IceM
06-11-2011, 04:16 PM
Angela's Ashes is the misery memoir of Frank McCourt, an Irish author born in America to Angela and Malachy McCourt, who is forced to move back to Ireland with his family as the Great Depression worsens in America.
Told in a syntactical style that mimics the rambling voice of a child, McCourt details the first eighteen years of his life, discussing, but not limited to, events like the birth of his relatives, his alcoholic father, death, his loss of virginity and his search for God. Although despairing in nature, the memoir successfully blends moments of humor and savvy wit to create a satisfying blend of humor and poignant struggle.
McCourt deserves due credit for this fine work. In writing about misery, one often has the tendency to overestimate their tragedy and resort in bathos. No sense of despairing pity is present here. The legitimacy of his struggles are unquestionable. His struggles are commonplace, yet the prevalence of such issues are what connect to the reader. In reading McCourt, we reminisce on our similar issues, and in reliving our problems, we struggle with him. We feel his successes, ride to the heights of his joy when he experiences happiness and freefall when he fails. Taken objectively, there is nothing spectacular of his struggles as opposed to anyone else. But it is this similarity with the reader that makes his work so poignant, so touching that one sometimes wants to revel with joy that he has transcended his struggles.
Over-written, perhaps. The continuous conundrums McCourt faces, by the end of the novel, seem to rush to an end. But the cumulative impact of this memoir, so delightfully funny and sad, are undeniable. It is a strong piece of work, captured in a beautiful Irish, youthful voice, and certainly worth reading.
Told in a syntactical style that mimics the rambling voice of a child, McCourt details the first eighteen years of his life, discussing, but not limited to, events like the birth of his relatives, his alcoholic father, death, his loss of virginity and his search for God. Although despairing in nature, the memoir successfully blends moments of humor and savvy wit to create a satisfying blend of humor and poignant struggle.
McCourt deserves due credit for this fine work. In writing about misery, one often has the tendency to overestimate their tragedy and resort in bathos. No sense of despairing pity is present here. The legitimacy of his struggles are unquestionable. His struggles are commonplace, yet the prevalence of such issues are what connect to the reader. In reading McCourt, we reminisce on our similar issues, and in reliving our problems, we struggle with him. We feel his successes, ride to the heights of his joy when he experiences happiness and freefall when he fails. Taken objectively, there is nothing spectacular of his struggles as opposed to anyone else. But it is this similarity with the reader that makes his work so poignant, so touching that one sometimes wants to revel with joy that he has transcended his struggles.
Over-written, perhaps. The continuous conundrums McCourt faces, by the end of the novel, seem to rush to an end. But the cumulative impact of this memoir, so delightfully funny and sad, are undeniable. It is a strong piece of work, captured in a beautiful Irish, youthful voice, and certainly worth reading.