An very embellished memoir of an impoverished childhood in Brooklyn and then back in Limerick, Ireland, during the depression and up to his return to New York in 1949 at age 19.
The poorly educated Irish were opposed to anything English, especially his father who was from the north. Throughout he lived in extreme poverty with a father who drank every cent he made, and he got almost no education. Sexual awakening in his early teens led to some bizarre fantasies and self-gratification, with no understanding of human anatomy, physiology, or reproduction.
The title refers to his mother’s devout practice of placing ashes on the forehead as a Catholic ritual, not cremation, although several children died of mysterious illnesses.
No one captures the unique dialogue and culture of the Irish, the all-pervasive influence of the Catholic Church, and the limited understanding of life of a growing child in the way the late this author does. Ten year old Frank, at his confirmation: “Priests and masters tell us Confirmation means you’re a true soldier of the church and that entitles you to die and be a martyr in case we are invaded by Protestants or Mohammedans or any other class of heathens…. I want to tell them I won’t be able to die for the Faith because I’m already booked to die for Ireland.”
There is a movie based on this book that I have not seen, but my friends are unanimous that it is not as good as the book, which is just beautiful.
5/5
Thanks, Vera.
The Passionate Reader 