Her Southern gentility masks a controlling nature and relentless social climbing, particularly through the pursuit of a suitable marriage for her daughter.

• Walt Kirkaby – A daydreaming, imaginative boy obsessed with heroism, who loses his mother at a formative age and constructs elaborate fantasies to survive his emotionally barren household. Walt’s journey is one of quiet resilience and growing self-awareness, as his innocence is gradually peeled away.

• Jamie Wakefield – A kind, conservative, and well-meaning young man from Texas. Pulled into the Firestone family’s machinations, Jamie represents sincerity and decency, yet is easily manipulated, leading to personal and emotional upheaval.

• Dominic Melchiorre – A passionate, working-class Italian man with whom Deborah has a secret affair. He is a symbol of forbidden desire and rebellion against Charlotte’s rigid social standards, but his presence triggers chaos in the Firestone household.

Theme

• Alienation and Isolation: Each of the central characters experiences a profound disconnection from others, often shaped by their childhood traumas or unfulfilled desires. Aaron’s physical and emotional scars isolate him even as he hungers for recognition and revenge, while Walt’s imaginative interior life masks a deep loneliness.

• The Performance of Identity: Many characters create or perform identities to survive. Aaron becomes “Aaron Fire” to gain control through intellect and writing; Charlotte crafts a façade of social grace and control; Walt constructs personas of heroism. These performances underscore the instability of identity in the face of trauma and societal expectations.

• Class and Social Ambition: Charlotte’s obsession with finding an “eligible” (wealthy) suitor for Deborah reveals the era’s class anxieties and social climbing ethos. The tension between appearances and authenticity is central, especially in romantic and family relationships.

• Gender and Power: The novel examines the expectations placed on both men and women, and how these shape their behaviors and distort their relationships. Deborah’s manipulation, Charlotte’s maternal dominance, and Aaron’s aggressive intellectualism all reflect battles for power rooted in gender roles.

• Trauma and Emotional Repression: Psychological wounds – particularly those stemming from parental neglect or early loss – shape the destinies of these characters. Emotional repression is depicted as both a coping mechanism and a tragic flaw, especially for Aaron and Walt.

Writing Style and Tone

William Goldman’s prose in Boys and Girls Together is intense, dramatic, and emotionally rich. He masterfully alternates between internal monologues, crisp dialogue, and immersive third-person narration. Each character’s perspective is distinct, rendered with psychological nuance and a deft hand that pulls the reader into their suffering, hope, and complexity. Goldman writes with brutal honesty, exposing his characters’ raw vulnerabilities and often unlikable flaws without ever stripping them of humanity.

The tone of the novel is a blend of tragic poignancy and biting cynicism. There are moments of lyrical beauty – particularly in depicting childhood dreams or quiet internal revelations – juxtaposed with scenes of psychological cruelty, betrayal, and moral decay. The mood often veers toward somber reflection, yet the undercurrent of Goldman’s dark humor and sharp social observation lends a riveting tension to the narrative. His style anticipates the cinematic intensity that would characterize his later screenwriting, though here it is channeled into a haunting, literary tapestry.