Dog Days & Frank McCourt: “Threaten Them with the Quakers!” | A Friendly Letter

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Angela's Ashes
Written by Frank McCourt and Kati Nicholl

Narrated by Frank McCourt

4/5 (133 ratings)
2 hours


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McCourt’s Pulitzer Prize winning look back at his childhood. “It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while…When I look back on my childhood, I wonder how I survived at all." Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag or whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years. So begins Frank McCourt’s stunning memoir of his childhood in Ireland and America, a recollection of unvarnished truth and no self pity, of grinding poverty and indomitable spirit that will live in the memory long after the tape has ended. Now a major film directed by Alan Parker and starring Robert Carlyle and Emily Watson.

Dog Days & Frank McCourt: “Threaten Them with the Quakers!” | A Friendly Letter



DOG DAYS & FRANK MCCOURT: “THREATEN THEM WITH THE QUAKERS!”
AUGUST 19, 2019 CHUCK FAGER LEAVE A COMMENT
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August 19 is Frank McCourt’s birthday. (Of course, it’s not August, but so what? )McCourt was the great memoirist best known for his book, Angela’s Ashes, which won just about every prize it could get, sold boatloads, and kicked off the rush to write memoirs, which I confess I have even joined in myself a couple of times.

I was reminded of the date by Garrison Keillor, in his Writer’s Almanac, which I get by email. But Garrison did not remind me of my favorite passage from McCourt’s masterwork; I found that myself some while ago, and have kept it handy for just such an occasion as this.

Without further ado, here it is, and I think my affection for it will be self-explanatory . . .


A door opens at the end of the hall and a man appears. Are any of ye waiting for children’s boots?
Women raise their hands, I am. I am.
Well, the boots are all gone. Ye’ll have to come back next month.
But my Mikey needs boots for school.
They’re all gone, I told you.
But ’tis freezin’ abroad, Mr. Quinlivan.
The boots are all gone. Nothing I can do. What’s this? Who’s smoking?
Nora waves her cigarette. I am, she says, and enjoying it down to the last ash.
Every puff you take, he starts.
I know, she says, I’m taking food out of the mouths of my children.
You’re insolent, woman. You’ll get no charity here.
Is that a fact? Well, Mr. Quinlivan, if I don’t get it here I know where I will.
What are you talking about?
I’ll go to the Quakers. They’ll give me the charity.
Mr. Quinlivan steps toward Nora and points a finger.
Do you know what we have here? We have a souper in our midst. We had the soupers in the Famine. The Protestants went round telling good Catholics that if they gave up their faith and turned Protestant they’d get more soup than their bellies could hold and, God help us, some Catholics took the soup, and were ever after known as soupers and lost their immortal souls doomed to the deepest part of hell. And you, woman, if you go to the Quakers you’ll lose your immortal soul and the souls of your children.

Then, Mr. Quinlivan, you’ll have to save us, won’t you?
He stares at her and she stares back at him. His eyes wander to the other women. One puts her hand to her mouth to smother a laugh.

What are you tittering about? he barks.

Oh, nothing, Mr. Quinlivan. Honest to God.

I’m telling ye once more, no boots. And he slams the door behind him.

One by one the women are called into the room. When Nora comes out she’s smiling and waving a piece of paper.
Boots, she says. Three pairs I’m gettin’ for my children. Threaten the men in there with the Quakers and they’ll give you the drawers off their arses.

===

A pedestrian footnote, to defend what Friends were quick to call the Reputation of Truth: Quakers did operate charity feeding and relief programs during the famine years in Ireland, and like others were often derided as “soupers” by Catholic authorities. But records also show that they never urged the hungry Catholic Irish to convert in order to get food or other help.

Even that standard authority, Wikipedia (which should win every prize around for free worldwide online encyclopedias, if there are any) testifies to this fact:


Souperism was a phenomenon of the Irish Potato Famine. Protestant Bible societies set up schools in which starving children were fed, on the condition of receiving Protestant religious instruction at the same time. Its practitioners were reviled by the Catholic families who had to choose between Protestantism and starvation. People who converted for food were known as soupers, a derogatory epithet that continued to be applied and featured in the press well into the 1870s. In the words of their peers, they “took the soup”.

However, souperism was rarely that simple, and not all non-Catholics made being subject to proselytisation a condition of food aid. Several Anglicans, including the Anglican Archbishop of Dublin, Richard Whately, decried the practice; many Anglicans set up soup kitchens that did no proselytising; and the Quakers, whose soup kitchens were concerned solely with charitable work, were never associated with the practice (which causes them to be held in high regard in Ireland even today, with many Irish remembering the Quakers with the remark “They fed us in the famine.”). [Emphasis added.]


Souperist practices, reported at the time, included serving meat soups on Fridays – which Catholics were forbidden by their faith from consuming, and by the fact that they could not afford meat in the first place.

Soupers were frequently ostracised by their own community, and were strongly denounced from the pulpit by the Catholic priesthood. On occasion, soupers had to be protected by British soldiers from other Catholics.

And if you’re looking for a laugh-til-ye-cry book for these fading days of summer, ye could do scarcely any better than to pick up one by Frank McCourt, god rest his impudent soul

.Frank McCourt, 2007

====

Angela's Ashes: A Memoir Paperback – Dolby, May 25, 1999

by Frank McCourt  (Author), Brooke Zimmer (Designer), John Fontana (Designer)4.5 out of 5 stars    878 ratings

Part of: The Frank McCourt Memoirs (3 books)

A Pulitzer Prize–winning, #1 New York Times bestseller, Angela’s Ashes is Frank McCourt’s masterful memoir of his childhood in Ireland.

“When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I managed to survive at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.”

So begins the luminous memoir of Frank McCourt, born in Depression-era Brooklyn to recent Irish immigrants and raised in the slums of Limerick, Ireland. Frank’s mother, Angela, has no money to feed the children since Frank’s father, Malachy, rarely works, and when he does he drinks his wages. Yet Malachy—exasperating, irresponsible, and beguiling—does nurture in Frank an appetite for the one thing he can provide: a story. Frank lives for his father’s tales of Cuchulain, who saved Ireland, and of the Angel on the Seventh Step, who brings his mother babies.

Perhaps it is story that accounts for Frank’s survival. Wearing rags for diapers, begging a pig’s head for Christmas dinner and gathering coal from the roadside to light a fire, Frank endures poverty, near-starvation and the casual cruelty of relatives and neighbors—yet lives to tell his tale with eloquence, exuberance, and remarkable forgiveness.

Angela’s Ashes, imbued on every page with Frank McCourt’s astounding humor and compassion, is a glorious book that bears all the marks of a classic.

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Editorial Reviews

Review

"Every once in a while, a lucky reader comes across a book that makes an indelible impression, a book you immediately want to share with everyone around you....Frank McCourt's life, and his searing telling of it, reveal all we need to know about being human." ― Linnea Lannon, Detroit Free Press

"A classic modern memoir...stunning." ― Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times

"A splendid memoir, both funny and forgiving." ― People

"A monument to the self-perpetuating power of the human spirit...an accomplished, authoritative, and shimmering example of the memoirist's art." ― Margaria Fichtner, The Miami Herald

"A spellbinding memoir of childhood that swerves flawlessly between aching sadness and desperate humor...a work of lasting beauty." ― Peter Finn, The Philadelphia Inquirer

"This memoir is an instant classic of the genre...good enough to be the capstone of a distinguished writing career; let's hope it's only the beginning of Frank McCourt's." ― Nina King, The Washington Post Book World

"Frank McCourt's lyrical Irish voice will draw comparisons to Joyce. It's that seductive, that hilarious." ― Mary Karr

"Angela's Ashes is a chronicle of grown-ups at the mercy of life and children at the mercy of grown-ups, and it is such a marriage of pathos and humor that you never know whether to weep or roar -- and find yourself doing both at once. Fear not: it ends happily; but all along, through each fresh horror of the narrative, you win be made happy by some of the most truly marvelous writing you will ever encounter. McCourt deserves whatever glittering prizes are lying around. Give the man a Prix de Rome, a Croix de Guerre, a Pulitzer, a Nobel, a Templeton -- and while you're at it pull him another Guinness!" ― Thomas Cahill

"Irish American Magazine Frank McCourt has examined his ferocious childhood, walked around it, relived it, and with skill and care and generosity of heart, has transformed it into a triumphant work of art. This book will be read when all of us are gone." ― Pete Hamill

"The power of this memoir is that it makes you believe the claim: that despite the rags and hunger and pain, love and strength do come out of misery -- as well as a page-turner of a book. And though the experience it tells of was individual, the point -- and the story -- is universal." ― Vanessa V. Friedman Entertainment Weekly

About the Author

Frank McCourt 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 L.A. 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.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother, Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister, Margaret, dead and gone.

When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.

People everywhere brag and whimper about the woes of their early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version: the poverty; the shiftless loquacious alcoholic father; the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire; pompous priests; bullying schoolmasters; the English and the terrible things they did to us for eight hundred long years.

Above all -- we were wet.

Out in the Atlantic Ocean great sheets of rain gathered to drift slowly up the River Shannon and settle forever in Limerick. The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year's Eve. It created a cacophony of hacking coughs, bronchial rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore; to ease the catarrh you boiled onions in milk blackened with pepper; for the congested passages you made a paste of boiled flour and nettles, wrapped it in a rag, and slapped it, sizzling, on the chest.

From October to April the walls of Limerick glistened with the damp. Clothes never dried: tweed and woolen coats housed living things, sometimes sprouted mysterious vegetations. In pubs, steam rose from damp bodies and garments to be inhaled with cigarette and pipe smoke laced with the stale fumes of spilled stout and whiskey and tinged with the odor of piss wafting in from the outdoor jakes where many a man puked up his week's wages.

The rain drove us into the church -- our refuge, our strength, our only dry place. At Mass, Benediction, novenas, we huddled in great damp clumps, dozing through priest drone, while steam rose again from our clothes to mingle with the sweetness of incense, flowers and candles.

Limerick gained a reputation for piety, but we knew it was only the rain.

My father, Malachy McCourt, was born on a farm in Toome, County Antrim. Like his father before, he grew up wild, in trouble with the English, or the Irish, or both. He fought with the Old IRA and for some desperate act he wound up a fugitive with a price on his head.

When I was a child I would look at my father, the thinning hair, the collapsing teeth, and wonder why anyone would give money for a head like that. When I was thirteen my father's mother told me a secret: as a wee lad your poor father was dropped on his head. It was an accident, he was never the same after, and you must remember that people dropped on their heads can be a bit peculiar.

Because of the price on the head he had been dropped on, he had to be spirited out of Ireland via cargo ship from Galway. In New York, with Prohibition in full swing, he thought he had died and gone to hell for his sins. Then he discovered speakeasies and he rejoiced.

After wandering and drinking in America and England he yearned for peace in his declining years. He returned to Belfast, which erupted all around him. He said, A pox on all their houses, and chatted with the ladies of Andersontown. They tempted him with delicacies but he waved them away and drank his tea. He no longer smoked or touched alcohol, so what was the use? It was time to go and he died in the Royal Victoria Hospital.

My mother, the former Angela Sheehan, grew up in a Limerick slum with her mother, two brothers, Thomas and Patrick, and a sister, Agnes. She never saw her father, who had run off to Australia weeks before her birth.

After a night of drinking porter in the pubs of Limerick he staggers down the lane singing his favorite song,

Who threw the overalls in Mrs. Murphy's chowder?

Nobody spoke so he said it all the louder

It's a dirty Irish trick and I can lick the Mick

Who threw the overalls in Murphy's chowder.

He's in great form altogether and he thinks he'll play a while with little Patrick, one year old. Lovely little fella. Loves his daddy. Laughs when Daddy throws him up in the air. Upsy daisy, little Paddy, upsy daisy, up in the air in the dark, so dark, oh, Jasus, you miss the child on the way down and poor little Patrick lands on his head, gurgles a bit, whimpers, goes quiet. Grandma heaves herself from the bed, heavy with the child in her belly, my mother. She's barely able to lift little Patrick from the floor. She moans a long moan over the child and turns on Grandpa. Get out of it. Out. If you stay here a minute longer I'll take the hatchet to you, you drunken lunatic. By Jesus, I'll swing at the end of a rope for you. Get out.

Grandpa stands his ground like a man. I have a right, he says, to stay in me own house.

She runs at him and he melts before this whirling dervish with a damaged child in her arms and a healthy one stirring inside. He stumbles from the house, up the lane, and doesn't stop till he reaches Melbourne in Australia.

Little Pat, my uncle, was never the same after. He grew up soft in the head with a left leg that went one way, his body the other. He never learned to read or write but God blessed him in another way. When he started to sell newspapers at the age of eight he could count money better than the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself. No one knew why he was called Ab Sheehan, The Abbot, but all Limerick loved him.

My mother's troubles began the night she was born. There is my grandmother in the bed heaving and gasping with the labor pains, praying to St. Gerard Majella, patron saint of expectant mothers. There is Nurse O'Halloran, the midwife, all dressed up in her finery. It's New Year's Eve and Mrs. O'Halloran is anxious for this child to be born so that she can rush off to the parties and celebrations. She tells my grandmother: Will you push, will you, push. Jesus, Mary and holy St. Joseph, if you don't hurry with this child it won't be born till the New Year and what good is that to me with me new dress? Never mind St. Gerard Majella. What can a man do for a woman at a time like this even if he is a saint? St. Gerard Majella my arse.

