Anna McPartlin's Blog, page 4
January 8, 2015
Simon Mayo’s Latest Book Club Choices features The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes
The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes will feature on the prestigious BBC Radio 2 Simon Mayo Book Club!
Anna will be appearing on the show on Monday, January 12 from around 6pm, and Rabbit Hayes is the first title of 2015.
She will be doing an interview with Simon and has provided this Q&A too: http://bit.ly/bbcannamcpartlin
Follow Simon on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/simonmayo
December 31, 2014
Richard and Judy Book Club
The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes has made it to the Richard and Judy Book Club!
December 30, 2014
Rabbit Hayes – First Chapter
The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes is my latest novel published by Transworld UK and available in Ire, Oz, Nz, Asia & Philippines 19th June 2014 and UK, Germany, France, Sweden and USA in early 2015.
Exclusive -Read the First Chapter Here:
December 17, 2014
Review of Rabbit Hayes -Bootbag
The three generations of the Hayes family are salt-of-the-Earth Irish: loud, brash, cussed, argumentative, full of tenaciousness and close. Now they need every ounce as 40 year old Rabbit – Molly and Jack’s daughter, Grace and Davey’s sister and 12 year old Juliet’s mum – is dying of cancer. Each has to come to terms with it in their own way but no one wants to and they definitely won’t let death get away with it without a fight, even if the weapons of choice are Molly’s sharp tongue and a mug.
Irish writer and former stand-up comedian Anna McPartlin has done something odd. She’s provided me with what could be my favourite book of 2015 and the publishing date is only 1st January! It’s a story about dying and letting go and yet it’s warm, life affirming and, in places, highly laugh out loud funny. I have never laughed, cried, giggled through tears or guffawed through heart-rending sobs before and I’ve been reading for over 50 years! I totally blame the Hayes’s.
This is no little house on the Liffey family but one full of cracked humanity and characters that even the most jaded reader/reviewer will remember without the aid of notes. Via matriarchal Molly and her silently strong Jack right through to the guilt ridden drummer Davey, and Grace and Lenny’s three typical teenage sons we’re immediately pulled into the bosom of the family. Be it at Rabbit’s bedside, going home with the tribe or nipping back in time to catch up with their respective pathways to this moment, we’re given insight into the associated pressures and agony but not in a worthy way. Anna believes there’s humour in even the darkest moments and here she proves it over and over.
Among the poignant moments and memories there are some great set pieces. Mothers of sons will smirk at Ryan feeling he’s won when Grace and Lenny let him off his grounding, without him realising the reason. Even near the end when an author may be forgiven for becoming maudlin, Anna declines the option to treat us to the guffaw-worthy Operation Father Frank.
Some of the most touching moments surround Rabbit’s mature, very aware Juliet as reality dawns. However, like the rest of the family, she isn’t brave; she’s normal. They just try to survive one moment to the next. Sometimes they manage, sometimes they fail epically while trying to hold onto the fact that in the midst of dying, there’s still life.
Having said that, this isn’t a sentimental tear fest. Ok there are many tears and a small chunk of sentiment as emotions are discussed but Anna doesn’t wallow. In fact she surreptitiously slides in some considerations alongside the well-researched effects, reactions and palliative care procedures. How does a person of faith cope watching an atheist they love die? Vice versa, how does a dying atheist ensure that their Christian family uphold their final wishes? How do you cope with the pain of a less than perfect past when there’s no time to make amends? How do you choose a new parent for your child?
Rabbit’s cancer blog entries from her 4 year battle pepper the story. In one, written on the return of her cancer, Rabbit declares she wants to leave her daughter with a head full of memories and a heart full of love. To be honest, that’s a pretty good description of how The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes left me and, I’m sure, will continue to leave me each of the many, many times I’ll revisit the Hayes tribe.
(Thank you so much, Black Swan for providing us with a copy for review.)
May 29, 2014
The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes
Available in Ireland, NZ, OZ, Asia and the Philippines June 19th , 2014. Published by Transworld.
August 6, 2011
October 27, 2010
http://chicklitreviews.com/
Book Review: The One I Love by Anna McPartlin
October 27th, 2010 by Leah 5/5
The One I Love is published by Penguin and on sale in the UK from 28th Oct.
Once Jane and Alexandra were inseparable – sharing adventures, secrets and big dreams for the future. But when Jane got pregnant at seventeen, they drifted apart. Seventeen years later, Jane discovers Alexandra has disappeared and she sets about helping Alexandra's broken-hearted husband, Tom, to find his wife.
But in searching for Alexandra Jane is about to confront some big questions about herself. Like, what happened to the high-spirited seventeen-year-old she once was? What will happen if she stops trying to control the world? And does love really mean letting people go? Two fractured people come together accidentally and in one another they find strength, friendship – and even the beginnings of hope …
Please note that this book is also titled So What If I'm Broken and Alexandra, Gone!
