Roddy Doyle's memoir of a ten-year-old made my stomach knot. Minor at first, the matter-of-fact violence of the boy's life kept escalating, ratcheting up the tension. Sure something terrible was going to happen in the end, I was relieved when the climax and denouement of the story did not turn out much worse. The author does a brilliant job of putting the reader into the mind and body of the boy, sharing what he sees, hears, smells and fears. Tough on the outside, Paddy is inwardly kind and loving. Feeling helpless and responsible for the suffering of his parents, he bullies his younger brother, as society has deemed necessary. At the same time, he longs to protect 'Sinbad' from the pain of marital discord.
The story is told simply, mostly through the use of dialogue. The bald childish descriptions unerringly evoke the setting of Barrytown, just outside of Dublin, forty years ago. Glimpses of the TV shows and music of the time add a bizarre counterpoint of Hollywood mythology.
This book is a quick read -- for me only a couple of commutes' worth. Roddy Doyle had been on my radar for years, and I'm glad I got round to his work at last. Published in 1993, Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha won its author the Booker, an honour richly deserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment