Final Reflection

After reading McCourt’s memoir, I have been influenced to be thankful for what I have. McCourt’s excellent descriptions made me feel like I was there with him during parts of the book. It was upsetting to hear about his awful childhood and it made me realize how much I take for granted in my life. I was ashamed that movies, candy, radios and other simple things in life were such a treat to him, and I can now realize not everybody has the things I have in my life. I enjoyed this novel, but I found it very challenging. Other than the difficult vocabulary words, I also had trouble understanding the Irish words and phrases and when a character was speaking because of the absence of quotations.  The colloquial style of McCourt’s writing can become confusing. He uses phrases and words that are unfamiliar to those outside of Ireland such as words like “eejit” as idiot or “fags” for cigarettes.  He does not include quotation marks when characters are speaking which makes it difficult to follow along. This occurs especially in conversations because it is hard to tell who is talking. My initial impression of this book was not correct because I did not think it was going to be as difficult or impacting as it was.  This book had less of an inspiring effect on me than that of other memoirs such as Night by Elie Wiesel.  This may be because I have less to relate to the story of a Catholic childhood in Ireland with an alcoholic father than with a holocaust story. It could have been me in the holocaust but my life is nothing like Frank McCourt’s.

Word Count: 281