J'ai bien aimé ce livre. L'histoire est intéressante et le message vraiment sympa. Néanmoins le langage "djeuns" utilisé pendant tout le début du livre par une des protagonistes est vraiment trop. Je ne sais pas si dans la version anglaise cela se ressent pareil mais là c'était vraiment lourd. Mê...
Mary is a down to earth 12-year-old girl. Or at least she thought so until she began seeing the ghost of her dead great-grandmother. After several odd encounters Mary finally learns that Tansey wants to see her daughter, Emer. And she needs Mary's help to do it. There's a problem: Emer's been in ...
Last Roddy Doyle book I read was Paddy Clarke, which I liked a lot. The first 100 pages of this one didn't really work for me - I'm not crazy about throwing fictional and non-fictional characters into the same story. But it picks up nicely after that -- Doyle's prose is lean and physical (cant'...
We get short conversations between two unnamed friends sitting having a pint and chatting in a Dublin pub.Great fun to read and although it is a slim volume I don't doubt I'll be picking it up every so often just to read another few pages again.The language is what you would expect to hear in a w...
Our author records a series of discussions, rants and beer chats from two blokes in an Irish bar over a year (2011/2012). They solve world problems (the Euro, the crash), world mysteries (where Gadaffi is - hint: he's a cleaner at Dublin Airport) and sports challenges. They talk about their kids ...
This is an exuberantly narrated novel, the rambling vibrant words of 10-year-old Patrick (Paddy) Clarke, with long stretches of dialogue and conversation perfectly set down. Roddy Doyle uses the voice of young Paddy Clarke, and his sensibility, to tell a story that is full of life and innocence ...
These are a very cordial 3 stars - I liked this book a lot but the fact of it being a near verbatim memoir meant that it didn't have a great arc or drive or anything that made it a fantastic book. Furthermore, the life of a regular lady and guy over the course of 20th century Ireland is not a sub...
Roddy Doyle - The Woman Who Walked Into Doors. “Broken nose. Loose teeth. Cracked ribs. Broken finger. Black eyes. I don’t know how many; I once had two at the same time, one fading, the other new. Shoulders, elbows, knees, wrists. Stitches in my mouth. Stitches on my chin. A ruptured eardrum. Bu...
Non aggiunge molto all'ormai cospicua bibliografia di Roddy Doyle questa (penultima, credo) opera dello scrittore dublinese DOC: si tratta in qualche modo del seguito di "La donna che sbatteva nelle porte", dura storia di miserie e maltrattamenti domestici nell'Irlanda degli anni '90.Ora la prota...
Fucking in fiction: are you for or against? I only ask because Roddy Doyle's frequent use of the F-word might cause even Gordon Ramsay to turn salmon-pink. Bad language as a shock tactic often falls flat, but sometimes profanity signals credibility. So thumbs up for The Deportees; If you're looki...
I am water. I need to flow. I don’t have the leisure of thought; I don’t have the capacity of it. I am a part of the picture. I flow to the edge of a cliff and I fall, I swerve and dance besides mountains and fields, I am guided by the rocks and pebbles. I entertain sundry for a dip into my wetne...
As much as I liked The Commitments, the first novel in Roddy Doyle’s Barrytown Trilogy, The Snapper – book two – is much more satisfying. It’s just as funny and profane, but it has more emotional depth, an amusing if troubling mystery and characters who feel alive and authentic.It focuses on Sh...
said Jimmy Rabbitte Sr. He said it loudly. —You heard me, said Sharon. Jimmy Jr was upstairs in the boys’ room doing his D.J. practice. Darren was in the front room watching Police Academy II on the video. Les was out. Tracy and Linda, the twins, were in the front room annoying Darren. Veronica, ...
—I didn’t know you could do that, I said. —Do what? said Ford. —The voices, I said.—The music and that. It was three months after I’d met him. We were out of the desert, and in Los Angeles, somewhere, in a dark room. There was a movie projector clacking behind our heads, and we were watching one ...
He’d walked past Bram Stoker’s house every day on his way to school. But it had meant nothing to him. He’d never felt a thing, not the hand of a ghost or a shiver, not a lick on his neck, as he passed. In fact, he was nearly eighteen, in his last year at school, before he’d even noticed the plaqu...
They realized that as they walked across the wide space in front of the hotel. There were two dogs, two different howls. The snow here was ice, packed solid by heavy boots. They slid a bit, and Tom fell. He wasn’t hurt. He laughed, and Johnny helped him up. They moved towards a high wire fence. T...
—That’s the second time in the last few months you’ve looked at a dog and asked, What’s this? —It’s a dog. —Yes, said Aoife. —Is it ours? —Yes. —I don’t want a dog. —Yes, you do. —Okay. Shepherd’s pie – Jimmy’s choice. He could only manage baby food and he didn’t want the kids to see that even th...
— He can’t be anny worse than the dozy cunts that’ve been runnin’ it up to now. — True. Although – did yeh see the ad, did yeh? — I did, yeah. — So. You’ve your man arrivin’ at the lighthouse. — In the pissin’ rain, yeah. — To change the light bulb. — An’ he manages it all righ’. — It’s comfortin...
—This is a great fuckin’ group, said Outspan. —I must say. Even the skivvies wear fuckin’ monkey suits. —I’m no skivvy, said Jimmy. —I’m your fuckin’ manager, pal. —An’ don’t you forget it, said James. —Fuckin’ righ’, said Jimmy.) There was more room in Jimmy’s jacket so Dean could still lift the...
Of course, they did. It was natural. They felt good, they felt bad. They laughed, they cried. They woke, they slept. They walked, they sat. They lived, they died. They laughed. Times were hard, and stayed hard for a long time. But the people of Dublin still laughed, although sometimes—often—it wa...
—THERE'S— A— What she was doing was beautiful, but Fat Gandhi wasn't looking at her, or listening. His jaw still hung dead. Agnes's voice and song had brought the aunties back into the tent. But Gandhi didn't notice or care. He was in love. With Gilbert. Gandhi knew the line: homosexuality was an...
Mary and Tansey sat in the back of the car, outside the house and under one of the trees. “Don’t forget your seat belt,” said Mary. “What’s a seat belt?” Tansey asked. Mary showed her the belt, and how to put it on. “Now,” Tansey asked, “does a ghost really need a seat belt?” But she clicked the ...