My grandmother switches her prayers to St. Ann, patron saint of difficult labor. But the child won't come. Nurse O'Halloran tells my grandmother, Pray to St. Jude, patron saint of desperate cases.

St. Jude, patron of desperate cases, help me. I'm desperate. She grunts and pushes and the infant's head appears, only the head, my mother, and it's the stroke of midnight, the New Year. Limerick City erupts with whistles, horns, sirens, brass bands, people calling and singing, Happy New Year. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and church bells all over ring out the Angelus and Nurse O'Halloran weeps for the waste of a dress, that child still in there and me in me finery. Will you come out, child, will you? Grandma gives a great push and the child is in the world, a lovely girl with black curly hair and sad blue eyes.

Ah, Lord above, says Nurse O'Halloran, this child is a time straddler, born with her head in the New Year and her arse in the Old or was it her head in the Old Year and her arse in the New. You'll have to write to the Pope, missus, to find out what year this child was born in and I'll save this dress for next year.

And the child was named Angela for the Angelus which rang the midnight hour, the New Year, the minute of her coming and because she was a little angel anyway.

Love her as in childhood

Though feeble, old and grey.

For you'll never miss a mother's love

Till she's buried beneath the clay.

At the St. Vincent de Paul School, Angela learned to read, write, and calculate and by her ninth year her schooling was done. She tried her hand at being a charwoman, a skivvy, a maid with a little white hat opening doors, but she could not manage the little curtsy that is required and her mother said, You don't have the knack of it. You're pure useless. Why don't you go to America where there's room for all sorts of uselessness? I'll give you the fare.

She arrived in New York just in time for the first Thanksgiving Day of the Great Depression. She met Malachy at a party given by Dan MacAdorey and his wife, Minnie, on Classon Avenue in Brooklyn. Malachy liked Angela and she liked him. He had a hangdog look, which came from the three months he had just spent in jail for hijacking a truck. He and his friend John McErlaine believed what they were told in the speakeasy, that the truck was packed to the roof with cases of canned pork and beans. Neither knew how to drive and when the police saw the truck lurch and jerk along Myrtle Avenue they pulled it over. The police searched the truck and wondered why anyone would hijack a truck containing, not pork and beans, but cases of buttons.

With Angela drawn to the hangdog look and Malachy lonely after three months in jail, there was bound to be a knee-trembler.

A knee-trembler is the act itself done up against a wall, man and woman up on their toes, straining so hard their knees tremble with the excitement that's in it.

That knee-trembler put Angela in an interesting condition and, of course, there was talk. Angela had cousins, the MacNamara sisters, Delia and Philomena, married, respectively, to Jimmy Fortune of County Mayo, and Tommy Flynn, of Brooklyn itself.

Delia and Philomena were large women, great-breasted and fierce. When they sailed along the sidewalks of Brooklyn lesser creatures stepped aside, respect was shown. The sisters knew what was right and they knew what was wrong and any doubts could be resolved by the One, Holy, Roman, Catholic and Apostolic Church. They knew that Angela, unmarried, had no right to be in an interesting condition and they would take steps.

Steps they took. With Jimmy and Tommy in tow they marched to the speakeasy on Atlantic Avenue where Malachy could be found on Friday, payday when he had a job. The man in the speak, Joey Cacciamani, did not want to admit the sisters but Philomena told him that if he wanted to keep the nose on his face and that door on its hinges he'd better open up for they were there on God's business. Joey said, Awright, awright, you Irish. Jeezoz! Trouble, trouble.

Malachy, at the far end of the bar, turned pale, gave the great-breasted ones a sickly smile, offered them a drink. They resisted the smile and spurned the offer. Delia said, We don't know what class of a tribe you come from in the North of Ireland.

Philomena said, There is a suspicion you might have Presbyterians in your family, which would explain what you did to our cousin.

Jimmy said, Ah, now, ah, now. 'Tisn't his fault if there's Presbyterians in his family.

Delia said, You shuddup.

Tommy had to join in. What you did to that poor unfortunate girl is a disgrace to the Irish race and you should be ashamed of yourself.

Och, I am, said Malachy. I am.

Nobody asked you to talk, said Philomena. You done enough damage with your blather, so shut your yap.

And while your yap is shut, said Delia, we're here to see you do the right thing by our poor cousin, Angela Sheehan.

Malachy said, Och, indeed, indeed. The right thing is the right thing and I'd be glad to buy you all a drink while we have this little talk.

Take the drink, said Tommy, and shove it up your ass.

Philomena said, Our little cousin no sooner gets off the boat than you are at her. We have morals in Limerick, you know, morals. We're not like jackrabbits from Antrim, a place crawling with Presbyterians.

Jimmy said, He don't look like a Presbyterian.

You shuddup, said Delia.

Another thing we noticed, said Philomena. You have a very odd manner.

Malachy smiled. I do?

You do, says Delia. I think 'tis one of the first things we noticed about you, that odd manner, and it gives us a very uneasy feeling.

'Tis that sneaky little Presbyterian smile, said Philomena.

Och, said Malachy, it's just the trouble I have with my teeth.

Teeth or no teeth, odd manner or no odd manner, you're gonna marry that girl, said Tommy. Up the middle aisle you're going.

Och, said Malachy, I wasn't planning to get married, you know. There's no work and I wouldn't be able to support...

Married is what you're going to be, said Delia.

Up the middle aisle, said Jimmy.

You shuddup, said Delia.

Malachy watched them leave. I'm in a desperate pickle, he told Joey Cacciamani.

Bet your ass, said Joey. I see them babes comin' at me I jump inna Hudson River.

Malachy considered the pickle he was in. He had a few dollars in his pocket from the last job and he had an uncle in San Francisco or one of the other California Sans. Wouldn't he be better off in California, far from the great-breasted MacNamara sisters and their grim husbands? He would, indeed, and he'd have a drop of the Irish to celebrate his decision and departure. Joey poured and the drink nearly took the lining off Malachy's gullet. Irish, indeed! He told Joey it was a Prohibition concoction from the devil's own still. Joey shrugged. I don't know nothing. I only pour. Still, it was better than nothing and Malachy would have another and one for yourself, Joey, and ask them two decent Italians what they'd like and what are you talking about, of course, I have the money to pay for it.

He awoke on a bench in the Long Island Railroad Station, a cop rapping on his boots with a nightstick, his escape money gone, the MacNamara sisters ready to eat him alive in Brooklyn.

On the feast of St. Joseph, a bitter day in March, four months after the knee-trembler, Malachy married Angela and in August the child was born. In November Malachy got drunk and decided it was time to register the child's birth. He thought he might name the child Malachy, after himself, but his North of Ireland accent and the alcoholic mumble confused the clerk so much he simply entered the name Male on the certificate.

Not until late December did they take Male to St. Paul's Church to be baptized and named Francis after his father's father and the lovely saint of Assisi. Angela wanted to give him a middle name, Munchin, after the patron saint of Limerick but Malachy said over his dead body. No son of his would have a Limerick name. It's hard enough going through life with one name. Sticking on middle names was an atrocious American habit and there was no need for a second name when you're christened after the man from Assisi.

There was a delay the day of the baptism when the chosen godfather, John McErlaine, got drunk at the speakeasy and forgot his responsibilities. Philomena told her husband, Tommy, he'd have to be godfather. Child's soul is in danger, she said. Tommy put his head down and grumbled. All right. I'll be godfather but I'm not goin' to be responsible if he grows up like his father causin' trouble and goin' through life with the odd manner for if he does he can go to John McErlaine at the speakeasy. The priest said, True for you, Tom, decent man that you are, fine man that never set foot inside a speakeasy. Malachy, fresh from the speakeasy himself, felt insulted and wanted to argue with the priest, one sacrilege on top of another. Take off that collar and we'll see who's the man. He had to be held back by the great-breasted ones and their husbands grim. Angela, new mother, agitated, forgot she was holding the child and let him slip into the baptismal font, a total immersion of the Protestant type. The altar boy assisting the priest plucked the infant from the font and restored him to Angela, who sobbed and clutched him, dripping, to her bosom. The priest laughed, said he had never seen the likes, that the child was a regular little Baptist now and hardly needed a priest. This maddened Malachy again and he wanted to jump at the priest for calling the child some class of a Protestant. The priest said, Quiet, man, you're in God's house, and when Malachy said, God's house, my arse, he was thrown out on Court Street because you can't say arse in God's house.

After baptism Philomena said she had tea and ham and cakes in her house around the corner. Malachy said, Tea? and she said, Yes, tea, or is it whiskey you want? He said tea was grand but first he'd have to go and deal with John McErlaine, who didn't have the decency to carry out his duties as godfather. Angela said, You're only looking for an excuse to run to the speakeasy, and he said, As God is my witness, the drink is the last thing on my mind. Angela started to cry. Your son's christening day and you have to go drinking. Delia told him he was a disgusting specimen but what could you expect from the North of Ireland.

Malachy looked from one to the other, shifted on his feet, pulled his cap down over his eyes, shoved his hands deep in his trouser pockets, said, Och, aye, the way they do in the far reaches of County Antrim, turned, hurried up Court Street to the speakeasy on Atlantic Avenue where he was sure they'd ply him with free drink in honor of his son's baptism.

At Philomena's house the sisters and their husbands ate and drank while Angela sat in a corner nursing the baby and crying. Philomena stuffed her mouth with bread and ham and rumbled at Angela, That's what you get for being such a fool. Hardly off the boat and you fall for that lunatic. You shoulda stayed single, put the child up for adoption, and you'd be a free woman today. Angela cried harder and Delia took up the attack, Oh, stop it, Angela, stop it. You have nobody to blame but yourself for gettin' into trouble with a drunkard from the North, a man that doesn't even look like a Catholic, him with his odd manner. I'd say that...that...Malachy has a streak of the Presbyterian in him right enough. You shuddup, Jimmy.

If I was you, said Philomena, I'd make sure there's no more children. He don't have a job, so he don't, an' never will the way he drinks. So...no more children, Angela. Are you listenin' to me?

I am, Philomena.

A year later another child was born. Angela called him Malachy after his father and gave him a middle name, Gerard, after his father's brother.

The MacNamara sisters said Angela was nothing but a rabbit and they wanted nothing to do with her till she came to her senses.

Their husbands agreed.

I'm in a playground on Classon Avenue in Brooklyn with my brother, Malachy. He's two, I'm three. We're on the seesaw.

Up, down, up, down.

Malachy goes up.

I get off.

Malachy goes down. Seesaw hits the ground. He screams. His hand is on his mouth and there's blood.

Oh, God. Blood is bad. My mother will kill me.

And here she is, trying to run across the playground. Her big belly slows her.

She says, What did you do? What did you do to the child?

I don't know what to say. I don't know what I did.

She pulls my ear. Go home. Go to bed.

Bed? In the middle of the day?

She pushes me toward the playground gate. Go.

She picks up Malachy and waddles off.

My father's friend, Mr. MacAdorey, is outside our building. He's standing at the edge of the sidewalk with his wife, Minnie, looking at a dog lying in the gutter. There is blood all around the dog's head. It's the color of the blood from Malachy's mouth.

Malachy has dog blood and the dog has Malachy blood.

I pull Mr. MacAdorey's hand. I tell him Malachy has blood like the dog.

Oh, he does, indeed, Francis. Cats have it, too. And Eskimos. All the same blood.

Minnie says, Stop that, Dan. Stop confusing the wee fellow. She tells me the poor wee dog was hit by a car and he crawled all the way from the middle of the street before he died. Wanted to come home, the poor wee creature.

Mr. MacAdorey says, You'd better go home, Francis. I don't know what you did to your wee brother, but your mother took him off to the hospital. Go home, child.

Will Malachy die like the dog, Mr. MacAdorey?

Minnie says, He bit his tongue. He won't die.

Why did the dog die?

It was his time, Francis.

The apartment is empty and I wander between the two rooms, the bedroom and the kitchen. My father is out looking for a job and my mother is at the hospital with Malachy. I wish I had something to eat but there's nothing in the icebox but cabbage leaves floating in the melted ice. My father said never eat anything floating in water for the rot that might be in it. I fall asleep on my parents' bed and when my mother shakes me it's nearly dark. Your little brother is going to sleep a while. Nearly bit his tongue off. Stitches galore. Go into the other room.

My father is in the kitchen sipping black tea from his big white enamel mug. He lifts me to his lap.

Dad, will you tell me the story about Coo Coo?

Cuchulain. Say it after me, Coo-hoo-lin. I'll tell you the story when you say the name right. Coo-hoo-lin.

I say it right and he tells me the story of Cuchulain, who had a different name when he was a boy, Setanta. He grew up in Ireland where Dad lived when he was a boy in County Antrim. Setanta had a stick and ball and one day he hit the ball and it went into the mouth of a big dog that belonged to Culain and choked him. Oh, Culain was angry and he said, What am I to do now without my big dog to guard my house and my wife and my ten small children as well as numerous pigs, hens, sheep?

