Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha

I don't do well with stream of conscious books. Better to own that fact now and return it for some other library patron to enjoy.

Being originally from working class, northside Dublin, I already know that Roddy Doyle writes about places I know, people I know and language I know, but I was stunned by how much this book resonated with me. Parts of it could have been ripped from my childhood. Long forgotten memories suddenly reappeared - wrapping copies in wallpaper, hiding in the hot press, words I hadn't heard in years (“eccer”, “milling” “sap”), trying to say something funny so the other lads would like you better, and unfortunately, listening to the fights.

It brought back to me just how terrible it was lying in bed and hearing shouting and doors slamming. Of course, I hadn't forgotten that my parents had fought, but I had forgotten that feeling of listening to it. Memories came flooding back of trying to cover it with my ears, or saying over and over again to myself “Stop. Please stop. Just stop” as the lump in my throat got harder. My dad didn't do the things mentioned in the book, it was just shouting, but it was awful. Grown up problems suddenly invaded a child's innocence. Patrick trying to make sense of it was just heartbreaking - “I loved him. He was my da. It didn't make sense. She was my ma.” I can't imagine subjecting my son to that. My wife and I tend to give each other the silent treatment. I've never raised my voice to her. I wonder if that's something I subconsciously learned from childhood.

First person narration by title character 9/10-year-old Paddy there is plenty of childlike humour to enjoy, yet I also found this read to be rather poignant. The brutality that is that male age group was to the fore for long parts, but the confusing observations of the breakdown of his parents had an innocence and confusion that was moving.

A Booker winner in 1993 and for the first half I wondered why but by the end, I thought this a very clever piece of writing and maybe that was what the judges felt. I had read Roddy Doyles Barrytown Trilogy many years back and recall enjoying them but think this is far stronger. It is hard to write as a first person 10-year-old boy and seem authentic, but the general chat and thoughts of Paddy seems to align with my long past memories of that age. The brutality of those times among the peer group, the interest in the world outside that bubble, and the parents’ relationship not making much sense made for a very thoughtful read.