Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir
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- ISBN13: 9780684842677
- Condition: NEW
- Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
Product Description
“When I look back on my childhood I marvel how I managed to survive at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the pleased childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.”
So starts the luminous memoir of Frank McCourt, born in Depression-era Brooklyn to recent Irish immigrants and raised in the slums of Limerick, Ireland. Frank’s mother, Angela, has no money to feed the children since Frank’s father, Malachy, rarely works, and when he does he drinks his wages. Yet Malachy — vexing, irresponsible and beguiling — does nurture in Frank an appetite for the one thing he can provide: a tale. Frank lives for his father’s tales of Cuchulain, who saved Ireland, and of the Angel on the Seventh Step, who brings his mother babies.
Perhaps it is tale that accounts for Frank’s survival. Wearing rags for diapers, begging a pig’s head for Christmas dinner and gathering coal from the roadside to light a fire, Frank endures poverty, near-starvation and the casual cruelty of relatives and neighbors — yet lives to tell his tale with eloquence, exuberance and remarkable forgiveness.
Angela’s Ashes, imbued on every page with Frank McCourt’s astounding humor and compassion, is a glorious book that bears all the inscription of a classic.Amazon.com Review
Frank McCourt’s haunting memoir takes on new life when the leader reads from his Pulitzer Prize-winning book. Recounting scenes from his childhood in New York City and Limerick, Ireland, McCourt paints a brutal yet poignant picture of his early days when there was rarely enough food on the table, and boots and coats were a luxury. In a enjoyable Irish voice that regularly lends a gentle humor to the unimaginable, the leader remembers his wayward yet adoring father who was forever drinking what small money the family tree had. He recounts the painful loss of his siblings to avoidable sickness and hunger, a proud mother cut-rate to begging for charity, and the stink of the sewage-strewn streets that ran outside the front door. As McCourt approaches adolescence, he discovers the bring shame on of poverty and the beauty of Shakespeare, the mystery of sex and the unforgiving power of the Irish Catholic Church. This powerful and heart-rending tribute to the resiliency and determination of youth is populated with memorable characters and moments, and McCourt’s interpretation of the narrative and the voices it contains will place listeners laughing through their tears.
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Stinkaroo! Thank god I borrowed this work of maudlin stereotypical crap from the library so I didn’t really fork over any cash for it. Jeez, if I was Irish I would be completely insulted by the authors’ ludicrous, stereotypical portrayal of the anguished poor Irish Catholic family tree. “Aw no da’s drunk agin! Aw no, ma’s bein’ shagged! Aw, I wish ere lived in Ameriki!” Blah blah blah! These characters aren’t even as well developed as the guy on the Lucky Charms box. Has McCourt ever been to Ireland?
I couldn’t even end it. It just plodded and sobbed and whined on and on and on. In fact, before I took it back to the library I inscribed in one of the early chapters, “WARNING: MORE CRAP AHEAD”. I didn’t consider that defacing library property, I considered it a public service.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
Was my copy the only one lacking punctuation? Attention to small details such as qutaion inscription makes any tale more readable. I am far from being a grammar Nazi, and can usually forgive minor things. But perhaps that is because I have read many a 12 year olds online fanfiction tales that have more flow and better grammar than Frank McCourt’s writing does.
I felt so small pity for the mother who seemed to be constrained by her religious beliefs that a mother should stay home, out of the work force but had no problem having a `knee trembler’ with a man she had just met that night. If she were courageous and bold enough to take that type of risk, why did she not try to find work of her own? It was far from unheard of, especially in New York City in 1938. I have read far to many and have personally known many people who have establish themselves in similar situations but as a replacement for of fleeing from place to place, they selected themselves up and did what it took to make life bearable, most even made life better.
How was it that the extended family tree members able to send money for cross Atlantic travel, but could not find the resources to help the struggling family tree once they reached Ireland?
I am sorry, but all I can see are the mistakes in this tale. Mr. McCourt, please do the Irish a favor and stop writing. You are doing harm to their long held and momentously earned reputation as fantastic tale tellers and writers.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
My book is called Angela’s Ashes. Its written by Frank McCourt. The main characters of the book are Aunt Aggie, Grandma, Alpie McCourt, Malachy McCourt, Michael McCourt, and Frank McCourt. The tale takes place in the 1940’s. TheMcCourt’s live in Limerick, Ireland in a beat up ancient house on Roden Lane. The tale is about Frank McCourt living in a poor family tree. All he wants to do it make it to America. If I could of wrote one line it would have bee this,”A mothers like is a blessing no matter where you roam keep her while you have her, you’ll miss her whe she is gone.” page 357 The take in is a picture of a small poor boy. I reflect that the small boy represents Frank McCourt. I reflect that the title of this book represents Angels and how when she look at the fire there is never anything there but ashes. On a scale 1 to I would rate this boof a 5. I wouldn’t recommend this book to anyone because it is very sad and it wasn’t something that really sparked my interest.
Reader’s Rating: 3 / 5
This book has been so heavily hyped, I thought that it would sweep me off my feet. What I got was hundreds of pages of mucus, vomit, stale food, and tuberculosis. While these are a part of life, I don’t photograph them and hang them on my living room wall.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5
I don’t know why everyone likes this book so much, I find it very dull, dull, never goes anywhere. It’s about as much fun as molasses. In fact I would rather rip out my colon and skip rope with it then read another word.
Reader’s Rating: 1 / 5