Setanta said, I'm sorry. I'll guard your house with my stick and ball and I'll change my name to Cuchulain, the Hound of Culain. He did. He guarded the house and regions beyond and became a great hero, the Hound of Ulster itself. Dad said he was a greater hero than Hercules or Achilles that the Greeks were always bragging about and he could take on King Arthur and all his knights in a fair fight which, of course, you could never get with an Englishman anyway.

That's my story. Dad can't tell that story to Malachy or any other children down the hall.

He finishes the story and lets me sip his tea. It's bitter, but I'm happy there on his lap.

For days Malachy's tongue is swollen and he can hardly make a sound never mind talk. But even if he could no one is paying any attention to him because we have two new babies who were brought by an angel in the middle of the night. The neighbors say, Ooh, Ah, they're lovely boys, look at those big eyes.

Malachy stands in the middle of the room, looking up at everyone, pointing to his tongue and saying, Uck, uck. When the neighbors say, Can't you see we're looking at your little brothers? he cries, till Dad pats him on the head. Put in your tongue, son, and go out and play with Frankie. Go on.

In the playground I tell Malachy about the dog who died in the street because someone drove a ball into his mouth. Malachy shakes his head. No uck ball. Car uck kill dog. He cries because his tongue hurts and he can hardly talk and it's terrible when you can't talk. He won't let me push him on the swing. He says, You uck kill me uck on seesaw. He gets Freddie Leibowitz to push him and he's happy, laughing when he swings to the sky. Freddie is big, he's seven, and I ask him to push me. He says, No, you tried to kill your brother.

I try to get the swing going myself but all I can do is move it back and forth and I'm angry because Freddie and Malachy are laughing at the way I can't swing. They're great pals now, Freddie, seven, Malachy, two. They laugh every day and Malachy's tongue gets better with all the laughing.

When he laughs you can see how white and small and pretty his teeth are and you can see his eyes shine. He has blue eyes like my mother. He has golden hair and pink cheeks. I have brown eyes like Dad. I have black hair and my cheeks are white in the mirror. My mother tells Mrs. Leibowitz down the hall that Malachy is the happiest child in the world. She tells Mrs. Leibowitz down the hall, Frankie has the odd manner like his father. I wonder what the odd manner is but I can't ask because I'm not supposed to be listening.

I wish I could swing up into the sky, up into the clouds. I might be able to fly around the whole world and not hear my brothers, Oliver and Eugene, cry in the middle of the night anymore. My mother says they're always hungry. She cries in the middle of the night, too. She says she's worn out nursing and feeding and changing and four boys is too much for her. She wishes she had one little girl all for herself. She'd give anything for one little girl.

I'm in the playground with Malachy. I'm four, he's three. He lets me push him on the swing because he's no good at swinging himself and Freddie Leibowitz is in school. We have to stay in the playground because the twins are sleeping and my mother says she's worn out. Go out and play, she says, and give me some rest. Dad is out looking for a job again and sometimes he comes home with the smell of whiskey, singing all the songs about suffering Ireland. Mam gets angry and says Ireland can kiss her arse. He says that's nice language to be using in front of the children and she says never mind the language, food on the table is what she wants, not suffering Ireland. She says it was a sad day Prohibition ended because Dad gets the drink going around to saloons offering to sweep out the bars and lift barrels for a whiskey or a beer. Sometimes he brings home bits of the free lunch, rye bread, corned beef, pickles. He puts the food on the table and drinks tea himself. He says food is a shock to the system and he doesn't know where we get our appetites. Mam says, They get their appetites because they're starving half the time.

When Dad gets a job Mam is cheerful and she sings,

Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss,

It had to be and the reason is this

Could it be true, someone like you

Could love me, love me?

When Dad brings home the first week's wages Mam is delighted she can pay the lovely Italian man in the grocery shop and she can hold her head up again because there's nothing worse in the world than to owe and be beholden to anyone. She cleans the kitchen, washes the mugs and plates, brushes crumbs and bits of food from the table, cleans out the icebox and orders a fresh block of ice from another Italian. She buys toilet paper that we can take down the hall to the lavatory and that, she says, is better than having the headlines from the Daily News blackening your arse. She boils water on the stove and spends a day at a great tin tub washing our shirts and socks, diapers for the twins, our two sheets, our three towels. She hangs everything out on the clotheslines behind the apartment house and we can watch the clothes dance in wind and sun. She says you wouldn't want the neighbors to know what you have in the way of a wash but there's nothing like the sweetness of clothes dried by the sun.

When Dad brings home the first week's wages on a Friday night we know the weekend will be wonderful. On Saturday night Mam will boil water on the stove and wash us in the great tin tub and Dad will dry us. Malachy will turn around and show his behind. Dad will pretend to be shocked and we'll all laugh. Mam will make hot cocoa and we'll be able to stay up while Dad tells us a story out of his head. All we have to do is say a name, Mr. MacAdorey or Mr. Leibowitz down the hall, and Dad will have the two of them rowing up a river in Brazil chased by Indians with green noses and puce shoulders. On nights like that we can drift off to sleep knowing there will be a breakfast of eggs, fried tomatoes and fried bread, tea with lashings of sugar and milk and, later in the day, a big dinner of mashed potatoes, peas and ham, and a trifle Mam makes, layers of fruit and warm delicious custard on a cake soaked in sherry.

When Dad brings home the first week's wages and the weather is fine Mam takes us to the playground. She sits on a bench and talks to Minnie MacAdorey. She tells Minnie stories about characters in Limerick and Minnie tells her about characters in Belfast and they laugh because there are funny people in Ireland, North and South. Then they teach each other sad songs and Malachy and I leave the swings and seesaws to sit with them on the bench and sing,

A group of young soldiers one night in a camp

Were talking of sweethearts they had.

All seemed so merry except one young lad,

And he was downhearted and sad.

Come and join us, said one of the boys,

Surely there's someone for you.

But Ned shook his head and proudly he said

I am in love with two, Each like a mother to me,

From neither of them shall I part.

For one is my mother, God bless her and love her,

The other is my sweetheart.

Malachy and I sing that song and Mam and Minnie laugh till they cry at the way Malachy takes a deep bow and holds his arms out to Mam at the end. Dan MacAdorey comes along on his way home from work and says Rudy Vallee better start worrying about the competition.

When we go home Mam makes tea and bread and jam or mashed potatoes with butter and salt. Dad drinks the tea and eats nothing. Mam says, God above, How can you work all day and not eat? He says, The tea is enough. She says, You'll ruin your health, and he tells her again that food is a shock to the system. He drinks his tea and tells us stories and shows us letters and words in the Daily News or he smokes a cigarette, stares at the wall, runs his tongue over his lips.

When Dad's job goes into the third week he does not bring home the wages. On Friday night we wait for him and Mam gives us bread and tea. The darkness comes down and the lights come on along Classon Avenue. Other men with jobs are home already and having eggs for dinner because you can't have meat on a Friday. You can hear the families talking upstairs and downstairs and down the hall and Bing Crosby is singing on the radio, Brother, can you spare a dime?

Malachy and I play with the twins. We know Mam won't sing Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss. She sits at the kitchen table talking to herself What am I going to do? till it's late and Dad rolls up the stairs singing Roddy McCorley. He pushes in the door and calls for us, Where are my troops? Where are my four warriors?

Mam says, Leave those boys alone. They're gone to bed half hungry because you have to fill your belly with whiskey.

He comes to the bedroom door. Up, boys, up. A nickel for everyone who promises to die for Ireland.

Deep in Canadian woods we met

From one bright island flown.

Great is the land we tread, but yet

Our hearts are with our own.

Up, boys, up. Francis, Malachy, Oliver, Eugene. The Red Branch Knights, the Fenian Men, the IRA. Up, up.

Mam is at the kitchen table, shaking, her hair hanging damp, her face wet. Can't you leave them alone? she says. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, isn't it enough that you come home without a penny in your pocket without making fools of the children on top of it?

She comes to us. Go back to bed, she says.

I want them up, he says. I want them ready for the day Ireland will be free from the center to the sea.

Don't cross me, she says, for if you do it'll be a sorry day in your mother's house.

He pulls his cap down over his face and cries, My poor mother. Poor Ireland. Och, what are we going to do?

Mam says, You're pure stone mad, and she tells us again to go to bed.

On the morning of the fourth Friday of Dad's job Mam asks him if he'll be home tonight with his wages or will he drink everything again? He looks at us and shakes his head at Mam as if to say, Och, you shouldn't talk like that in front of the children.

Mam keeps at him. I'm asking you, Are you coming home so that we can have a bit of supper or will it be midnight with no money in your pocket and you singing Kevin Barry and the rest of the sad songs?

He puts on his cap, shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, sighs and looks up at the ceiling. I told you before I'll be home, he says.

Later in the day Mam dresses us. She puts the twins into the pram and off we go through the long streets of Brooklyn. Sometimes she lets Malachy sit in the pram when he's tired of trotting along beside her. She tells me I'm too big for the pram. I could tell her I have pains in my legs from trying to keep up with her but she's not singing and I know this is not the day to be talking about my pains.

We come to a big gate where there's a man standing in a box with windows all around. Mam talks to the man. She wants to know if she can go inside to where the men are paid and maybe they'd give her some of Dad's wages so he wouldn't spend it in the bars. The man shakes his head. I'm sorry, lady, but if we did that we'd have half the wives in Brooklyn storming the place. Lotta men have the drinking problem but there's nothing we can do long as they show up sober and do their work.

We wait across the street. Mam lets me sit on the sidewalk with my back against the wall. She gives the twins their bottles of water and sugar but Malachy and I have to wait till she gets money from Dad and we can go to the Italian for tea and bread and eggs.

When the whistle blows at half five men in caps and overalls swarm through the gate, their faces and hands black from the work. Mam tells us watch carefully for Dad because she can hardly see across the street herself, her eyes are that bad. There are dozens of men, then a few, then none. Mam is crying, Why couldn't ye see him? Are ye blind or what?

She goes back to the man in the box. Are you sure there wouldn't be one man left inside?

No, lady, he says. They're out. I don't know how he got past you.

We go back through the long streets of Brooklyn. The twins hold up their bottles and cry for more water and sugar. Malachy says he's hungry and Mam tells him wait a little, we'll get money from Dad and we'll all have a nice supper. We'll go to the Italian and get eggs and make toast with the flames on the stove and we'll have jam on it. Oh, we will, and we'll all be nice and warm.

It's dark on Atlantic Avenue and all the bars around the Long Island Railroad Station are bright and noisy. We go from bar to bar looking for Dad. Mam leaves us outside with the pram while she goes in or she sends me. There are crowds of noisy men and stale smells that remind me of Dad when he comes home with the smell of the whiskey on him.

The man behind the bar says, Yeah, sonny, whaddya want? You're not supposeta be in here, y'know.

I'm looking for my father. Is my father here?

Naw, sonny, how'd I know dat? Who's your fawdah?

His name is Malachy and he sings Kevin Barry.

Malarkey?

No, Malachy.

Malachy? And he sings Kevin Barry?

He calls out to the men in the bar, Youse guys, youse know guy Malachy what sings Kevin Barry?

Men shake their heads. One says he knew a guy Michael sang Kevin Barry but he died of the drink which he had because of his war wounds.

The barman says, Jeez, Pete, I didn't ax ya to tell me history o' da woild, did I? Naw, kid. We don't let people sing in here. Causes trouble. Specially the Irish. Let 'em sing, next the fists are flying. Besides, I never hoid a name like dat Malachy. Naw, kid, no Malachy here.

The man called Pete holds his glass toward me. Here, kid, have a sip, but the barman says, Whaddya doin', Pete? Tryina get the kid drunk? Do that again, Pete, an' I'll come out an' break y'ass.

Mam tries all the bars around the station before she gives up. She leans against a wall and cries. Jesus, we still have to walk all the way to Classon Avenue and I have four starving children. She sends me back into the bar where Pete offered me the sip to see if the barman would fill the twins' bottles with water and maybe a little sugar in each. The men in the bar think it's very funny that the barman should be filling baby bottles but he's big and he tells them shut their lip. He tells me babies should be drinking milk not water and when I tell him Mam doesn't have the money he empties the baby bottles and fills them with milk. He says, Tell ya mom they need that for the teeth an' bones. Ya drink water an' sugar an' all ya get is rickets. Tell ya Mom.

Mam is happy with the milk. She says she knows all about teeth and bones and rickets but beggars can't be choosers.

When we reach Classon Avenue she goes straight to the Italian grocery shop. She tells the man her husband is late tonight, that he's probably working overtime, and would it be at all possible to get a few things and she'll be sure to see him tomorrow?

The Italian says, Missus, you always pay your bill sooner or later and you can have anything you like in this store.

Oh, she says, I don't want much.

Anything you like, missus, because I know you're an honest woman and you got a bunch o' nice kids there.

We have eggs and toast and jam though we're so weary walking the long streets of Brooklyn we can barely move our jaws to chew. The twins fall asleep after eating and Mam lays them on the bed to change their diapers. She sends me down the hall to rinse the dirty diapers in the lavatory so that they can be hung up to dry and used the next day. Malachy helps her wash the twins' bottoms though he's ready to fall asleep himself.

