Three kings Race, class, and the barrier-breaking rivals who launched the modern Olympic age

In Three Kings, Balf (Major, 2008), using three swimmers at the center of the action and attention, contextualizes the dawning moment that was the 1924 Paris Summer Olympics. Each swimmer, representing a distinct style and outlook that was born out of his home, is profiled both in athletic accomplishment and as a cultural avatar. There's veteran Hawaiian hero Duke Kahanamoku, the proud, tactical marvel who dominated his competition in a sport that was not welcoming of athletes that weren't white and moneyed. Then, the prodigy Johnny Weissmuller, later better known for his film turn as Tarzan, showcased the Chicago swim scene, putting up times never seen before. Finally, there is Katsuo Takaishi, whose perfection of the crawl stroke helped catapult Japan out of athletic irrelevance. Balf's crisp storytelling expertly establishes the athletic achievements of these three trailblazers who pushed the possibilities of a sport that, like the Olympics, was at an onset point. Perfectly timed for the 2024 Paris Olympics, Three Kings is a wholly compelling story of the power of sport.

Balf (The Last River) presents a vivid snapshot of competitive swimming in the 1920s through the stories of three star athletes (German American Johnny Weissmuller, native Hawaiian Duke Kahanamoku, and Japan's Katsuo Takaishi) and their performance in the men's 100 meter freestyle at the 1924 Paris Olympic games. Foregrounding the complicated ethnic politics of the era, Balf notes that Weissmuller faced anti-German sentiment growing up in Chicago during WWI only to later be lauded by eugenicists for his "Adonis" physique. Kahanamoku, whose success in the 1912 and 1920 Olympics made him a celebrity in Hawaii, took a tortuous route to the Paris games, coming under fire for competing in a white-only pool during a qualifying race and for violating the rules of the Amateur Athletic Union by performing in a Hollywood film. Elsewhere, Balf discusses how Takaishi, despite finishing fifth in Paris (Weissmuller took gold and Kahanamoku silver), made a strong enough showing that he sparked "a revolution in Japan," where he went on to lead a national swimming program that "in a mere eight years supplanted the U.S. as the world's swimming powerhouse." Balf provides a tense account of the climactic race, though his argument that his subjects "were forebearers to today's modern athlete" goes underdeveloped. Still, this is worth dipping into. (July)

A sprawling, well-researched account of diverse proto-superstars who popularized swimming in the early 20th century. Balf, author of The Darkest Jungle and The Last River, reconnected with swimming while recuperating from cancer, and his enthusiasm led him to "the origin stories of several of the best swimmers of that time--Americans Duke Kahanamoku and Johnny Weissmuller, and Japan's Katsuo Takaishi." The author chronicles the dramatic contests at the 1924 Summer Olympics in Paris, meandering through multiple societies and a generous time frame. "Anything was possible in the record-setting age," he writes, "and pools were where some of it happened." Balf convincingly argues that the Jazz Age suited the "emergence of a sport that produced larger-than-life creatures who embodied innovation, physical perfection, and, above all, speed." At the same time, due to debates regarding speed and technique, "the clash between white and nonwhite athletes was surprisingly prevalent." The taciturn yet "quietly fierce" Kahanamoku serves as the narrative's moral core. Startling early accomplishments made him a vessel for Hawaiian cultural fascination, as such athletes "were aware that their athleticism was prized, but not their heritage." Meanwhile, "Chicago golden boy" Weissmuller was presented as a "great white hope," even as he concealed his birth in Hungary. As Olympic teammates, "Weissmuller and Kahanamoku were increasingly characterized as championship prizefighters," and they both performed impressively during the 1924 Games, while "Takaishi led his team to do what no Asian swimmers had done before: perform competitively at the Olympics." Balf's storytelling highlights the racist absurdities and media frenzies of the age, and he ably captures the urban details and antic competitive spirit. The detailed focus on individual sporting contests, and the evolution of crawls and strokes, may seem repetitive to readers without a prior interest in the mechanics of swimming. A worthwhile re-creation of a fast-fading athletic epoch. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.