Aceeasi voce si acelasi umor (tragic) ca în "Cenusa Angelei", dar poate tocmai din cauza asta si-a pierdut din farmec. Am citit-o în salturi, cu pauze mari, dar fãrã sã am gândul de abandon. Dimpotrivã, l-am cãutat pe domnul McCourt pe youtube si am descoperit un om modest, blajin, carismatic.

Frank McCourt could write about paint drying and I would 100% read it. He’s just brilliant.

This is an amazing and a motivational book that has inspired me these past few months being a junior. What makes this book inspirtational is how at every event in McCourt's life he finds the positive sides or tries to find something humorous within the event. This has taught me that no matter what life throws me at I can achieve, nothing is a major deal. I was really able to connect to McCourt in this book more than the first, Angela's Ashes because this story took place in New York, and in my neighborhood. McCourt mentions the area I live in and the Church I go to, having these images in my head made the story seem closer to home. What really kept the story interesting for me is how descriptive McCourt is in his writing, mentioning specific neighborhoods, bars, schools which allowed me to really connect to this book especially since I live in New York. What also made the story fascinating is all the ordeals that McCourt has went through in his life, every chapter was a cliffhanger with me not being able to see what happened next. I didn't like how McCourt kept going from one story in his life to another because it made the book very suspensful. For example, I couldn't wait to see what happened to his relationship with Alberta and what would become of the relationship with his father. Overall, this is an amazing book that I believe every one can learn life lessons from and find some sort of connection with McCourt.

90sI feel real mixed about this book. There continues to be poverty and complex relationship dynamics, all understandable considering the author's background. But as the book develops, it seems to leave the author, the main character behind. He joins the army, gets new jobs, learns more about America and the culture, wrestles with identity, his heritage, his family, but he doesnt seem to change or grow. He is still quick to speak angrily, treats his first wife poorly, even on their wedding day, drinks frequently and wants the "excitement " (aka sex) with other women before and after marriage. He speaks harshly to his mother regularly. There are times he admits he feels ashamed and wishes there was a way to be clean, but the moments are fleeting. All of these things are, again, human and understandable. But I was hoping for some healing, resolution, some positive choices and inspiring moments. I enjoyed reading the book and see some value in the authors work, but it was informative rather than personally inspirational. Again, not every book will inspire me, but this book left me feeling frustrated.

What a disappointment this book was! After reading the powerful and heart-wrenching Angela's Ashes, I foolishly assumed that if there was a sequel to be written, it would be the author sharing with us some form of wisdom learned from the anguish of growing up with an alcoholic and abandoning father.

Instead what we get is one disgusting anecdote after another of McCourt masturbating in the restaurant bathroom in between bussing tables, masturbating in a public park with children around, lying about his credentials in order to get a job as a teacher, and--most inexplicable of all--abandoning his own family for ultimately no better reason than sheer lack of integrity.

Not only was this book an utter waste of my time, but it also virtually ruined for me what good feelings I had about Angela's Ashes. Ashes was written as a tribute to a mother who sacrificed everything on behalf of her children. 'Tis is a self-indulgent piece of garbage written by someone who seems to have learned nothing from his mother.

Continuación de las cenizas de Ángela, me gustó más su primera parte.

Pokračování Andělina popele. Jazyk a styl velmi podobný prvnímu dílu, ale už to nebyla taková soda jako první kniha. Popisuje život hrdiny po tom, co opustil Limerick v Irsku a lodí odjel do vysněné Ameriky.

I picked this up immediately after n  Angela’s Ashesn, as I wasn’t yet ready to end my relationship with Frank. He had crossed the Atlantic, fled a life of poverty, and I wanted to see him thrive, wanted to see the underdog win.

The contrast to life in Ireland is clear, but the heartbreak is that he doesn’t win. He leaves the hardships of Limerick only to meet new struggles in New York. He falls into drinking habits which mirror his father’s, he struggles to find a job, to fit into American social customs, he longs to become educated yet feels inadequate to the other students when he finally achieves a place. He’s self-deprecating, a fish out of water, and lost.