I crawl into bed with Malachy and the twins. I look out at Mam at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, drinking tea, and crying. I want to get up and tell her I'll be a man soon and I'll get a job in the place with the big gate and I'll come home every Friday night with money for eggs and toast and jam and she can sing again Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss.

The next week Dad loses the job. He comes home that Friday night, throws his wages on the table and says to Mam, Are you happy now? You hang around the gate complaining and accusing and they sack me. They were looking for an excuse and you gave it to them.

He takes a few dollars from his wages and goes out. He comes home late roaring and singing. The twins cry and Mam shushes them and cries a long time herself.

We spend hours in the playground when the twins are sleeping, when Mam is tired, and when Dad comes home with the whiskey smell on him, roaring about Kevin Barry getting hanged on a Monday morning or the Roddy McCorley song,

Up the narrow street he stepped

Smiling and proud and young

About the hemp-rope on his neck

The golden ringlets clung,

There's never a tear in the blue eyes

Both glad and bright are they,

As Roddy McCorley goes to die

On the bridge of Toome today.

When he sings he marches around the table, Mam cries and the twins howl with her. She says, Go out, Frankie, go out, Malachy. You shouldn't see your father like this. Stay in the playground.

We don't mind going to the playground. We can play with the leaves piling up on the ground and we can push each other on the swings but then winter comes to Classon Avenue and the swings are frozen and won't even move. Minnie MacAdorey says, God help these poor wee boys. They don't have a glove between them. That makes me laugh because I know Malachy and I have four hands between us and one glove would be silly. Malachy doesn't know what I'm laughing at: He won't know anything till he's four going on five.

Minnie brings us in and gives us tea and porridge with jam in it. Mr. MacAdorey sits in an armchair with their new baby, Maisie. He holds her bottle and sings,

Clap hands, clap hands,

Till Daddy comes home,

With buns in his pocket

For Maisie alone.

Clap hands, clap hands,

Till Daddy comes home,

For Daddy has money

And Mammy has none.

Malachy tries to sing that song but I tell him stop, it's Maisie's song. He starts to cry and Minnie says, There, there. You can sing the song. That's a song for all the children. Mr. MacAdorey smiles at Malachy and I wonder what kind of world is it where anyone can sing anyone else's song.

Minnie says, Don't frown, Frankie. It makes your face dark and God knows it's dark enough. Some day you'll have a little sister and you can sing that song to her. Och, aye. You'll have a little sister, surely.

Minnie is right and Mam gets her wish. There's a new baby soon, a little girl, and they call her Margaret. We all love Margaret. She has black curly hair and blue eyes like Mam and she waves her little hands and chirps like any little bird in the trees along Classon Avenue. Minnie says there was a holiday in heaven the day this child was made. Mrs. Leibowitz says the world never saw such eyes, such a smile, such happiness. She makes me dance, says Mrs. Leibowitz.

When Dad comes home from looking for a job he holds Margaret and sings to her:

In a shady nook one moonlit night

A leprechaun I spied.

With scarlet cap and coat of green

A cruiskeen by his side.

'Twas tick tock tick his hammer went

Upon a tiny shoe.

Oh, I laugh to think he was caught at last,

But the fairy was laughing, too.

He walks around the kitchen with her and talks to her. He tells her how lovely she is with her curly black hair and the blue eyes of her mother. He tells her he'll take her to Ireland and they'll walk the Glens of Antrim and swim in Lough Neagh. He'll get a job soon, so he will, and she'll have dresses of silk and shoes with silver buckles.

The more Dad sings to Margaret the less she cries and as the days pass she even begins to laugh. Mam says, Look at him trying to dance with that child in his arms, him with his two left feet. She laughs and we all laugh.

The twins cried when they were small and Dad and Mam would say Whisht and Hush and feed them and they'd go back to sleep. But when Margaret cries there's a high lonely feeling in the air and Dad is out of bed in a second, holding her to him, doing a slow dance around the table, singing to her, making sounds like a mother. When he passes the window where the streetlight shines in you can see tears on his cheeks and that's strange because he never cries for anyone unless he has the drink taken and he sings the Kevin Barry song and the Roddy McCorley song. Now he cries over Margaret and he has no smell of drink on him.

Mam tells Minnie MacAdorey, He's in heaven over that child. He hasn't touched a drop since she was born. I should've had a little girl a long time ago.

Och, they're lovely, aren't they? says Minnie. The little boys are grand, too, but you need a little girl for yourself.

My mother laughs, For myself? Lord above, if I didn't nurse her I wouldn't be able to get near her the way he wants to be holding her day and night.

Minnie says it's lovely, all the same, to see a man so charmed with his little girl for isn't everyone charmed with her?

Everyone.

The twins are able to stand and walk and they have accidents all the time. Their bottoms are sore because they're always wet and shitty. They put dirty things in their mouths, bits of paper, feathers, shoelaces, and they get sick. Mam says we're all driving her crazy. She dresses the twins, puts them in the pram, and Malachy and I take them to the playground. The cold weather is gone and the trees have green leaves up and down Classon Avenue.

We race the pram around the playground and the twins laugh and make goo-goo sounds till they get hungry and start to cry. There are two bottles in the pram filled with water and sugar and that keeps them quiet for awhile till they're hungry again and they cry so hard I don't know what to do because they're so small and I wish I could give them all kinds of food so that they'd laugh and make the baby sounds. They love the mushy food Mam makes in a pot, bread mashed up in milk and water and sugar. Mam calls it bread and goody.

If I take the twins home now Mam will yell at me for giving her no rest or for waking Margaret. We are to stay in the playground till she sticks her head out the window and calls for us. I make funny faces for the twins to stop their crying. I put a piece of paper on my head and let it fall and they laugh and laugh. I push the pram over to Malachy playing on the swings with Freddie Leibowitz. Malachy is trying to tell Freddie all about the way Setanta became Cuchulain. I tell him stop telling that story, it's my story. He won't stop. I push him and he cries, Waah, waah, I'll tell Mam. Freddie pushes me and everything turns dark in my head and I run at him with fists and knees and feet till he yells, Hey, stop, stop, and I won't because I can't, I don't know how, and if I stop Malachy will go on taking my story from me. Freddie pushes me away and runs off, yelling, Frankie tried to kill me. Frankie tried to kill me. I don't know what to do because I never tried to kill anyone before and now Malachy, on the swing, cries, Don't kill me, Frankie, and he looks so helpless I put my arms around him and help him off the swing. He hugs me. I won't tell your story anymore. I won't tell Freddie about Coo, Coo. I want to laugh but I can't because the twins are crying in the pram and it's dark in the playground and what's the use of trying to make funny faces and letting things fall off your head when they can't see you in the dark?

The Italian grocery shop is across the street and I see bananas, apples, oranges. I know the twins can eat bananas. Malachy loves bananas and I like them myself. But you need money, Italians are not known for giving away bananas especially to the McCourts who owe them money already for groceries.

My mother tells me all the time, Never, never leave that playground except to come home. But what am I to do with the twins bawling with the hunger in the pram? I tell Malachy I'll be back in a minute. I make sure no one is looking, grab a bunch of bananas outside the Italian grocery shop and run down Myrtle Avenue, away from the playground, around the block and back to the other end where there's a hole in the fence. We push the pram to a dark corner and peel the bananas for the twins. There are five bananas in the bunch and we feast on them in the dark corner. The twins slobber and chew and spread banana over their faces, their hair, their clothes. I realize then that questions will be asked. Mam will want to know why the twins are smothered in bananas, where did you get them? I can't tell her about the Italian shop on the corner. I will have to say, A man.

That's what I'll say. A man.

Then the strange thing happens. There's a man at the gate of the playground. He's calling me. Oh, God, it's the Italian. Hey, sonny, come 'ere. Hey, talkin' to ya. Come 'ere.

I go to him.

You the kid wid the little bruddas, right? Twins?

Yes, sir.

Heah. Gotta bag o' fruit. I don' give it to you I trow id out. Right? So, heah, take the bag. Ya got apples, oranges, bananas. Ya like bananas, right? I think ya like bananas, eh? Ha, ha. I know ya like the bananas. Heah, take the bag. Ya gotta nice mother there. Ya father? Well, ya know, he's got the problem, the Irish thing. Give them twins a banana. Shud 'em up. I hear 'em all the way cross the street.

Thank you, sir.

Jeez. Polite kid, eh? Where ja loin dat?

My father told me to say thanks, sir.

Your father? Oh, well.

Dad sits at the table reading the paper. He says that President Roosevelt is a good man and everyone in America will soon have a job. Mam is on the other side of the table feeding Margaret with a bottle. She has the hard look that frightens me.

Where did you get that fruit?

The man.

What man?

The Italian man gave it to me.

Did you steal that fruit?

Malachy says, The man. The man gave Frankie the bag.

And what did you do to Freddie Leibowitz? His mother was here. Lovely woman. I don't know what we'd do without her and Minnie MacAdorey. And you had to attack poor Freddie.

Malachy jumps up and down. He din't. He din't. Din't try to kill Freddie. Din't try to kill me.

Dad says, Whisht, Malachy, whisht. Come over here. And he takes Malachy on his lap.

My mother says, Go down the hall and tell Freddie you're sorry.

But Dad says, Do you want to tell Freddie you're sorry?

I don't.

My parents look at one another. Dad says, Freddie is a good boy. He was only pushing your little brother on the swing. Isn't that right?

He was trying to steal my Cuchulain story.

Och, now. Freddie doesn't care about the Cuchulain story. He has his own story. Hundreds of stories. He's Jewish.

What's Jewish?

Dad laughs. Jewish is, Jewish is people with their own stories. They don't need Cuchulain. They have Moses. They have Samson.

What's Samson?

If you go down and talk to Freddie I'll tell you about Samson later. You can tell Freddie you're sorry and you'll never do it again and you can even ask him about Samson. Anything you like as long as you talk to Freddie. Will you?

The baby gives a little cry in my mother's arms and Dad jumps up, dropping Malachy to the floor. Is she all right? My mother says, Of course she's all right. She's feeding. God above, you're a bundle of nerves.

They're talking about Margaret now and I'm forgotten. I don't care. I'm going down the hall to ask Freddie about Samson, to see if Samson is as good as Cuchulain, to see if Freddie has his own story or if he still wants to steal Cuchulain. Malachy wants to go with me now that my father is standing and doesn't have a lap anymore.

Mrs. Leibowitz says, Oh, Frankie, Frankie, come in, come in. And little Malachy. And tell me, Frankie, what did you do to Freddie? Tried to kill him? Freddie is a good boy, Frankie. Reads his book. Listens to radio with his papa. He swinks you brother on swink. And you try to kill him. Oh, Frankie, Frankie. And you poor mother and her sick baby.

She's not sick, Mrs. Leibowitz.

Sick she is. Zat is one sick baby. I know from sick babies. I work in hoztipal. Don't tell me, Frankie. Come in, come in. Freddie, Freddie, Frankie is here. Come out. Frankie won't kill you no more. You and little Malachy. Nice Chewish name, have piece cake, eh? Why they give you a Chewish name, eh? So, glass milk, piece cake. You boys so thin, Irish don't eat.

We sit at the table with Freddie, eating cake, drinking milk. Mr. Leibowitz sits in an armchair reading the paper, listening to the radio. Sometimes he speaks to Mrs. Leibowitz and I don't understand because strange sounds come from his mouth. Freddie understands. When Mr. Leibowitz makes the strange sounds Freddie gets up and takes him a piece of cake. Mr. Leibowitz smiles at Freddie and pats his head and Freddie smiles back and makes the strange sounds.

Mrs. Leibowitz shakes her head at Malachy and me. Oy, so thin. She says Oy so much Malachy laughs and says Oy and the Leibowitzes laugh and Mr. Leibowitz says words we can understand, When Irish oyes are smiling. Mrs. Leibowitz laughs so hard her body shakes and she holds her stomach and Malachy says Oy again because he knows that makes everyone laugh. I say Oy but no one laughs and I know Oy belongs to Malachy the way Cuchulain belongs to me and Malachy can have his Oy.

Mrs. Leibowitz, my father said Freddie has a favorite story.

Malachy says, Sam, Sam, Oy. Everyone laughs again but I don't because I can't remember what comes after Sam. Freddie mumbles through his cake, Samson, and Mrs. Leibowitz tells him, Don't talk wiz you mouse full, and I laugh because she's grown-up and she says mouse instead of mouth. Malachy laughs because I laugh and the Leibowitzes look at each other and smile. Freddie says, Not Samson. My favorite story is David and the giant, Goliath. David killed him dead with a slingshot, a stone in his head. His brains was on the ground.

Were on the ground, says Mr. Leibowitz.

Yes, Papa.

Papa. That's what Freddie calls his father and Dad is what I call my father.

My mother's whisper wakes me. What's up with the child? It's still early and there isn't much morning in the room but you can see Dad over by the window with Margaret in his arms. He's rocking her and sighing, Och.

Mam says, Is she, is she sick?

Och, she's very quiet and she's a wee bit cold.

My mother is out of the bed, taking the child. Go for the doctor. Go for God's sake, and my father is pulling on his trousers over his shirt, no jacket, shoes, no socks on this bitter day.

We wait in the room, the twins asleep at the bottom of the bed, Malachy stirring beside me. Frankie, I want a drink of water. Mam rocks in her bed with the baby in her arms. Oh, Margaret, Margaret, my own little love. Open your lovely blue eyes, my little leanv.

