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During a holiday weekend in Dundrug, known as "Ireland's Las Vegas," 16-year-old Jerome Maguire—the town's one gothic punk, communist, and poet laureate (self elected)—wants to find out about love. Armed with one condom to do so, Jerome watches the town fill with holiday makers from Belfast, Derry, and Frankfurt—but soon gets more than he bargained for.
117 pages, Paperback
First published November 1, 2007
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
September 12, 2011
This week’s headline? summer lovin' troubles
Why this book? liked his style
Which book format? very pretty product
Primary reading environment? bedtime, then lie-in
Any preconceived notions? not a bestseller
Identify most with? his sister Niamh
Three little words? “they're like hurricanes”
Goes well with? blackened cider, chips
I was reading an article about Ireland with writing I connected to so strongly that I kept scrolling down to the author's bio and had the purchase of this book made within the next two minutes.
It's the sort of connection where you know it's another young[ish] person speaking to you, a person who refuses to buy into the old ways of thinking, but also sees through the rebellious posturing of your shared peers, and that person winds up writing for no one but himself, and in that alienation, you feel a connection.
The writing loses some it's charm, however, when you finally get around to reading the novel. The same dense sentences that made an opinion piece about Irish society so dynamic only serve to constrict the flow of a novel as you try to follow the story.
I've never been someone who reads for the language. I like Hemingway and journalism, straight-forward writing that gets its point across. But I'm also a sucker for cosmic poetic insights, such as:
"All the star stuff up there that we're supposed to be made out of, so we breathe like stars do.
So maybe the way stars produce light despite themselves, we're producing head thoughts, all a-flicker and forever changing shapes like flames."
So I can't dismiss this book completely.
In the end, it makes me glad this guy got his first book written (thanks, in part, to his coerced "patrons of the arts," listed on the last page with feminine names wink wink), and the back cover says he's working on his second.
It gives me hope, for him and for myself, because even if the reader in me struggled with this book, the writer in me found something to keep.
Which, in all honesty, might be a writer crush.
Other cultural accompaniments: BUNAC, http://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/toytow... (via Bookslut, of course)
Grade: B
I leave you with this: The no quotation marks thing – is it European or just modern?
Why this book? liked his style
Which book format? very pretty product
Primary reading environment? bedtime, then lie-in
Any preconceived notions? not a bestseller
Identify most with? his sister Niamh
Three little words? “they're like hurricanes”
Goes well with? blackened cider, chips
I was reading an article about Ireland with writing I connected to so strongly that I kept scrolling down to the author's bio and had the purchase of this book made within the next two minutes.
It's the sort of connection where you know it's another young[ish] person speaking to you, a person who refuses to buy into the old ways of thinking, but also sees through the rebellious posturing of your shared peers, and that person winds up writing for no one but himself, and in that alienation, you feel a connection.
The writing loses some it's charm, however, when you finally get around to reading the novel. The same dense sentences that made an opinion piece about Irish society so dynamic only serve to constrict the flow of a novel as you try to follow the story.
I've never been someone who reads for the language. I like Hemingway and journalism, straight-forward writing that gets its point across. But I'm also a sucker for cosmic poetic insights, such as:
"All the star stuff up there that we're supposed to be made out of, so we breathe like stars do.
So maybe the way stars produce light despite themselves, we're producing head thoughts, all a-flicker and forever changing shapes like flames."
So I can't dismiss this book completely.
In the end, it makes me glad this guy got his first book written (thanks, in part, to his coerced "patrons of the arts," listed on the last page with feminine names wink wink), and the back cover says he's working on his second.
It gives me hope, for him and for myself, because even if the reader in me struggled with this book, the writer in me found something to keep.
Which, in all honesty, might be a writer crush.
Other cultural accompaniments: BUNAC, http://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/toytow... (via Bookslut, of course)
Grade: B
I leave you with this: The no quotation marks thing – is it European or just modern?
October 4, 2015
I think about this book a lot since reading it; amazingly original and uncomplicated, I loved the characters and the lyrical style.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews