I thoroughly enjoyed the description of Depression-era Ireland, the mannerisms and figures of speech particularly. The style also was sort of interesting, with the perspective of young Frank an interesting reflection on the world of adults around him. It was a bit like a cross between Mark Twain and James Joyce. And the use of poetry and song throughout is pretty fascinating - it makes for an interesting bookmark-ing of time. And as a bit of social commentary, I don’t think this book could have been any clearer on the myriad ways in which the English, alcohol, and social conservatism have all taken their toll on Ireland.

All that said - the book was simply too long-winded for its content. I lost count of the number of times Malachy the elder got a job or had some money only to spend it all at the pub, and Angela’s apparently neverending faith that the next job would be different was just a bit much. Frank’s perspective is I guess understandable, and a piece of memoir his owning up to his old antics is I guess commendable, but I simply couldn’t find him all that sympathetic.