Entertaining as only an "Irisher" can be.

If bawdy jokes, capers, tall tales, and a brash, drunken, recounting of said matters appeals, this book is for you. Fair disclosure: I read a fraction, chuckled at the content, and discarded the book less than a quarter into it. It is - colorful.

If you can find any interest into Malachy McCourt's endless pursuit for drinking, promiscuity and living a full-fledged hedonistic lifestyle, then this is the book for you.

Beyond that, he only demonstrates how reprehensibly immoral he is with respect to his treatment of marriage, and more so his dedication to his children. If there is any redemption to be attained on his part, he certainly does not make any case for it.

Yes, the book begins off comically, recounting stories of how he arrives to America and the trials and tribulations that ensue. In the early stages of the book, the stage is potentially set for an unfolding of important events and thus insight or life lessons, ingredients that would suit a memoir-type novel appropriately.

As far as I could tell, what follows for the final 250 pages is a continuous reminder of how much of a sot Malachy was, even though it does prove destructive towards his familial affairs. This as much is even acknowledged by Malachy, though it may only be in retrospect.

If this story provides 'true' accounts and anecdotes of Malachy's life, then it is fair enough to spare any criticism towards lack of plot. That being said, to maintain (at least my) interest, there must be some strategy and compulsion to engage the reader for the long haul. I found none. Rather, I tried to find some comedy in the telling of his stories, and kept optimistic that there would be a valuable lesson or perhaps some epiphany on Malachy's part from his lifelong moral transgressions.
Not likely.

Just as Malachy liked to imbibe and 'dip the wick' to his fulfillment, this book just seems to be an opportunity to bask in his conceit, using his childhood misfortunes as blame for his moral degradation.

I give this review 2 stars because he does provide some momentary humour, and he uses the English language in a creative way to describe situations and express himself.

Beyond this, I have even less respect or admiration for Malachy McCourt than before I had read this.

I'm not sure whether that was his intention.

P.S. I am Irish-Canadian, not too different from the ancestral background of Malachy, and I find it is quite unnecessary to perpetuate the stereotype of Irishmen as being disgraceful drunks and morons.
Didn't his brother Frank McCourt already profit enough of this exploit in his series of novels before this one? (e.g. Angela's Ashes, 'Tis, etc.)

Actually I didn't quite finish. Got weary of his randy escapades.
For a while it was entertaining - but he's no writer like his older brother Frank (Angela's Ashes).

What started out as an enjoyable read about Malachy McCourt's life as an Irish immigrant coming to live with a brother in New York City becomes a story of drunken encounters, name dropping, abuse and sexual scenes.