All of these factors contributed to a sharp decline in my loving feelings for Frank. He becomes bitter about his childhood, resents his family for either their past struggles or present success, creates tension between himself and others, all due to his desire to be better, to be a class above. Although all of these feelings are natural and understandable, there’s nothing redeeming about Frank in his words, and in his blame.

Although older here, Frank’s narrative is still styled in a similar way of the naïve boy living in Limerick. This makes him sound mostly idiotic rather than endearing, and was an irritation throughout the pages. The man sees horrendous things, experiences life-changing things, yet he still describes them as though he’s a young boy. There was something not quite right about this, and I almost felt as though he was trying to capitalise on the success of Angela’s Ashes, rather than giving a true, mature account.

It’s a truthful and bleak sequel, though I was desperately disengaged by the narrative, non-specific vignettes, and a general distaste for Frank’s choices. Where Angela’s Ashes was a tribute to a mother who did everything she could so her children could survive, with love always, ’Tis is just an account of how each of them vilified her for it.

This is the sequel to Angela's Ashes (and where the family finally does put their mother's ashes to rest). Again, the brilliant Irish-American storyteller narrates his life about coming to America and becoming an English teacher, using words as artfully as a modern day Shakespeare to spear our emotions.

First, let me say that I absolutely adored this book. While not as dear to my heart as the first, I think this story is moving and the voice is, as always, unique. That said, this story is a much more familiar one than the last: Irish immigrant trying to make a life for himself in a new world, and a war-enraged America. This story, though, is much more tangible than "other" immigration stories and unique in that, throughout all the troubles, heartache, injustice, and anger, this is a story not burdened with self-pity. That's magic.

This is the continued story of Frank McCourt (see Angela's Ashes) and we pick up upon his arrival in America. His eyes are still troublesome, a testament to the poverty that has followed him across the ocean. The cold-water flat he rents is both freezing and tiny, he finds. He must stick close to other Catholics (initially), and the land of opportunity, it seems, offers little opportunity to the likes of him.

Where the first book seemed startling and heartbreaking in its sudden contrast to American life, this book invokes the same feelings but with an added twinge of guilt for the fact these were our ancestors mistreating and being mistreated. These lives were real--not a distant story, but a tangible one. McCourt's voice too is nothing short of poetry throughout:

"We said a Hail Mary and it wasn't enough. We had drifted from the church but we knew that for her and for us in that ancient abbey there would have been comfort in dignity in the prayers of a priest, proper requiem for a mother of seven.

'We had lunch at a pub along the road to Ballinacura and you'd never know from the way we ate and drank and laughed that we'd scattered our mother who was once a grand dancer at the Wembley Hall and known to one and all for the way she sang a good song, oh, if she could only catch her breath."

This was a second reading. McCourt was such a good writer although I enjoyed his first book the most. Seems to me he went on a little long about about his students’ antics and sometimes it really reached into the realm of fiction

Quite some time ago I reviewed McCourt's first autobiography, Angela's Ashes. 'Tis is the second book which picks up as Frank is sailing from Ireland to America, where he expects to see everyone has a tan and beautiful white teeth, i.e. the Hollywood version. First lesson, New York City and its people don't much resemble his expectations.

He's still poor as a churchmouse of course but he finds a job sweeping the floor and emptying ashtrays in the lobby of the Biltmore, then moves on to a warehouse job on the docks. He rents a place at a rooming house with a strange landlady and her handicapped son. Eventually he talks his way into NYU despite his lack of a high school diploma. Many of my friends will be happy to learn he got in because of his reading habit. He had read classic literature that most American youth would disdain. At length he becomes a teacher, a teacher with a girlfriend no less.

You may remember he had three surviving younger brothers; they all came to this country. His mother finally came here as well and made a career of carping about everything American. The book ends as the McCourt sons and their children take Angela's ashes back to Limerick.

I raved about the first book. I laughed my head off reading parts of it and other parts tore my heart out. Young Frankie's poverty-stricken childhood was terrible. However, I was disappointed in this book. It's written in the same stream-of-consciousness style and he has the same sense of humor, and parts of it made me laugh out loud. The adult Frank McCourt, though, isn't such a sympathetic character. There were times when I wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. I wanted to say, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and for heaven's sake stay out of Irish bars!" But I must admit McCourt is a good man at heart and he's certainly a better writer than I'll ever be.