460 pages later and I’m done. I’m a slow reader, definitely the scraggler of the bunch. I finished reading my first book late last night. I apologize for this will be a short blog. I am a gross mucous bucket and hardly fit for human company. Which is very fitting considering everyone in this memoir seems to get consumption, pneumonia or typhoid at some point.
Predominantly set in Limerick Ireland, though Frank McCourt was born in America,in this book you will dig into a heaping plate full of hunger. Not only are Frank and his family hungry they are pick up scraps of coal from the road, own one pair of ragged of clothes, beg for their food poor. They live off the dole, only problem is their dad drinks the dole money away and Frank and his family might be lucky to receive a penny if they get out of their beds when he comes home drunk and promise to die for Ireland. And god everyone’s teeth are mossy and rotting and crumbling in their mouths, and they bleed out of orifices, and get crusty pink eye and all and all poverty sucks. What sucks even more is having a deadbeat dad who lives for the pint as they say. No he doesn’t hit his children or abuse them physically but he abuses them by neglecting to provide for them.
Though I couldn’t relate to the poverty(and in fact this book made me grateful that I am so damn wealthy and have all my teeth and no weird diseases) I related to Frank McCourt who adults in the book would always describe as having a sour puss for a face. I too was a child that practiced frowns at an alarming rate(your face will stick that way) and wasn’t particularly friendly or chatty with strangers. And for that reason, among others, I enjoyed this book. I like Frankie, he can write, he’s smart and he stays alive despite the damp and dilapidated state of his life.
And now if you will excuse me I am going back to bed with my tissues cradled to my chest.