A few years ago, I read one of the most powerful books that I've read in years...powerful enough for me to proselitize to anyone who would listen: A newly converted me back then: Have you read Angela's Ashes? Got get it. RIGHT NOW.
It was one of those books that I couldn't put down. It was one of those books that literally ripped my life away until I turned the back cover down (sorta like The Kite Runner.) It was gut-wrenching and tragic and horrifying. And funny. It was one of those books that sent me to the interwebs when I was finished so I could cyber-stalk the man who wrote it--I wasn't quite ready to let go. I devoured every article I could find about him. I was in awe of his story.
It makes me sad because when you read his memoir, part of you just believed that somehow since he survived all that--the death of siblings, the drunk (and then non-existent) father, the despondant mother, the poverty so complete and unrelenting that it that makes the poor people I deal with look like they're living like kings--well, he can somehow cheat death, right? How is it fair that you get dealt the hand he was dealt as a kid and then in the end have to exit this world anyway?
I guess he was just a human after all. As we all are.
But his beautiful tale of survival will live on. I may have to read it again.
For the record, I'm sick of people dying. So if everyone I know or know of or at any time had any kind of impression on me could hold off on it for a while, that would be great, OK? Thanks. ->
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Posted
20 Jul 2009 4:07 AM
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Trench Warfare
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