Malachy McCourt is the younger brother of Frank McCourt the author of Angela's Ashes, which was a publishing sensation 20 years ago. Whereas that book covered the life of the McCourt family living in poverty in Limerick, 'A Monk Swimming' is a memoir of Malachy as an adult living in America.
It is clear that he has the gift of the blarney preferring to over elaborate (rather than writing 'we ate in the pub' he prefers to say in 'Twas our want to repair to [the pub] for repast...').
Basically he is a living cliche of an Irishman..drinking, fighting & loving to excess...frankly he comes across as an enormously berk. He treats his wife abysmally & abandons his kids...preferring to get drunk with the likes of Richard Harris. I just couldn't warm to him at all - I just felt that he was a typical pub bore who keeps telling his stories long after everyone has lost interest. I also couldn't shake the feeling that - at best he was exaggerating and at worst he was down right lying.
Whereas his brother's books were well written and elicited sympathy, this book wanted me to throw a drink over him and tell him to grow up. The ultimate irony is he seems oblivious to the fact that he has turned into his father who had abandoned him all those years before.

I enjoyed his prose and the familiarity of his Limerick voice. However, he's a bit of a prick. Using women, neglecting his family, drinking and fighting, causing so much suffering to himself and those around him. I hoped for redemption or insight at the end, but that wasn't coming. His tales of alcoholism were initially humourous, but soon became tired and boring.

Entertaining, funny and sad. Loved how it was written - especially Malachy’s thoughts - just written out how I imagine him to be thinking - in his way of talking. Brilliant characters too - of course they were - they were real people. Thank you Mr McCourt. I came across your book at a railway station where you can bring a book and take a book - I just took a book on this occasion and read in within a day or two. Great stuff.

Frank McCourt wrote Angela's Ashes and this book is written by his brother Malachy McCourt
His true story about growing up in poverty in Ireland and what he did with his life.
This man has a great sense of humor, which is probably why he survived the life he did.
Not as good a read as Angela's Ashes but still an interesting read.

The writing is a pleasure to read, and Malachy is quite the character. Glaringly and simultaneously entertaining as well as sad, another McCourt survives his fairly self-destructive tendencies and lives life in the fast lane, throwing sense and caution to the wind. While those closest to him surely feel the pain, we readers can enjoy the laughs from afar.

This book wasn't as well written as Malachy's brother Frank's Angela's Ashes and Tis was. Although he makes a good attempt at getting his story across, I found his choice of words at times left alot to be desired. I feel he could have written a better memoir that would have held the readers attention easier than the "force yourself to finish it" mode I was in. Nonetheless, not a bad story just not high on my list as one of the better books I've read.

I enjoyed being a voyeur on this 290 page, 10 year pub crawl through mid-century New York. In his day Malachy was a prolific philanderer, drinker, footballer and con man. Never wanting for enthusiasm or humor, there are also deep roots of rage at his father who subjected his children to an alcohol induced poverty before abandoning them. MM's desire to escape this upbringing propels him to heights of fame and frolic before he too sadly falls from the weight of his own inebriated, self absorption. While the alcohol and subsequent cycle of self-pity and anger nearly extinguishes the bright fire in his soul, by journey's end we see a man who may finally be on a path to evolve beyond Einstein's definition of insanity: "Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." McCourt is candid in his self-appraisal and I'm not generating any media alerts here. He has said the same about himself during this early period of his life.

So funny! Loved hearing about NYC in the 50s and 60s, would have loved to live there then. Some very funny travel stories to India and Ibiza. Really interesting counterpoint to brother Frank’s Angela’s Ashes.

I read this year's ago, and at the time much preferred Malachys voice to that of his brothers, maybe because of the humour stitched into his story. Is he the better writer? Probably not; but if you are tired of the heavily depressing tales of old Irish life, this lightens the heavy 'woe is me' style so often on offer. It's no picnic, but told with a twinkle.

A book not for everyone, possibly not even for me. Like a drunk you end up entertaining at the bar when your too nice to tell him to 'feck off', this book is equal parts tiresome & yet entertaining all in one. But then I think that's the point, that the stories and anecdotes you read, pieced together as they are tell of a bawdry, messy but far from boring life.

This autobiography covers the decade of 1952-1963 in the life of Malachy McCourt. His crazy life moved across the world from New York City to California to Europe and Asia. His wit and amazing mixing of words in language was entertaining. His capers were almost unimaginable. I found it challenging to witness the destructiveness of his alcoholism, particularly to his wife and children. If he redeemed himself from the damage of his drunkenness, promiscuity, and immoral behavior, this book did not cover it. I feel mixed about it.

The negative reviews I've read about Malachy McCourt's memoir, A Monk Swimming, mostly focus on the author's drunken, tawdry, negligent and in general, irresponsible and raucous behavior as he attempts to sketch out a life of normalcy in America. Tsk, tsk, tsk . . . how superficial it is to pass judgement and base your assessment of the honesty he shares in his memoir on those character flaws alone. A drunk? Yes. Irresponsible? Yes. A liar, cheat, womanizer, fast-talker, and opportunist? All yes. But let's look where Malachy came from. Let's look who his role models were. Let's consider the weight the steady verbal and physical lashings the "Catholic" church, Clergy, Sisters and teachers imposed upon him every waking hour of his childhood. Starvation. Poverty. Siblings that died as youngsters as a result of that poverty. A good day was finding a discarded piece of newspaper that once wrapped a helping of fish n' chips--no fish, no chips, just the newspaper, and licking it to taste the remnants of grease that had soaked it through. He and his brother, Frank, rummaged through heaps of fetid garbage to find such a "treat." So, critics, and Two Star Reviewers might say, "Boohoo." "Get over it." "Pull yourself up, Malachy . . . that was Limerick, Ireland . . . now you're in the Land of Opportunity . . . America." "Quit blaming your past and get on with your future." "Quit with the excuses, loser!"

Page after page, Malachy McCourt drinks himself into blind oblivion. He had opportunities as a self-employed bar owner, an off-Broadway actor, a guest on Jack Parr's Tonight Show. He rubbed elbows with Hollywood celebrities, directors, agents. He had a beautiful wife and two children that loved him (once). The support of his brother Frank, who also made his way to America and did, indeed, find success. Malachy blew EVERY chance that he stumbled upon to build a new life, one of normalcy and happiness. Over and over and over again. Every page, heavy with alcoholism and self-abuse. By the end of the story I wanted to take a shower. But throughout this true accounting, I NEVER turned my back on Malachy McCourt. I read his story with a compassionate heart. I gave him credit for waking up everyday and trying again. Honestly, it was beyond belief how he survived physically and mentality the brutality of his actions . . . how he even MANAGED to wake up each morning was a miracle in and of itself.

So I'm giving this memoir 5 Stars. I'm looking forward to reading his sequel, Singing My Him Song, and sitting with Malachy on as many rides it takes for him to find a happy and content life. In 1998 Frank McCourt's, Angela's Ashes, and the sequel, 'Tis, thoroughly rattled me, but also influenced me to look deeper at what fuels people to behave the way they do. Those two books were life-changing for me, just as Malachy's, A Monk Swimming was, and I trust, his sequel, will be. McCourt haters, judgers, and finger-pointers, perhaps you are the ones that need to "Get over it!"