I fill a cup of water for Malachy and me and my mother wails, Water for you and your brother. Oh, indeed, Water, is it? And nothing for your sister. Your poor little sister. Did you ask if she had a mouth in her head? Did you ask if she'd like a drop of water? Oh, no. Go on and drink your water, you and your brother, as if nothing happened. A regular day for the two of you, isn't it? And the twins sleeping away as if they didn't have a care and their poor little sister sick here in my arms. Sick in my arms. Oh, sweet Jesus in heaven.

Why is she talking like this? She's not talking like my mother today. I want my father. Where is my father?

I get back into bed and start to cry. Malachy says, Why you cry? Why you cry? till Mam is at me again. Your sister is sick in my arms and you're there whining and whinging. If I go over to that bed I'll give you something to whinge about.

Dad is back with the doctor. Dad has the whiskey smell. The doctor examines the baby, prods her, raises her eyelids, feels her neck, arms, legs. He straightens up and shakes his head. She's gone. Mam reaches for the baby, hugs her, turns to the wall. The doctor wants to know, Was there any kind of accident? Did anyone drop the baby? Did the boys play too hard with her? Anything?

My father shakes his head. Doctor says he'll have to take her to examine her and Dad signs a paper. My mother begs for another few minutes with her baby but the doctor says he doesn't have all day. When Dad reaches for Margaret my mother pulls away against the wall. She has the wild look, her black curly hair is damp on her forehead and there is sweat all over her face, her eyes are wide open and her face is shiny with tears, she keeps shaking her head and moaning, Ah, no, ah, no, till Dad eases the baby from her arms. The doctor wraps Margaret completely in a blanket and my mother cries, Oh, Jesus, you'll smother her. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help me. The doctor leaves. My mother turns to the wall and doesn't make a move or sound. The twins are awake, crying with the hunger, but Dad stands in the middle of the room, staring at the ceiling. His face is white and he beats on his thighs with his fists. He comes to the bed, puts his hand on my head. His hand is shaking. Francis, I'm going out for cigarettes.

Mam stays in the bed all day, hardly moving. Malachy and I fill the twins' bottles with water and sugar. In the kitchen we find a half loaf of stale bread and two cold sausages. We can't have tea because the milk is sour in the icebox where the ice is melted again and everyone knows you can't drink tea without milk unless your father gives it to you out of his mug while he's telling you about Cuchulain.

The twins are hungry again but I know I can't give them water and sugar all day and night. I boil sour milk in a pot, mash in some of the stale bread, and try to feed them from a cup, bread and goody. They make faces and run to Mam's bed, crying. She keeps her face to the wall and they run back to me, still crying. They won't eat the bread and goody till I kill the taste of the sour milk with sugar. Now they eat and smile and rub the goody over their faces. Malachy wants some and if he can eat it, so can I. We all sit on the floor eating the goody and chewing on the cold sausage and drinking water my mother keeps in a milk bottle in the icebox.

After we eat and drink we have to go to the lavatory down the hall but we can't get in because Mrs. Leibowitz is inside, humming and singing. She says, Wait, chiltren, wait, darlinks. Won't be two seconds. Malachy claps his hands and dances around, singing, Wait, chiltren, wait, darlinks. Mrs. Leibowitz opens the lavatory door. Look at him. Little actor awready. So, chiltren, how's you mother?

She's in bed, Mrs. Leibowitz. The doctor took Margaret and my father went for cigarettes.

Oh, Frankie, Frankie. I said that was one sick child.

Malachy is clutching himself. Have to pee. Have to pee.

So, pee awready. You boys pee and we see you mother.

After we pee Mrs. Leibowitz comes to see Mam. Oh, Mrs. McCourt. Oy vey, darlink. Look at this. Look at these twins. Naked. Mrs. McCourt, what is mazzer, eh? The baby she is sick? So talk to me. Poor woman. Here turn around, missus. Talk to me. Oy, this is one mess. Talk to me, Mrs. McCourt.

She helps my mother sit up against the wall. Mam seems smaller. Mrs. Leibowitz says she'll bring some soup and tells me get some water to wash my mother's face. I dip a towel in cold water and pat her forehead. She presses my hand against her cheeks. Oh, Jesus, Frankie. Oh, Jesus. She won't let my hand go and I'm frightened because I've never seen her like this before. She's saying Frankie only because it's my hand she's holding and it's Margaret she's thinking about, not me. Your lovely little sister is dead, Frankie. Dead. And where is your father? She lets my hand drop. I said where is your father? Drinking. That's where he is. There isn't a penny in the house. He can't get a job but he finds money for the drink, money for the drink, money for the drink, money for the drink. She rears back, knocks her head on the wall and screams, Where is she? Where is she? Where is my little girl? Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help me this night. I'll go mad, so I will, I'll go pure mad.

Mrs. Leibowitz rushes in. Missus, missus, what is it? The little girl. Where is she?

My mother screams again, Dead, Mrs. Leibowitz. Dead. Her head drops and she rocks back and forth. Middle of the night, Mrs. Leibowitz. In her pram. I should have been watching her. Seven weeks she had in this world and died in the middle of the night, alone, Mrs. Leibowitz, all alone in that pram.

Mrs. Leibowitz holds my mother in her arms. Shush, now, shush. Babies go like that. It happens, missus. God takes them.

In the pram, Mrs. Leibowitz. Near my bed. I could have picked her up and she didn't have to die, did she? God doesn't want little babies. What is God going to do with little babies?

I don't know, missus. I don't know from God. Have soup. Good soup. Make you strong. You boys. Get bowls. I give you soup.

What's bowls, Mrs. Leibowitz?

Oh, Frankie. You don't know bowl? For the soup, darlink. You don' have a bowl? So get cups for the soup. I mix pea soup and lentil soup. No ham. Irish like the ham. No ham, Frankie. Drink, missus. Drink you soup.

She spoons the soup into my mother's mouth, wipes the dribble from her chin. Malachy and I sit on the floor drinking from mugs. We spoon the soup into the twins' mouths. It is lovely and hot and tasty. My mother never makes soup like this and I wonder if there's any chance Mrs. Leibowitz could ever be my mother. Freddie could be me and have my mother and my father, too, and he could have Malachy and the twins for brothers. He can't have Margaret anymore because she's like the dog in the street that was taken away. I don't know why she was taken away. My mother said she died in her pram and that must be like getting hit by a car because they take you away.

I wish little Margaret could be here for the soup. I could give it to her with a spoon the way Mrs. Leibowitz is giving it to my mother and she'd gurgle and laugh the way she did with Dad. She wouldn't cry anymore and my mother wouldn't be in the bed day and night and Dad would be telling me Cuchulain stories and I wouldn't want Mrs. Leibowitz to be my mother anymore. Mrs. Leibowitz is nice but I'd rather have my father telling me Cuchulain stories and Margaret chirping and Mam laughing when Dad dances with two left feet.

Minnie MacAdorey comes in to help. Mother o' God, Mrs. Leibowitz, these twins smell to the high heavens.

I don't know about Mother o' God, Minnie, but these twins need a wash. They need clean diapers. Frankie, where are the clean diapers?

I don't know.

Minnie says, They're just wearing rags for diapers. I'll get some of Maisie's. Frankie, you take off those rags and throw them out.

Malachy removes Oliver's rag and I struggle with Eugene. The safety pin is stuck and when he wriggles it comes loose, sticks him in the hip, and starts him screaming for Mam. But Minnie is back with a towel and soap and hot water. I help her wash away the caked shit and she lets me shake talcum powder on the twins' raw sore skin. She says they're good little boys and she has a big surprise for them. She goes down the hall and brings back a pot of mashed potatoes for all of us. There is plenty of salt and butter in the potatoes and I wonder if there's any chance Minnie could be my mother so that I could eat like this all the time. If I could have Mrs. Leibowitz and Minnie for mothers at the same time I'd have no end of soup and mashed potatoes.

Minnie and Mrs. Leibowitz sit at the table. Mrs. Leibowitz says something has to be done. These children are running wild and where is the father? I hear Minnie whisper he's out for the drink. Mrs. Leibowitz says terrible, terrible, the way the Irish drink. Minnie says her Dan doesn't drink. Never touches the stuff and Dan told her that when the baby died that poor man, Malachy McCourt, went mad all over Flatbush Avenue and Atlantic Avenue, that he was thrown out of all the bars around the Long Island Railroad Station, that the cops would have thrown him in jail if it was anything else but the death of that lovely little baby.

Here he has four lovely little boys, says Minnie, but it's no comfort to him. That little girl brought out something in him. You know he didn't even drink after she was born and that was a miracle.

Mrs. Leibowitz wants to know where Mam's cousins are, the big women with the quiet husbands. Minnie will find them and tell them the children are neglected, running wild, sore arses and everything.

Two days later Dad returns from his cigarette hunt. It's the middle of the night but he gets Malachy and me out of the bed. He has the smell of the drink on him. He has us stand at attention in the kitchen. We are soldiers. He tells us we must promise to die for Ireland.

We will, Dad, we will.

All together we sing Kevin Barry,

On Mountjoy one Monday morning,

High upon the gallows tree,

Kevin Barry gave his young life

For the cause of liberty.

Just a lad of eighteen summers

Sure there's no one can deny

As he marched to death that morning

How he held his head on high.

There's a knock at the door, Mr. MacAdorey. Och, Malachy, for God's sake, it's three in the morning. You have the whole house woke with the singing.

Och, Dan, I'm only teaching the boys to die for Ireland.

You can teach them to die for Ireland in the daytime, Malachy.

'Tis urgent, Dan, 'tis urgent.

I know, Malachy, but they're only children. Babies. You go to bed now like a dacent man.

Bed, Dan! What am I to do in bed? Her little face is there day and night, her curly black hair and her lovely blue eyes. Oh, Jesus, Dan, what will I do? Was it the hunger that killed her, Dan?

Of course not. Your missus was nursing her. God took her. He has his reasons.

One more song, Dan, before we go to bed.

Good night, Malachy.

Come on, boys. Sing.

Because he loved the motherland,

Because he loved the green

He goes to meet a martyr's fate

With proud and joyous mien;

True to the last, oh! true to the last

He treads the upward way;

Young Roddy McCorley goes to die

On the bridge at Toome today.

You'll die for Ireland, won't you, boys?

We will, Dad.

And we'll all meet your little sister in heaven, won't we, boys?

We will, Dad.

My brother is standing with his face pressed against a leg of the table and he's asleep. Dad lifts him, staggers across the room, places him in the bed by my mother. I climb into bed and my father, still in his clothes, lies beside me. I'm hoping he'll put his arms around me but he goes on singing about Roddy McCorley and talking to Margaret, Oh, my little curly-haired, blue-eyed love, I would dress you in silks and take you to Lough Neagh, till day is at the window and I fall asleep.

That night Cuchulain comes to me. There's a big green bird on his shoulder that keeps singing about Kevin Barry and Roddy McCorley and I don't like that bird because there's blood dripping from his mouth when he sings. In one hand Cuchulain carries the gae bolga, the spear that is so mighty only he can throw it. In the other hand he carries a banana, which he keeps offering to the bird, who just squawks and spits blood at him. You'd wonder why Cuchulain puts up with a bird like that. If the twins ever spat blood at me when I offered them a banana I think I'd hit them on the head with it.

In the morning my father is at the kitchen table and I tell him my dream. He says there were no bananas in Ireland in the old times and even if there were Cuchulain would never offer one to that bird because that was the one that came over from England for the summer and perched on his shoulder when he was dying and propped up against a stone and when the men of Erin which is Ireland wanted to kill him they were afraid till they saw the bird drinking Cuchulain's blood and then they knew it was safe to attack him, the dirty bloody cowards. So you have to be wary of birds, Francis, birds and Englishmen.

Most of the day Mam lies in bed with her face to the wall. If she drinks tea or eats anything she throws up in the bucket under the bed and I have to empty it and rinse it in the lavatory down the hall. Mrs. Leibowitz brings her soup and funny bread that is twisted. Mam tries to slice it but Mrs. Leibowitz laughs and tells her just pull. Malachy calls it pull bread but Mrs. Leibowitz says, No, it's challah, and teaches us how to say it. She shakes her head. Oy, you Irish. You'll live forever but you'll never say challah like a Chew.

Minnie MacAdorey brings potatoes and cabbage and sometimes a piece of meat. Och, times are hard, Angela, but that lovely man, Mr. Roosevelt, will find a job for everyone and your husband will have work. Poor man, it's not his fault there's a Depression. He looks for work day and night. My Dan is lucky, four years with the city and he don't drink. He grew up in Toome with your husband. Some drink. Some don't. Curse of the Irish. Now eat, Angela. Build yourself up after your loss.

Mr. MacAdorey tells Dad there's work with the WPA and when he gets the work there's money for food and Mam leaves the bed to clean the twins and to feed us. When Dad comes home with the drink smell there's no money and Mam screams at him till the twins cry, and Malachy and I run out to the playground. On those nights Mam crawls back into bed and Dad sings the sad songs about Ireland. Why doesn't he hold her and help her sleep the way he did with my little sister who died? Why doesn't he sing a Margaret song or a song that will dry Mam's tears? He still gets Malachy and me out of bed to stand in our shirts promising to die for Ireland. One night he wanted to make the twins promise to die for Ireland but they can't even talk and Mam screamed at him, You mad oul' bastard, can't you leave the children alone?

