Sadly the great memoirist Frank McCourt has died from complications of metastatic melanoma.
His first book Angela’s Ashes is one of my favorites. If you haven’t read it yet, pick up a copy and bring to life his words, especially if you have some poor Irish blood in you. One of the most memorable book openings I can think of begins:
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.
People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and all the terrible things they did to us for 800 long years.
After a childhood full of adversity and poverty, McCourt immigrated to New York and eventually became a teacher. Among other things he taught his creative writing students that their own lives were their best material. Taking that advice to heart, he finally wrote his first book after retiring in his 60’s.
Melanoma, as you may know, is an ugly and tenacious adversary. It is estimated that 1 in 65 people in the US will be diagnosed with melanoma in their lifetime. You can learn more about the disease here at Medline, with particular attention paid to recognizing risk factors and maximizing prevention. News of McCourt’s diagnosis was released just 2 months ago, and he was undergoing chemotherapy as recently as May, 2009.
Speaking to students at Bay Shore High School on Long Island in 1997, he said, “I learned the significance of my own insignificant life.”
I think that sentiment is what I liked best about Angela’s Ashes. The insignificant tale of an unknown boy growing up in the slums of Limerick was not really unique – most people live uncelebrated lives of hardships overcome and adversities faced. But in the telling of his story Frank McCourt added a poignant thread to the grand human tapestry, and touched upon our common humanity.
It is one of my favorite books too. I just learned of his passing before seeing your post.
I never did see the movie version of the book. I doubt is was as good as reading it yourself, don’t know. Nice post, Dr. Charles.
I never did read Angela’s Ashes. Not sure why, although I suspect it’s because I stopped reading fiction after my one year in graduate school studying literature, and Angela’s Ashes was published then during my fiction hiatus. It took me years to re-learn how to read a book simply for pleasure.
We just lost a friend, the 34 year old son of very dear friends, to metastatic melanoma. The speed of its lethal tentacles was breathtaking.
I learned of his passing from your blogpost.
If it can be said that there’s a good place to learn of someone’s passing, well, your blog’s not a bad one, considering your love for the written word.
Although it might be apropros to learn of McCourt’s passing at the bar of a pub with a glass of whiskey in hand, the type of pub where there’s dark wood that’s well worn from the resting of many elbows as well as from years of polishings; where there’s a stone fireplace, and perhaps a dart board or two.
We’d toast to his memory, and hurl our glasses into the fireplace…
I have been listening to the Teacherman during my long commute- makes it almost worthwhile to drive 50miles a day. That man could write-paraphrasing him- showing us all the significance of our insignificance. i will read other books by him.
you’ll be missed Mr McCourt.