When I read Anna McPartlin's debut novel Pack up the Moon earlier this year I was so thankful that I had spotted the cover while browsing Google because otherwise I never would have bought the book because I would never have known it existed. I thought Pack up the Moon was stunning, it really blew me away and I quickly collected up the rest of Anna's books. I managed to get myself a copy of her latest book The One I Love (also known as Alexandra, Gone and So What If I'm Broken?) to review and I started it fully expecting another cracking read and I wasn't disappointed at all.
At the beginning of The One I Love, the entire Chapter One in fact, we're introduced to numerous characters; there's Alexandra, who after writing a note to husband Tom sets off to meet her friend but disappears on route, we meet Elle and Jane who are friends of Alexandra and who are sisters, Elle likes to write letters to the Universe whereas Jane has found herself pregnant at 17, we then meet Leslie, who we learn is cut off from all of her family and friends due to a genetic gene and then finally, we meet Tom, Alexandra's husband as he sets about trying to find his wife. It's complete chaos, ranging from 1989 to 1996, to the present day of 2007, told in letter forms and flashbacks, and I was a bit concerned the book would carry on that way. But after setting out the storyline by introducing us to the main characters, and their problems, we then stay in 2007 and the story progresses from there like a proper story should as they try to find Alexandra.
The plot truly is fantastic, because although the basis for the entire plot is Alexandra being missing and Tom's search to find her, we also learn about Tom, Jane, Elle and Leslie. After meeting at a Jack Lukeman concert, they got stuck in the lift, they all band together to search for Alexandra but they also become friends as well. Yet they all have their own problems: Jane is still in love with her son Kurt's dad Dominic, Elle has deep-set issues with the world, Leslie lives her life under a cloud, constantly being hounded by a gene that has harmed other family members and Tom is just looking for his wife. As they all try to come to terms with their problems, and learn new secrets, and start new relationships you really begin to care about each and every one of them, and I was turning the pages avidly, desperate to carry on reading.
There is no main or lead character in the novel, that's shared by Jane, Tom, Elle and Leslie and each have their own quirks and foibles that make them their own. I liked them all equally and found them all incredibly well rounded. But what I liked best was that they were all so human. They each made mistakes throughout the novel, little ones, big ones, and for me it just made me like them all the more. Jane was the most family-oriented, looking after her son Kurt as well as her aging, drunk mother Rose and flighty sister Elle, and always put them before herself. Elle, as I've said, was flighty and impulsive and a bit of a wild child, and she spoke to me the most I think (for the record, I am nothing like Elle). Leslie was shy, staying alone and away from the world, until her encounter in the lift when she finally decided it was time to stop living like a hermit. And Tom, Tom was brave, when many people would have just left Alexandra for dead, Tom carried on looking for her and I totally admired that in him. He had heart and spirit. In fact, they all had heart and spirit. There are many other, minor, characters in the novel. Rose, Elle and Jane's spiky mother, Kurt, Jane's teenage son, Alexandra's family, her parents and siblings, Leslie's sister's widow Jim, they all made their mark and none more so than Alexandra herself. Alexandra herself is in four pages total, but the book is infinitely her. From the memories Jane has of her, to Tom's memories, her families memories, she just shines off the pages and despite not really knowing her, we do care for her. I've no idea how McPartlin pulled that off, but she did, and for me, Alexandra was utterly real.
The One I Love is about a lot of things, but the main thing that will stay with me is written on the front of the book: that no matter what, true friends will not give up and that encompasses the book perfectly. Not only that, but the feeling I got of how each of the characters found themselves, it was immense. McPartlin has pulled off another stunning novel, and for me she ranks up there with Marian Keyes and Melissa Hill in terms of how well she writes and how good she is at crafting a story. The book is told in third-person, moving from Jane to Elle to Leslie to Tom, which works fantastically well and I never got lost off despite there being so much going on. I adored the book, and Anna is two for two with me so far and I look forward to getting stuck into her other two novels. I sincerley hope she's working on another novel – and many other novels in the future – as she's definitely an author you want to be reading. She may not be huge in the UK, I can't really speak for Ireland, but she deserves to be. I am a huge fan.
I'd like to thank the publisher for sending me this to review.
July 27, 2010
IVF blog
I'm 38, happily married and childless. We are not childless by choice. We are childless because I have endometriosis and so far that has prevented me from being able to conceive. At thirty frigging eight we're not holding out too much hope of conceiving any time soon and let's face it the clock is soon about to tock.