He'll give us a nickel for ice cream if we promise to die for Ireland and we promise but we never get the nickel.

We get soup from Mrs. Leibowitz and mashed potatoes from Minnie MacAdorey and they show us how to take care of the twins, how to wash their bottoms and how to wash diaper rags after they get them all shitty. Mrs. Leibowitz calls them diapers and Minnie calls them nappies but it doesn't matter what they call them because the twins get them shitty anyway. If Mam stays in the bed and Dad goes out looking for a job we can do what we like all day. We can put the twins in the small swings in the park and swing them till they get hungry and cry. The Italian man calls to me from across the street, Hey, Frankie, c'mere. Watch out crossing da street. Dem twins hungry again? He gives us bits of cheese and ham and bananas but I can't eat bananas anymore after the way the bird spat blood at Cuchulain.

The man says his name is Mr. Dimino and that's his wife, Angela, behind the counter. I tell him that's my mother's name. No kiddin', kid. Your mother is Angela? I didn't know the Irish had any Angelas. Hey, Angela, his mother's name is Angela. She smiles. She says, Thatsa nice.

Mr. Dimino asks me about Mam and Dad and who cooks for us. I tell him we get food from Mrs. Leibowitz and Minnie MacAdorey. I tell him all about the diapers and the nappies and how they get shitty anyway and he laughs. Angela, you listenin' to this? Thank God you're Italian, Angela. He says, Kid, I gotta talk to Mrs. Leibowitz. Ya gotta have relations can take care of you. Ya see Minnie MacAdorey, tell her come in see me. You kids runnin' wild.

Two big women are at the door. They say, Who are you?

I'm Frank.

Frank! How old are you?

I'm four going on five.

You're not very big for your age, are you?

I don't know.

Is your mother here?

She's in the bed.

What is she doing in the bed on a fine day in the middle of the day?

She's sleeping.

Well, we'll come in. We have to talk to your mother.

They brush past me into the room. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the smell of this place. And who are these children?

Malachy runs smiling to the big women. When he smiles you can see how white and straight and pretty his teeth are and you can see the shiny blue of his eyes, the pink of his cheeks. All that makes the big women smile and I wonder why they didn't smile when they talked to me.

Malachy says, I'm Malachy and this is Oliver and this is Eugene, they're twins, and that's Frankie over there.

The big woman with the brown hair says, Well, you're not a bit shy, are you? I'm your mother's cousin, Philomena, and this is your mother's cousin, Delia. I'm Mrs. Flynn and she's Mrs. Fortune and that's what you call us.

Good God, says Philomena. Those twins are naked. Don't you have clothes for them?

Malachy says, They're all shitty.

Delia barks. See. That's what happens. A mouth like a sewer, and no wonder with a father from the North. Don't use that word. That's a bad word, a curse word. You could go to hell using a word like that.

What's hell? says Malachy. You'll know soon enough, says Delia.

The big women sit at the table with Mrs. Leibowitz and Minnie MacAdorey. Philomena says it's terrible what happened to Angela's little baby. They heard all about it and you'd wonder, wouldn't you, what they did with the little body. You might wonder and I might wonder but Tommy Flynn didn't wonder. Tommy said that Malachy from the North got money for that baby. Money? says Mrs. Leibowitz. That's right, says Philomena. Money. They take bodies any age and do experiments on them and there's not much left to give back nor would you want back bits of baby when they can't be buried in consecrated ground in that condition.

That's terrible, says Mrs. Leibowitz. A father or mother would never give the baby for something like that.

They would, says Delia, when they have the craving for the drink. They'd give their own mothers when they have the craving so what's a baby that's dead and gone in the first place?

Mrs. Leibowitz shakes her head and rocks in her chair. Oy, she says, oy, oy, oy, The poor baby. The poor mother. I thank God my husband don' have no what you call it? Craving? Right, craving. It's the Irish have the craving.

Not my husband, says Philomena. I'd break his face if he came home with the craving. Of course, Delia's Jimmy has the craving. Every Friday night you see him slipping into the saloon.

You needn't start insulting my Jimmy, says Delia. He works. He brings home his wages.

You'd want to keep an eye on him, says Philomena. The craving could get the better of him and you'd have another Malachy from the North on your hands.

Mind your own bloody business, says Delia. At least Jimmy is Irish, not born in Brooklyn like your Tommy.

And Philomena has no answer for that.

Minnie is holding her baby and the big women say she's a lovely baby, clean, not like this pack of Angela's running around this place. Philomena says she doesn't know where Angela got her dirty habits because Angela's mother was spotless, so clean you could eat your dinner off her floor.

I wonder why you'd want to eat your dinner off the floor when you had a table and a chair.

Delia says something has to be done about Angela and these children for they are a disgrace, so they are, enough to make you ashamed to be related. A letter has to be written to Angela's mother. Philomena will write it because a teacher in Limerick told her once she had a fine fist. Delia has to tell Mrs. Leibowitz that a fine fist means good handwriting.

Mrs. Leibowitz goes down the hall to borrow her husband's fountain pen, paper and an envelope. The four women sit at the table and make up a letter to send to my mother's mother:

Dear Aunt Margaret,

I take pen in hand to write you this letter and hope this finds you as it leaves us in the best of health. My husband Tommy is in fine form working away and Delia's husband Jimmy is in fine form working away and we hope this finds you in fine form. I am very sorry to tell you that Angela is not in fine form as the baby died, the little girl that was called Margaret after yourself, and Angela has not been the same since lying in the bed with her face to the wall. To make matters worser we think she's expecting again and that's too much altogether. The minute she losses one child there is another one on the way. We don't know how she does it. She's married four years, five children and another on the way. That shows you what can happen when you marry someone from the North for they have no control over themselves up there a bunch of Protestands that they are. He goes out for work every day but we know he spends all his time in the saloons and gets a few dollars for sweeping floors and lifting barrels and spends the money right back on the drink. It's terrible, Aunt Margaret, and we all think Angela and the children would be better off in her native land. We don't have the money to buy the tickets ourselves for times is hard but you might be able to see your way. Hopping this finds you in fine form as it leaves us thank God and His Blessed Mother.

I remain your loving neice

Philomena Flynn (what was MacNamara)

and last but not least your neice

Delia Fortune (what was MacNamara, too, ha ha ha)

Grandma Sheehan sent money to Philomena and Delia. They bought the tickets, found a steamer trunk at the St. Vincent de Paul Society, hired a van to take us to the pier in Manhattan, put us on the ship, said Good-bye and good riddance, and went away.

The ship pulled away from the dock. Mam said, That's the Statue of Liberty and that's Ellis Island where all the immigrants came in. Then she leaned over the side and vomited and the wind from the Atlantic blew it all over us and other happy people admiring the view. Passengers cursed and ran, seagulls came from all over the harbor and Mam hung limp and pale on the ship's rail.

Copyright © 1996 by Frank McCourt

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Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Scribner; Uncorrected Proof edition (May 25, 1999)

Language ‏ : ‎ English

Paperback ‏ : ‎ 368 pages

ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 068484267X

ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0684842677

Lexile measure ‏ : ‎ 1110L

Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 14.4 ounces

Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.5 x 0.8 x 8.38 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #10,049 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

#13 in Emigrants & Immigrants Biographies

#15 in Survival Biographies

#42 in Author Biographies

Customer Reviews: 4.5 out of 5 stars    878 ratings

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Frank McCourt

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 L.A. 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.

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Frank McCourt (1930-2009) nació en Brooklyn, Nueva York, de padres inmigrantes irlandeses, creció en Limerick, Irlanda, y regresó a Estados Unidos en 1949. Durante treinta años enseñó en escuelas secundarias de la ciudad de Nueva York. Su primer libro, "Las cenizas de Angela", ganó el Premio Pulitzer, el Premio del Círculo Nacional de Críticos de Libros y el Premio L.A. Times Book. En 2006, ganó el prestigioso Premio Ellis Island Family Heritage por el Servicio ejemplar en el campo de las artes y el Premio de la Unión de Maestros John Dewey por la excelencia en la educación.

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angelas ashes frank mccourt new york irish catholic well written ever read human spirit must read highly recommend years ago even though limerick in ireland alcoholic father books i have ever pulitzer prize young boy miserable childhood beautifully written writing style high school

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J. Springer

4.0 out of 5 stars Awesome book!

Reviewed in the United States on November 14, 2017

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Book review: “Angela’s Ashes” by Frank McCourt...First & foremost, this book taught me that there are levels of poverty. For example, there’s regular poverty, Irish poverty, Irish Catholic poverty, and (worst of all) Irish Catholic poverty in the 1940s. The book is an autobiography on Frank McCourt growing up in Limerick, Ireland. The book won the Pulitzer Prize and, quite frankly, he deserved it...as sad as it is, it is very well written, flows nicely, and keeps the reader wanting more. Some of my favorite highlights from the book:

1. “As a child, I thought a balanced diet was bread and tea, a solid and a liquid.” Frank McCourt

2. Frank McCourt had beautiful handwriting—a “fine fist” as they said in the old country—and he wrote Angela’s Ashes in longhand.

3. I had heard the term Soupers but never knew what it meant: “We had the soupers in the Famine. The Protestants went round telling good Catholics that if they gave up their faith and turned Protestant they’d get more soup than their bellies could hold and, God help us, some Catholics took the soup, and were ever after known as soupers.”

4. All this time, I’ve been saying Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Evidently, I’ve been saying it wrong. Per the book, it’s...Jesus, Mary and Holy St. Joseph!

5. Frank’s Mom had a decent sense of humor. Irish Catholic wives were supposed to have children relentlessly. This was her reply after her last baby, Alphie (child #10!): “Mam says, Alphie is enough. I’m worn out. That’s the end of it. No more children. Dad says, The good Catholic woman must perform her wifely duties and submit to her husband or face eternal damnation. Mam says, As long as there are no more children eternal damnation sounds attractive enough to me.”

6.) On your 16th birthday in Ireland, it was tradition to have Your Father take you to the local pub for your first pint Of Guinness (boys only of course)...

7.) The funniest story in the book was when the family was literally cutting the wood walls of their home to use as firewood and were running out!: “Mam says, One more board from that wall, one more and not another one. She says that for two weeks till there’s nothing left but the beam frame. She warns us we are not to touch the beams for they hold up the ceiling and the house itself. Oh, we’d never touch the beams. She goes to see Grandma and it’s so cold in the house I take the hatchet to one of the beams. Malachy cheers me on and Michael claps his hands with excitement. I pull on the beam, the ceiling groans and down on Mam’s bed there’s a shower of plaster, slates, rain. Malachy says, Oh, God, we’ll all be killed, and Michael dances around singing, Frankie broke the house, Frankie broke the house!”

8.) I had never heard the term American Wake but this makes perfect sense: “Mam says we’ll have to have a bit of party the night before I go to America. They used to have parties in the old days when anyone would go to America, which was so far away the parties were called American wakes because the family never expected to see the departing one again in this life.”

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Bald Guy

3.0 out of 5 stars Okay until closing chapters.

Reviewed in the United States on November 23, 2018

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Interesting and entertaining-until he became obsessed with detailing his wanking off on everything-constantly. I get it that he came of age and had sexual urges, but sheesh, he went overboard and took us from the story to his obsessions, before finishing with a bang (pun intended).

9 people found this helpful

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Fatima Peter

4.0 out of 5 stars Good Memoir

Reviewed in the United States on March 25, 2018

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Frank McCourt does a very good job of describing his home town Limerick that I felt like I know the place. I could imagine the filth, the stench, and a sense of hopelessness. One thing that stays in my head is the phrase "When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all". I cannot fathom anyone surviving with no scars with such a raw childhood. In spite of it, the book was written with humor and not much bitterness.

I found the book to be entertaining but there are also lots of repetitiveness in the book.

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Ratmammy

VINE VOICE

5.0 out of 5 stars The life and times of Frank McCourt

Reviewed in the United States on December 23, 2000

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ANGELA'S ASHES is the memoirs of Frank Mccourt and the recollections of his childhood spent in Ireland. The story is told from the viewpoint of young Francis Mccourt, from the young age of about 5 or 6 til he hits the age of 19, and we see him age before our eyes as the writing style changes from chapter to chapter.

Frank's mother is Angela, and she suffers daily trying to keep her children fed and clothed, trying to make ends meet because her husband is so lazy and full of drink that she can never depend on him to do a full day's work for pay. And when Malachy McCourt does get paid, he ends up at the local taverns and pubs, drinking his weekly pay. Angela has to resort to finding the odd job, or worse yet, to begging at the welfare offices.

Frank and his family start out life in America, but move to Ireland to escape the poverty they knew in America, thinking they would find a better life in Ireland. They were wrong. The McCourts live a life of extreme poverty in their new homeland, but the book is told in the voice of someone who sees life in a different light. You want to laugh with Frank when he describes the terrible conditions they live in - an entire section alone was devoted to the stinking toilet that they had to share with the rest of the neighborhood. It was a hard life for them all, but from the tone of young Francis, the reader does not always get that impreession. All he and his family knew was poverty, and they existed in this way as best they could.

