Tis
A Memoir
(Sprache: Englisch)
Nach dem Erfolgstitel "Die Asche meiner Mutter", in dem er seine Kindheit in Irland beschreibt, legt Frank McCourt die Fortsetzung seiner Lebenserinnerungen vor. Sie beginnt dort, wo der erste Teil endet, auf einem irischen Schiff vor der Skyline von New...
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Nach dem Erfolgstitel "Die Asche meiner Mutter", in dem er seine Kindheit in Irland beschreibt, legt Frank McCourt die Fortsetzung seiner Lebenserinnerungen vor. Sie beginnt dort, wo der erste Teil endet, auf einem irischen Schiff vor der Skyline von New York. McCourt schildert, wie er als Neunzehnjähriger nach Amerika auswandert, mit nichts als der Hoffnung auf eine bessere Zukunft. Er beschreibt, wie es ihm trotz aller Widrigkeiten gelingt, sich im Land der Schönen und Reichen zu behaupten.
Klappentext zu „Tis “
The sequel to Frank McCourt's memoir of his Irish Catholic boyhood, 'Angela's Ashes', picks up the story in October 1949, upon his arrival in America. Initially, his American experience is as harrowing as his impoverished youth in Ireland. McCourt views the U.S. through the same sharp eye and with the same dark humor that distinguished his first memoir: race prejudice, casual cruelty, and dead-end jobs weigh on his spirits as he searches for a way out. But there comes a glimpse of hope from the army and from New York University. Nonetheless the journey toward his position teaching creative writing is neither quick nor easy. Fortunately, McCourt's openness to every variety of human emotion and longing remains exceptional. The magical prose, with its singing Irish cadences, brings grandeur and beauty to the most sorrowful events.Lese-Probe zu „Tis “
Chapter OneWhen the MS Irish Oak sailed from Cork in October 1949, we expected to be in New York City in a week. Instead, after two days at sea, we were told we were going to Montreal in Canada. I told the first officer all I had was forty dollars and would Irish Shipping pay my train fare from Montreal to New York. He said, No, the company wasn't responsible. He said freighters are the whores of the high seas, they'll do anything for anyone. You could say a freighter is like Murphy's oul' dog, he'll go part of the road with any wanderer.
Two days later Irish Shipping changed its mind and gave us the happy news, Sail for New York City, but two days after that the captain was told, Sail for Albany.
The first officer told me Albany was a city far up the Hudson River, capital of New York State. He said Albany had all the charm of Limerick, ha ha ha, a great place to die but not a place where you'd want to get married or rear children. He was from Dublin and knew I was from Limerick and when he sneered at Limerick I didn't know what to do. I'd like to destroy him with a smart remark but then I'd look at myself in the mirror, pimply face, sore eyes, and bad teeth and know I could never stand up to anyone, especially a first officer with a uniform and a promising future as master of his own ship. Then I'd say to myself, Why should I care what anyone says about Limerick anyway? All I had there was misery.
Then the peculiar thing would happen. I'd sit on a deck chair in the lovely October sun with the gorgeous blue Atlantic all around me and try to imagine what New York would be like. I'd try to see Fifth Avenue or Central Park or Greenwich Village where everyone looked like movie stars, powerful tans, gleaming white teeth. But Limerick would push me into the past. Instead of me sauntering up Fifth Avenue with the tan, the teeth, I'd be back in the lanes of Limerick, women standing at doors chatting away and pulling their shawls around their shoulders, children with
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faces dirty from bread and jam, playing and laughing and crying to their mothers. I'd see people at Mass on Sunday morning where a whisper would run through the church when someone with a hunger weakness would collapse in the pew and have to be carried outside by men from the back of the church who'd tell everyone, Stand back, stand back, for the lovea Jaysus, can't you see she's gasping for the air, and I wanted to be a man like that telling people stand back because that gave you the right to stay outside till the Mass was over and you could go off to the pub which is why you were standing in the back with all the other men in the first place. Men who didn't drink always knelt right up there by the altar to show how good they were and how they didn't care if the pubs stayed closed till Doomsday. They knew the responses to the Mass better than anyone and they'd be blessing themselves and standing and kneeling and sighing over their prayers as if they felt the pain of Our Lord more than the rest of the congregation. Some had given up the pint entirely and they were the worst, always preaching the evil of the pint and looking down on the ones still in the grip as if they were on the right track to heaven. They acted as if God Himself would turn His back on a man drinking the pint when everyone knew you'd rarely hear a priest up in the pulpit denounce the pint or the men who drank it. Men with the thirst stayed in the back ready to streak out the door the minute the priest said, Ite, missa est, Go, you are dismissed. They stayed in the back because their mouths were dry and they felt too humble to be up there with the sober ones. I stayed near the door so that I could hear the men whispering about the slow Mass. They went to Mass because it's a mortal sin if you don't though you'd wonder if it wasn't a worse sin to be joking to the man next to you that if this priest didn't hurry up you'd expire of the thirst on the spot. If Father White came out t
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Autoren-Porträt von Frank McCourt
McCourt, Frank Frank McCourt (1930-2009) was born in Brooklyn, New York, to Irish immigrant parents, grew up in Limerick, Ireland, and returned to America in 1949. For thirty years he taught in New York City high schools. His first book, Angela's Ashes, won the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Critics Circle Award, and the Los Angeles Times Book Award. In 2006, he won the prestigious Ellis Island Family Heritage Award for Exemplary Service in the Field of the Arts and the United Federation of Teachers John Dewey Award for Excellence in Education.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Frank McCourt
- 2000, 1st Ed., 480 Seiten, Maße: 10,6 x 17,2 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Pocket
- ISBN-10: 0743200985
- ISBN-13: 9780743200981
- Erscheinungsdatum: 04.04.2011
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Peter Collier Los Angeles Times Book Review 'Tis has those elements that made Angela's Ashes such a success -- the narrative brio, the fierce sympathy for human tie and torment, the intuitive feel for character and above all the love of language.
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