We've had the tests. My husband's reproductive organs are as perfectly healthy as he is perfectly patient. I've had all the procedures. I've tried acupuncture, special diets and aromatherapy. I've held the newborn baby in my lap and close to my ovaries, wished upon a star and heaven knows my bedroom has seen more sex in the past ten years than a medium sized whore house. You name it, we've done and then some. It's a miracle I don't walk funny. And still every month I fail the test. It's enough to give a girl a complex.
We opted for IVF two years ago. It was hard going and I'm sure if we'd had a baby at the end of it, it may have seemed like a walk in the park but we didn't. No matter how we tried to prepare ourselves for a negative result, hope is often too strong to reason with and when the call came and the negative result received we were both heartbroken.
I'm dizzy at the best of times but during the IVF I became a special needs case. I was so forgetful that I couldn't be left alone in the house or I'd burn it down. I couldn't walk the dogs for fear I'd leave one of them in the park and I certainly couldn't be left behind the wheel of a car or carnage would ensue. Some people report that they become moody, not me I was as happy as I was stupid and my God I was stupid. It was as though with every hormonal injection I gave myself a little part of my brain would switch itself off. I couldn't work and there were days I couldn't really converse because I'd disappear half way through a sentence. I know this is not usual and plenty of women get on with their days and lives as normal but in my case disengaging seemed to be my coping mechanism and a crap one it was.
The faux menopause wasn't so bad. A few night and day sweats and a big red face every now and then didn't bother me so much. A bucket of deodorant and a change of clothes and I was good to go. My brain vacated in or around the time I started shooting hormones. Every night at 8:55pm the alarm would go off and I'd go to the fridge take out my hormones, my injection pen, and a fresh needle. I'd grab my alcohol wipes and my sharps bucket from the shelf and head upstairs. My husband often offered to help but his offer was whispered, his face was pale and he'd looked like he was about to vomit so I'd politely decline. I'd head upstairs and into our bedroom. I'd put in the fresh needle in the pen, load the hormone, clean the area of my stomach with the alcohol wipe and shoot. It was all done and dusted in a matter of seconds. Aside from the minor side effect of forgetting my own name it was easy peasy.
As nice as the nurses were the internal check-up's were embarrassing. I used to wear long skirts and high boots so that even with my knickers off and a nurses hand up my lady business I always felt dressed. She'd show me the screen and comment on how big the eggs were getting. I'd nod and pretend to be engaged hoping against hope the conversation would end and she'd vacate my area asap. One of those days she was particularly chatty.
"Are you going back to the office after this?"
"I work from home."
"Oh that's nice."
"Yeah."
"What do you do?"
"I write."
"Oh anything I would have read?"
Please let's not talk while your hand making its way to my tonsils. "I don't know."
"Well name something."
"Pack Up The Moon."
She stopped measuring my eggs and thought for a second which seemed like an hour. "I knew I recognised the name. Oh my God I loved 'Pack Up The Moon'."
Oh please remove yourself from my innards and they you can tell me you that chapter two made you cry on the bus.
The blood tests were every day or second day I can't remember now. They were annoying but only because I've bad veins so it made things a little more arduous. I was excited on the day of egg collection because it meant I could stop shooting up every night. Donal had to provide a sperm sample. He freaked out at the notion of producing one in a small room with a video or magazine on his lap and a nurse and some other haunted men waiting outside so we stayed in a hotel in town. That morning we arrived to the hospital him with his sample and me with a belly full of eggs. I was prepped for surgery and although they weren't going to put me under full anaesthetic I was given enough drugs to make the experience as surreal and painless as possible. The experience is vague but I remember talking and reassurances and asking one of the doctors if Jurassic park could really happen.
They removed eight eggs. The next day we were told we had two embryos to implant and nothing to freeze. Two was better than none even though the cell division wasn't exactly what they'd hoped for. Implantation was another mortifying experience with me legs akimbo in a sterile room with more people in it than an Osmond's tour bus. But it was over quickly. I saw the embryos fly into my womb and it was incredible and joyful. We went home and I sat in bed watching the box sets of 'Extra's' and laughed all day. The next day I got out of bed and for the next 10 days we got on with our lives. Every morning I'd have to pop in a hormonal pessary that told my body it was pregnant and my body must have believed it because I was sick a number of times that week.
On the day we were told the bad news we were eating lunch with our two friends. Looking back I think we were so sure we were pregnant that we thought it would be a nice way to celebrate. The call came and we were devastated. Whoops.
We haven't tried IVF again and not because I was so forgetful or the embarrassment or the difficult blood tests or the fact that I felt physically horrible for months afterwards. We haven't tried it again because we are happy together. We have a good life. We love one another and somewhere along the line we realised that we are both very comfortable with the notion that what's meant to be is meant to be. Yes we'd both like to be parents but we're not going to ruin what we have today in a bid to achieve the unachievable. Maybe if we tried it twice or three times or four or five at some point when I'm half demented and Donal has become my full time care assistant we'd get pregnant but at what cost?