ANGELA'S ASHES won the PulitZer Prize and it was well deserved. Frank Mccourt's masterpiece on life in Ireland told in the voice of a young Irish American boy is haunting yet real. It's a serious book, but the tone is light-hearted. The spirit of young Francis McCourt shines through each page, and you root for him when he inches his way toward his goal: to buy a ticket to America.

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Diane S.

1.0 out of 5 stars Depressing

Reviewed in the United States on December 19, 2018

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The most depressing book in the world.

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A MOONEY

5.0 out of 5 stars Five stars

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on February 24, 2017

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Brilliant memoir!

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Tricia H.

5.0 out of 5 stars Amazing!

Reviewed in Canada on August 19, 2017

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This memoir is so well written. This family's daily struggles to surive amid shocking poverty will tear your heart out and yet the author can also make you laugh at times as he shares his memories.....The book is told from the perspective of hia young self and will stay with you for a very long time after you finish the last page.

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jim

5.0 out of 5 stars Read it.

Reviewed in Canada on April 22, 2020

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I love this book. A must have if u find ur heads been up your a++ too long. Arrived really quickly and in perfect shape too!

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Louise Dedman

5.0 out of 5 stars Intriguing

Reviewed in Canada on May 15, 2021

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Great book. True storey about life of immigrants coming from Ireland . Couldn’t put it down.

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sue

1.0 out of 5 stars One the the worst books ever!

Reviewed in Canada on August 31, 2018

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Worst book I have read. Don't know how it could have won awards at all. Boring and just repeats it self over and over ,don't know what the hype is all about. Really bad

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Nobuya Fukuda

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Nobuya Fukuda

20220101

新しい年が今日、明けましたね。おめでとうございます。

新しい一年が、世界のすべての人にとって、良き年になりますように。

さて、今年は珍しく、年越し前に年賀状を用意しました。そして、作ったのこれでした。

早く結婚した友人から届く家族写真の年賀状を、心のどこかで、小馬鹿にしていた（友達のみんな、ごめんなさい！）自分でしたが、その本人が、まさか、親バカ年賀状を作るようになるとは、、、。正直なところ、自分でも驚いています。

ーー以下長文なので、時間のない方はスルーしてくださいーー

さてさて、わたくしごとですが、歳を重ねるにつれて動きが激しくなってます。

2019年に続いて、2021年に16回目の引越し、そして、今年、将来必要になるであろう老人福祉施設への入所を除けばたぶん最後の引っ越しが待ってます。一人暮らしができなくなって施設に入所することを考えると18回の引っ越しをすることになるでしょう。そうそう、こないだ始まった『おもしろオトナを訪ねる旅』の開催にあたって、自分の職業遍歴を数えてみました。社会人になってから働いた職場の数は19カ所でした。

ここまでなので、「自分はなんでこんななんだろう？」と、やっぱり時々考えるわけです。幼少期から、か「落ち着きがない」、「飽きっぽい」、「根性がない」、「続かない」と言われ続けてきました。それはなぜだろうと、やっぱり、今までに時々考えることがありました。

2019年にはADHDの判定も受けましたが、僕の場合、人生そのものが多動です。それには、自分のこだわりの強さと他者とのコミュニケーションに課題を抱えていることが影響しています。ちなみに多動性障害の判定を受けたのと同時に自閉症スペクトラムの判定も受けました。そして、ここでは書けない類の課題も実は抱えていて、よく人は「人間は変われない」というけれど、僕はやっぱりあきらめきれなくて、なんとかしたいから、色々考えるわけです。そして、自分は気づいていないだけで、自分の周りにも同じようにもがいている人がいるんだろうと考えるようになりました。それは、授業中に立ち歩いている小学生だったり、学校に行きたくてもいけない中学生だったり、薬物や暴力に手を染める若者だったり、他者との関わりに背を向ける大人だったり・・・。

さて、僕は自分の人生最後の仕事（たぶん）として、政治や教育ではなく福祉をベースに、多文化共生（つまりは異文化受容）の種を蒔く仕事を4年前から始めました。そして、やっぱり考えるわけです、こんな僕でも。「なんで、自分はこれをやりたいのだろう？」と問いかけるわけです。

そして、やっぱり、根っこは自分のなかにあるんだなと気づくわけです。僕の場合は、立派な支援者ではありません。支援者でさえないでしょう。でも、自分だからできことがあると信じてます。

そういう思いを持って、僕は人と関わるようにしています。それはそうめんを頭に乗っけて喜ぶ娘だったり、テーブルの上に登りたがる小学生だったり、学校でどの過ぎた悪戯をする中学生だったり、人を傷つけることを繰り返す若者だったりします。

今年も、僕は動きます。かき混ぜ、波風を起こしながら生きていきます。

ということで、みなさま今年もよろしくお願いいたします。

===

파파고 한역

Nobuya Fukuda

새해가 오늘 밝았네요축하해요!

새해 복 많이 받으시고 새해 복 많이 받으세요.

그런데 올해는 드물게 송구영신 전에 연하장을 준비했습니다.그리고 만든 게 이거였어요.

일찍 결혼한 친구에게서 온 가족사진 연하장을 마음 한구석에선 바보취급하고 있던(친구들 모두 미안해요!) 저였지만, 본인이 설마 부모님 바보연하장을 만들게 될줄이야.... 솔직히 저 스스로도 놀라고 있습니다.

-이하 긴 글이오니, 시간이 없으신 분은 그냥 지나쳐 주세요-

참, 개인적인 일입니다만, 해를 거듭할수록 움직임이 심해지고 있습니다.

2019년에 이어 2021년 16번째 이사, 그리고 올해 장차 필요하게 될 노인복지시설 입소를 제외하면 아마 마지막 이사를 기다리고 있습니다. 혼자 살 수 없게 되어 시설에 입소하는 것을 생각하면 18번의 이사를 하게 될 것입니다. 참, 얼마 전 시작한 재미있는 남자를 찾아가는 여행을 개최하면서 자신의 직업 편력을 세어 보았습니다.사회인이되고나서 일한 직장의수는19군데였습니다.

여기까지니까 '내가 왜 이럴까?'라는 생각을 역시 가끔 하게 됩니다. 어릴 때부터 줄곧 침착하지 못하다 싫증을 잘 낸다 근성이 없다 지속되지 못한다는 말을 들어왔습니다. 그 이유는 무엇 때문일까, 역시 지금까지 때때로 생각해 본 적이 있습니다. 

2019년에는 ADHD 판정도 받았지만 제 경우 삶 자체가 많이 움직입니다. 거기에는, 자신의 고집의 강도와 타자와의 커뮤니케이션에 과제를 안고 있는 것이 영향을 주고 있습니다. 덧붙여서 다동성 장애 판정을 받은 것과 동시에 자폐증 스펙트럼 판정도 받았습니다. 그리고, 여기에서는 쓸 수 없는 류의 과제도 실은 안고 있고, 자주 사람은 「인간은 바뀔 수 없다」라고 말하지만, 나는 역시 단념할 수 없어서, 어떻게든 하고 싶으니까, 여러가지 생각하는 것입니다. 그리고 자신은 모르고 있을 뿐, 자신의 주위에도 똑같이 몸부림치고 있는 사람이 있을 것이라고 생각하게 되었습니다. 그것은, 수업중에 서있는 초등학생이거나, 학교에 가고싶어서도 안 되는 중학생이거나, 약물이나 폭력에 손을 대는 젊은이이거나, 타자와의 관계에 등을 돌리는 어른이거나…

그런데, 나는 나의 인생의 마지막 일(아마)로서 정치나 교육이 아닌 복지를 베이스로, 다문화 공생(즉 이문화 수용)의 씨를 뿌리는 일을 4년 전부터 시작했습니다. 그리고 역시 생각하는 거죠, 이런 저라도.「왜, 나는 이것을 하고 싶은 것일까?」라고 묻는 것입니다.

그리고 역시 뿌리는 자신 안에 있구나라고 깨닫는 것입니다.저 같은 경우에는 훌륭한 지원자가 아닙니다.지원자조차 없을 겁니다.하지만 저 스스로가 할 수 있다고 믿습니다.

그런 마음을 가지고 저는 사람들과 어울리도록 하고 있습니다.그것은 소면을 머리에 이고 기뻐하는 딸이기도 하고, 테이블 위에 오르고 싶어하는 초등학생이기도 하고, 학교에서 지나친 장난을 하는 중학생이기도 하고, 사람을 다치게 하는 일을 반복하는 젊은이이기도 합니다.

올해도 저는 움직입니다.젓고, 풍파를 일으키며 살아갑니다.

그러므로, 여러분 올해도 잘 부탁드립니다.

알라딘: 논어, 세 번 찢다 - 계보 사상 통념을 모두 해체함 | 리링 저작선 1

알라딘: 논어, 세 번 찢다

논어, 세 번 찢다 - 계보 사상 통념을 모두 해체함  | 리링 저작선 1  

리링 (지은이),황종원 (옮긴이)글

항아리2011-08-03

원제 : 論語縱橫讀

양장본552쪽

책소개

리링 저작선 제1권.『논어』를 제대로 맛있게, 통쾌하면서도 깊이 있게 읽어주는 책이 나왔다. 리링 베이징대 중문과 교수가 “훨씬 깊어졌다”라는 자부와 함께 세상에 내보낸 것이다. 번역은 베이징대에서 철학박사 학위를 받고 한국어문화학과에 재직중인 황종원 교수가 맡아, 자유분방하게 구사된 옛 북경 사투리까지 섬세하게 고려하는 등 고심 끝에 결실을 맺었다.

제1부 ‘『논어』위에서 아래로 찢기’는 ‘인물’ 편이다. 총 8개장으로 이뤄진 인물 편은 논어를 위에서 아래로 찢는다. 즉, 리링 식의 해체적 독법으로 읽은 『논어』의 통시적 재구성이다. 제2부 ‘『논어』 옆에서 옆으로 찢기’는 ‘사상’ 편이다. 공자의 말과 제자들의 입으로 전해진 말을 최종적으로 귀납해서 공자의 핵심사유를 소개하고, 벼슬을 찾아 돌아다닌 공자의 경험을 통해 내면 깊숙한 곳의 모순을 들여다보았다.

제3부 ‘『논어』 성전으로서의 이미지 찢기’는 ‘공자가 성인이 된 역사적 과정’과 리링 교수의 전작 『집 잃은 개喪家狗』를 둘러싼 논쟁에 대한 해명, ‘『논어』에서 무엇을 배울 것인가’로 구성되었다. 특히 마지막 장 ‘논어에서 무엇을 배울 것인가’에서는 오늘날 공자의 가치가 결코 도덕선생, 정치가, 종교 지도자로서 지닌 가치가 아니라며, 세가지로 정리하고 있다.

목차

제사題詞

머리말

서론-『논어』 독법

제1부 『논어』 위에서 아래로 찢기(인물편)

1장 공자에게 다가가기

2장 공자의 이미지

3장 공자의 ‘조국’과 ‘부모의 나라’

4장 7세의 자술自述

5장 70제자

6장 공자 문하 13명의 현자

7장 공자의 인물 품평(상): 옛 성현 및 그 외의 인물

8장 공자의 인물 품평(하): 당시의 정치가 및 은자들

제2부 『논어』 옆에서 옆으로 찢기(사상편)

9장 주공을 향한 꿈

10장 천명과 인성

11장 성인과 인한 사람

12장 군자와 소인

13장 공자, 덕을 논하다

14장 공자, 예를 논하다

15장 공자는 무슨 책들을 읽었을까

16장 공자는 어떤 곳들을 가보았을까

17장 공자의 정치적 번뇌

3부 『논어』 성전聖典으로서의 이미지 찢기

18장 공자는 어떻게 성인이 되었을까

19장 ‘집 잃은 개’ 논란에 대하여

20장 『논어』에서 무엇을 배울 것인가

주註

『논어』 원문

역자 후기

==

책속에서

중국의 전통과 서양의 전통은 사실 다‘구분‘을 말하고 있으나, 정치와 종교, 승려와 속인의 관계가 다르며 구조도 완전히 상반된다. 저들의 전통은 정치와 종교의 합일이다. 즉 종교는 통일되었고 국가는 다원화되었다. 반대로 우리의 전통은 정치와 종교의 분리이다. 즉 국가는 통일되었고 종교는 다원회되었다. 만일 기어코 천일합일을 논해야... 더보기 - 별족

공자는 지식인이었기에, 내가 그를 최대한 존중하는 방법은 그를 지식인으로 대하는 것이다. 지식인의 천직은 군중을 선동하고, 민의를 조작하며, 지도자에게 유세하여 그들을 위해 아이디어를 내고 처방을 내리는 것이 아니라, 여러 의견을 물리치고 참말을 하는 데 있다. -p493 - 별족

추천글

이 책을 추천한 다른 분들 : 

중앙일보 

 - 중앙일보(조인스닷컴) 2011년 7월 30일 '책꽂이'

동아일보 

 - 동아일보 2011년 7월 30일 '300자 다이제스트'

저자 및 역자소개

리링 (李零) (지은이) 

저자파일

 

신간알리미 신청

『손자』와 『논어』 연구의 명실상부한 최고 권위자 리링 교수는 1948년 중국 허베이성에서 태어나 베이징에서 성장했다. 1977년 중국사회과학원 고고연구소에 들어가 금문金文 자료의 정리와 연구에 참여했고 중국사회과학원 고고학과정에서 은주殷周시대 청동기 연구로 석사학위를 받았다. 이후 다시 고고연구소에서 고고학 발굴에 매진하다가 농업경제연구소로 옮겨 선진先秦시대 토지제도사를 공부했다. 오랜 참여적 연구를 통해 빚어낸 명철한 지성으로 여러 고전 해설서를 펴내어 선풍적인 반응을 얻고 있다. 특히 철저한 고증과 참신한 시각으로 『논어』를 새롭게 풀어낸 『집 잃은 개』는 각종 도서상을 휩쓸고 큰 논쟁을 불러일으키면서 하나의 문화 현상으로 기록됐다. 1985년부터 현재까지 베이징대 중문과 교수로 재직 중이며, 고고학, 고문자학, 고문헌학을 종횡하는 ‘삼고三古의 대가’로 통한다.

