Angela's Ashes and A River Runs Through It (and Other Stories)

What a heart-breakingly hilarious memoir.

This is a popular novel, so I'm sure everyone has heard this passage: "When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood."

He then continues in heartbreaking detail to illustrate his miserable childhood, "the poverty; the shifless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years."

As I was reading, I wondered to myself why this was such a successful and beautiful novel. And I decided that it was so wonderful because it was true. The circumstances are so pathetic that if it were fiction, I'd be annoyed by how tragic the author crafted the life. Except that life crafted the life. And laced in every terrible moment--the death of his little brothers, the blood pouring out of his body when he catches Typhoid fever, the horror of hunger, exacerbated when his father comes home drunk, having spend the food money on alcohol--is hope. Because it is a memoir, you know that the child spilling the weight of the horrific world to the angel on the seventh step becomes a snarky and eloquent man. So somehow this childhood, though it's hard to imagine, is going to turn out well.

My other thought was about the huge responsibility I have as an adult raising little children. The author and his brothers are at the mercy of his parents and neighbors decisions. I hope to make decisions that will build my children and allow them fantastic opportunities.



I anticipated loving this book for a couple of reasons. I love memoirs, I love western literature, and I love the movie based on this book. I knew I wouldn't be disappointed when I read the acknowledgements. I mean, if an author can hook you in the thank yous, that's a pretty good guarantee it's going to be a great book.

I've been thinking about the expectations I have for my children. I named them Talmage and Asher, both religious names with a lot of history behind them. Talmage was a great early Mormon scholar and Asher was one the brothers who's lineage became the ten tribes of Israel. His name means happiness. I was pondering this as Tyler and I considered what we felt was important to bless him with this past Sunday. I jokingly suggested we bless him that he'll be kind to his mother. That he wouldn't pick on the other kids at school. That he won't rape, pillage, or plunder. That he'll help old ladies across the street.

But of course, Asher might grow up and do all these things. He might not develop the "contagious happiness" Tyler blessed him with and that we hope for him. And what will I do then? What will I do if he ends up in prison for drug trafficking?

In A River Runs Through It the author's younger brother lives a life of self-destructive habits. His brother and father are at a loss of how to help him. After the brother dies, they are confused by what happened. The author's father asks, "Are you sure you have told me everything you know about his death?" To which the author responds, "'Everything.' 'It's not much, is it?' 'No,' [he replies], 'but you can love completely without complete understanding.'"

I hope to love my sons completely, even when I don't understand choices they might make. That is my number one goal as a mother.