Fíona Scarlett's "Boys Don't Cry" serves up a raw, unflinching glimpse into a Dublin existence, where youthful innocence battles the grim realities of life in the Jax towers. The novel places us in Finn's world, a child whose simple joys, like ice cream screwballs and roaring down Captains Hill on Joe's handlebars, belie an increasingly fragile body, punctuated by incessant nosebleeds that worry his Ma into frantic doctor visits, culminating in the chilling revelation of a diagnosis that reshapes everything.
Concurrently, Joe, Finn's older brother and fierce protector, grapples with the fallout of their Da's incarceration, navigating a precarious adolescence marked by a scholarship to St Augustine’s and the ever-present shadow of his family's reputation.
One tense encounter at school sees Joe, usually composed, snap at a peer, pushing him to the ground in a visceral outburst that he grimly recognizes as his Da's own temper. His burgeoning artistic talent, once a source of pride, now feels like a burden, a reminder of what has been irrevocably altered: "How can I draw any more, when it was all for him?".
A tentative friendship with Johnny Mitchell, a seemingly kind classmate, quickly curdles when Johnny attempts to solicit drugs from Joe for his friends, a jarring reminder of the social chasm between them. Later, a harrowing incident at Johnny's party forces Joe to confront the dire consequences of his choices, as Naoise, Johnny's girlfriend, overdoses, and Joe is the one to induce vomiting and call for help.
His father's presence looms large, as Joe receives a letter from him, opened and stamped by the prison, a stark reminder of their fractured world. Despite his initial reluctance, Joe visits his Da in prison, a meeting thick with unspoken tensions and a desperate attempt to grasp the truth about their circumstances.
The dual perspectives reveal how quickly childhood can shatter, replacing sandcastles with medical charts, and carefree bike rides with crushing responsibilities. Finn's world shrinks to hospital rooms and the fluctuating hope of chemotherapy treatments, counting down moments with family: "We did a countdown and all... But we didn’t care. We didn’t mind starting over at all". His contemplation of his own mortality, questioning where he goes when he is "gone", contrasts sharply with Joe’s bitter struggle to maintain some semblance of normalcy, including handling Ma’s increasing reliance on drink and his own attempts to keep their flat functional.
The weight of their shared trauma presses down, especially as Ned, a neighbor, spouts ludicrous conspiracy theories about Finn’s illness, adding a layer of darkly comic absurdity to their grief. A visit to a local pub, The Tavern, exposes the murky undercurrents of the community, where Dessie Murphy's influence dictates unspoken rules and David Carthy's unsavory presence signals trouble.
Even Sabine, Joe’s loyal friend, finds herself caught in the crosshairs, her fear palpable as Joe faces down Carthy, a moment where loyalties are tested and innocence is irrevocably compromised.
The conclusion sees Joe and Ma finding a poignant way to honor Finn, a bittersweet act that suggests life's cruel jokes rarely come with a punchline, just a lingering echo.
This book offers a compelling, if unvarnished, journey into the grit of urban existence and the raw ache of familial love. It possesses the emotional heft of a lead balloon and the disarming charm of a rogue wave; expect to be thoroughly soaked.
This short novel provides an intimate acquaintance with despair, yet it manages to sprinkle humor like unexpected confetti over life's grimmer celebrations. Prepare for a story that makes you question the very concept of "happily ever after," opting instead for a "survive at all costs" mantra. This is a reading experience that leaves you with both a heartache and an odd sense of clarity.