Among many audio books we used to enjoy on our commute was Angela's Ashes by
Frank McCourt. It was no cheery soap opera but an account of survival and hope
amid dire poverty and endless miseries. The author was a master in mixing humor
in tragedies, however. Delivered with an Irish accent, his childhood stories
often cracked us up before leaving a bitterness which made us wonder if we
should have laughed in the first place.
“The master says it’s a glorious thing to die for the Faith and Dad says
it’s a glorious thing to die for Ireland and I wonder if there’s anyone
in the world who would like us to live.”
“He says, you have to study and learn so that you can make up your own
mind about history and everything else but you can’t make up an empty
mind. Stock your mind, stock your mind. It is your house of treasure and
no one in the world can interfere with it. If you won the Irish
Sweepstakes and bought a house that needed furniture would you fill it
with bits and pieces of rubbish? Your mind is your house and if you fill
it with rubbish from the cinemas it will rot in your head. You might be
poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace.”
McCourt had something to say about writing, of course.
“Keep scribbling! Something will happen.”
“Sit and quiet yourself. Luxuriate in a certain memory and the details
will come. Let the images flow. You'll be amazed at what will come out
on paper. I'm still learning what it is about the past that I want to
write. I don't worry about it. It will emerge. It will insist on being
told.”
Tim's middle-school history teacher, Mr. Fitzgerald, was of Catholic Irish
descent and we connected right away when I mentioned the book.