Our specialist believes that there is still a chance of natural conception and so we hold on to that. I'm glad we tried IVF and I wish anyone who is reading this and about to embark on IVF the best of luck and love. If the result is negative and when you've finished crying and punching the wall you may decide to keep going and if you do I admire and support you. But if you've reached the end of the line and it's all got too much there is no shame in giving up. As Mick Jagger says 'You can't always get what you want,' but that doesn't mean you can't be happy with what you've got.
July 2, 2010
The Birthday Blog
Woke up this morning and I was 38. Thirty Frigging Eight! While still in bed I received a call from my pal Enda. He insisted on singing Happy Birthday, loudly. And it wasn't just the fact that he can't sing or that I'm thirty frigging eight it bothered me because it's a shit song. Happy Birthday is the must sung song in the world; we all have to endure on the same day of every year. It's the song that people who never sing are forced to sing over a lit cake and it has got to have the most unmelodic melody ever in the history of songs and I'm including you here India. The song that no one from Charlotte Church to Claire from Steps can sing, the song that is as tuneless as it is repetitive and this morning and barely awake I was subjected to…
"Happy Birthday to you."
"Shut up Enda."
"Happy Birthday to you."
"Seriously you're causing me pain."
"Happy Birthday, you're an auld' one now."
Once the punch line was delivered he didn't bother finishing the song instead he simply and quickly said "Happy Birthday to you". Then he laughed at himself. I love you Enda but tonight at dinner I will cause you some physical pain using a hot spoon or maybe an ear flick. I haven't decided yet.
I've hated birthdays since I was a kid and most years if I'm not keeping track of the calendar I forget until someone reminds me and that puts in me in bad form because people insist on being cheery about birthdays and have no patience or understanding for those who don't have any desire to mention never mind celebrate them. My husband loves birthdays and because of that every year I get on board. I go all out to do whatever he wants to do. I work hard to give him a gift he'll love, I cook him all his favourite foods, we go to his favourite restaurants, we do the party thing etc.. and with him it's a birthday weekend or week and that's fine because it's his birthday, he wants to celebrate the passage of time and I love him so I suck it up.
BUT why is it not OK for me to ignore the passage of time? Why do I have to argue against shopping for a present? Why is it so difficult to understand that I don't do parties or want an overpriced bunch of flowers especially lilies which are funeral flowers by the way.
As an adult I've only ever had two birthday parties to mark my 21st & 30th and both were surprises organised entirely without my knowledge. I very nearly missed the 21st having disappeared off the gird contrary to everyone's plan for me that day but I was found and it was a great night as was my 30th and I was grateful to be surrounded by people who cared enough to mark the major milestones. And as grateful as I was the next year I went back to being the miserable bitch I am every other year and I was happy to do so.
Three weeks ago. I was chatting to my best pal Hal on the phone and I mentioned that I was thinking of buying a subscription to Vanity Fair Magazine. She responded quick as a flash.
"Oh, I'll get that for your birthday."
Alarm bells rang. Why on earth would my pal, mother of three and up to her neck in it night noon and morning have my birthday on her mind 3 weeks before the actual date?
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Nothing." I could hear it in her voice, she knew she was rumbled, I knew she knew she was rumbled. There was really no way out of it.
"Ah Jesus Bannie," she calls me Bannie, "Donal will kill me."
"I might get there first."
And so she spilled her guts for which I will be ever grateful. Donal my loving husband the dude that is supposed to know me better than anyone else in the world was planning a surprise party, with a room, DJ, finger foods, bunting, balloons whatever else comes with a surprise birthday. So tonight I could have been heading into town under the guise of meeting pals for dinner. I could have found myself walking toward a room, having every dog and duck I've ever met jump out at me and when my heart returned to its normal rhythm and my stomach descended back into my abdomen I would have fixed my gaze on a balloon or banner that read 38.
I may be a card carrying birthday grinch but who in the name of Jesus celebrates their thirty eight birthday with a dj, finger food and every dog and duck they've ever met?
No one. That's who.
So the party is not going ahead. The flowers my husband had delivered moments after Enda's rousing rendition of 'Happy Birthday, you're an auld' one now' were not as graciously received as they could have been. So I'm going to end this blog. I'm going to kiss my little dog which is not a euphemism (See pic). I'm going to shower. I'm going to put on a happy face. I'm going to go down stairs. I'm going to kiss my husband. I'm going to thank him for the death flowers. We'll walk the dogs and go for lunch in our favourite mexican place. Later we'll head off to my pals for a dinner that simply happens to coincide with my birthday and it will be a good day even though I'm a thirty frigging eight year old auld' one and birthday grinch.