국내에 소개된 주요 저작으로 『논어, 세 번 찢다』 『집 잃은 개』 『전쟁은 속임수다』 『유일한 규칙』 『호랑이를 산으로 돌려보내다』 『리링의 주역 강의』 등이 있다. 접기

최근작 : <중국고고학, 위대한 문명의 현장>,<노자>,<꽃 사이에 술 한 병 놓고> … 총 11종 (모두보기)

황종원 (옮긴이) 

성균관대 유학과를 졸업하고 베이징대학에서 철학 석·박사 학위를 취득했다. 베이징대학 한국어문화학과에서 부교수를 지냈으며, 현재는 단국대학교 철학과 부교수로 재직 중이다. 중국 유가철학, 한중 근현대 철학을 주로 연구하고 있는데, 주요 논저로는 『장재철학』(2010),『한국에 영향을 미친 중국 근대 지식과 사상』(2019), 『한국을 다시 묻다: 한국적 정신과 문화의 심층』(2016),「이택후 서체중용론의 정치사상적 함의와 기술철학적 토대」(2019),「최시형의 생태학적 사유와 평화」(2018),「하린의 지행합일신론 연구」(2017) 등이 있다. 옮긴 책으로 『논어, 세 번 찢다』(2011), 『손 안의 고전』(2010),『중국의 품격』(2016) 등이 있다. 접기

최근작 : <시대 속의 맹자, 주제 속의 맹자>,<동아시아 전통 지식 이론의 발전과 그 근대적 굴절>,

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출판사 제공 책소개

고고학, 고문자학, 고문헌학 3고학의 대가

리링李零 교수가 들려주는, ‘있는 그대로의『논어』’

나의 연구는 지난 20여 년 동안 중국 사회에 분 복고의 광풍을, 거의 미친 듯이 보이는

이 기이한 현상을 겨냥한 것이다. 나는 일찌감치 누군가 나와서 몇 마디라도 해야 했다고,

‘그것은 아니다’라는 한마디라도 해야 했다고 생각한다. _ 머리말

내가 ‘집 잃은 개’로 내 전작의 제목을 정한 것은 공자를 욕하기 위함도, 이를 나 자신에게

빗대기 위함도 아닌, 공자의 진짜 처지, 지식인이 종종 맞닥뜨리게 되는 처지를 설명하기 위함이었을 따름이다.

나는 그의 처지를 매우 동정한다. 그에게 정신이 있고 이상이 있었음은 그 누구도 부정하지 못한다.

문제는 그 정신이 의탁할 곳, 이상이 실현될 곳이 없었다는 데 있다. 이는 사실에 대한 진술이지,

공자의 얼굴에 먹칠을 하기 위한 것이 아니다. _ ‘집 잃은 개’ 논란에 대하여, 472~473쪽

드디어 나왔다, 리링의 『논어』강의

고전 열풍이 불고 있는 한국에 드디어 나와야 할 책이 나왔다. 고전의 맏형 『논어』를 제대로 맛있게, 통쾌하면서도 깊이 있게 읽어주는 책 『논어, 세 번 찢기』(원제: 論語縱橫讀)가 그것이다. 중국에서 2008년 출간된 이 책은 삼고학三古學(고고학, 고문헌학, 고문자학)의 대가로 새로운 고전읽기 문화를 이끌고 있는 리링李零(63세) 베이징대 중문과 교수가 “훨씬 깊어졌다”라는 자부와 함께 세상에 내보낸 것이다. 번역은 베이징대에서 철학박사 학위를 받고 한국어문화학과에 재직중인 황종원 교수가 맡아, 자유분방하게 구사된 옛 북경 사투리까지 섬세하게 고려하는 등 고심 끝에 결실을 맺었다.

2006년 발생해 그 후 몇 년간 지속되며 ‘문화적 사건’으로까지 기록된 ‘상가구喪家狗(집 잃은 개) 논쟁’ 상가구 논쟁이란? 지난 2006년 출간된 『상가구』(리링, 중화서국)를 둘러싸고 철학계 뿐만 아니라 전체 지식계가 벌인 논쟁. 공자를 “집 잃은 개”에 비유했다는 것을 포함해 『논어』의 주요 대목을 기존 학설과 다르게 해석한 이 책은 정통 유가학계의 엄청난 반발을 불러일으켰으며 극한의 찬반투쟁이 잇따랐다. 저자 리링은 일체 대응을 안 하다가 2년 뒤에 펴낸 『논어, 세 번 찢다』를 통해 세간의 비판과 지지에 답했고, 미흡한 부분을 보완했으며, 책은 읽지도 않고 인신공격하거나 자신의 입장만 되풀이하는 논쟁의 무익성을 지적했다. *‘상갓집 개’라는 말도 돌봐줄 주인을 잃어 돌아갈 곳 없는 신세가 됐다는 점에서 뜻이 상통하지만 ‘상가구’의 정확한 번역은 ‘집을 잃어버린 개’이다. 이는 뜻을 펼치기 위해 열국을 주유했지만 이루지 못한 공자가 자신의 처량한 신세를 긍정한, 『논어』에 직접 등장하는 말이다.

이란 것이 있다. 1990년대의 ‘인문열(인문학논쟁)’ 이래 가장 많은 중국 인문학자들이 직간접적으로 뒤얽힌 이 ‘대논쟁’의 중심에는 리링 교수가 있었다. 그가 펴낸 『상가구』가 논쟁의 계기를 제공했는데, 이것은 결코 공자를 비판한 책이 아니었다. 그것은 공자와 『논어』를 매개로 하여 밀가루 반죽처럼 부풀어오른 시대정신, 알튀세르가 이데올로기라고 부른 그것을 찌른 일침이었다.

경직된 주자학에 반기를 든 17, 18세기의 이토 진사이伊藤仁齊와 정약용이 그랬듯, 이 책은 중국 정부의 적극적인 지원 아래 새로운 문화이데올로기로 급부상하고 있는 ‘공자열 현상’에 날린 찬물 세례이다. 공자의 뜻과는 달리 성전화 된 『논어』를 해체하고, 오늘날의 시각에서 그 고의古意를 음미했고, 『논어』 읽기의 방법론부터 그 효과까지도 재구성한 문제작이다. 저자는 십여 년 전부터 『논어』를 매년 1회 두 학기에 걸쳐 학생들과 읽어왔는데, 『상가구』 출간 이후 공자가 걸어 다녔던 수천 킬로미터를 직접 답사한 자신의 인문지리적 경험과 융합시켜 이 골리앗의 중층 해체 작업을 마무리했다. 그것은 바로 공자연보 및 연관 인물들의 통시적인 계보학을 찢고, 철학적으로 공고화된 의미망을 찢고, 다양한 『논어』 성전화 시도의 허위성을 찢는 것이다. 그럼으로써 저자는 원체가 춘추시대 백화문으로 쓰여진 이 대화록의 쫄깃쫄깃한 주고받기[問答] 미학을 되살려놓았고, 독자들에게는 청량감 가득한 ‘세속 논어의 즐거움’을 만끽하게 한다.

글항아리의 「리링 저작선」은 모험인가?

이 책은 글항아리 출판사가 펴내는 총4권으로 기획된 「리링 저작선」의 제1권 글항아리의 리링 저작선은 『논어, 세 번 찢다』를 제1권으로 하여 2012년까지 『병이사립兵以詐立-나의 손자 읽기』(제2권) 『상가구』(제3권) 『유일한 규칙唯一的規則』(제4권) 등으로 이어질 예정이다.

이다. 리링에 대한 글항아리의 관심은 노승현 기획위원의 적극적인 추천으로 시작되었는데, 이처럼 국내에 잘 알려지지도 않은 인물의 저작을 네 권이나, 그 가운데 두 권은 1천 페이지가 넘어가는 거질을 주저없이 펴내기로 결심한 이유는 무엇보다 리링이라는 저자의 특출함 때문이었다. 그를 통해 고전읽기의 시작과 끝을 맛볼 수 있다는 확신이 섰다. 또 이를 통해 고전 읽기 문화가 아직 미성숙한 한국 독자들에게 참신한 자극을 주기에 충분하다는 판단을 세웠다. 그걸 몇가지로 정리하면 아래와 같다.

첫째, 고전을 제대로 읽어내기 위한 최적의 조건이 무엇인가를 보여준다. 리링 교수는 고고학 발굴에 참여하고 출토된 청동기 명문과 죽간을 해제하는 일로 청장년 시절을 통째로 바친 인물이다. 우리가 『논어』에 대해 가지고 있는 상식은 기본적으로 조선시대의 산물이다. 조선시대의 논어 읽기는 이러한 고고학 발굴을 통한 사료비판과 잘못 알려진 역사적 사실이 반영되지 못한 것이다. 물론 한국 학자들의 연구논문이나 학술서는 이러한 현대 고고학 발굴결과를 반영하고 있지만, 이것을 대중들에게 종합하여 소개해준 책은 여지껏 없었다고 해도 과언이 아니다.

둘째, 리링이라는 인물의 매력이다. 1948년 베이징에서 태어난 그는 문화대혁명 기간에 네이멍구 등에서 7년 동안 노동활동을 하며 모진 고생을 했고, 1975년 학계에 진입한 후에도 필드에서 오랫동안 학문을 익혔으며, 그 결과 ‘원문의 달인’이 되었다. 특히 그의 손자孫子 주석은 ‘손자십일가주’를 뛰어넘는 업적으로 인정받는다. 이런 면모의 반대편에는 서양문헌에 대한 르네상스적 섭렵이 자리 잡고 있다. 그는 중국 철학계의 고리타분한 코스워크를 밟지 않고, 자유분방하게 독서해온 독서가다. 이런 책읽기는 그에게 자유주의적 지식인의 정체성을 확립케 했으며, 그의 고전 읽기에도 십분 반영되고 있다. “삼고선생이라니, 케케묵은 것 아니냐?”는 선입견은 책을 읽는 순간 단숨에 불식된다. 고문헌학자이자 독서가로서의 고전 읽기! 이것이 또 하나의 리링의 차별화 포인트이다.

셋째, 객관성을 획득한 주관성이다. 리링은 고전을 읽어나갈 때 한 글자 한 글자 고증하고, 고증한 결과에 대한 판단과 주장을 펼친다. 여기서 ‘고증’은 객관성에 해당하고 ‘판단’은 주관성에 해당한다. 고증에 숨는 법이 없으며 장광설에 매몰되지 않는다. 그래서 독자들은 주석서로 믿고 읽을 수 있고, 주석서를 넘어 인문서로 읽고 음미할 수 있어 좋다.

넷째, 해체적 독법의 중요성이다. 한국의 인문학에서 그간 ‘해체’는 데리다적 의미의 포스트모던적 행위였다. 하지만 리링의 고전 해체는 그런 맥락과는 무관하다. 물론 특정 고전의 공고화된 랑그 체제를 무너뜨리는 붕괴 전략은 존재하지만, 그보다는 훨씬 실용적인 의미에서 ‘독서의 유용성’을 위한 해체이다. 리링은 말한다. “공자의 사상은 체계적이지만 『논어』는 체계적이지 않다”라고 말이다. 따라서 우리가 『논어』를 읽고 그 안에 들어있는 공자의 사상을 하나의 지식으로 축적하기 위해서는 그것을 하나하나 해체해서 재배열하는 작업이 필수적이다. 그래야 ‘나의 말로 논할 수[論語]’ 있다. 또한 리링은 “『논어』는 경經이 아니고 자서子書(제자백가서)”이며 “논어는 엘리트를 위해 쓰여진 책”이라고 말한다. 우리는 논어를 읽기 위해 그것의 장르와 독자대상을 다시 되새겨야 한다는 그의 주장에 귀 기울일 수밖에 없다.

이 책의 구성과 핵심 내용

제1부 ‘『논어』위에서 아래로 찢기’는 ‘인물’ 편이다. 총 8개장으로 이뤄진 인물 편은 논어를 위에서 아래로 찢는다. 즉, 리링 식의 해체적 독법으로 읽은 『논어』의 통시적 재구성이다. 공자라는 역사인물의 내력부터 그가 속했던 시공간, 공자 문하의 제자들, 『논어』에 등장하는 옛 성현과 당시의 정치가와 은자들의 면모를 시대순으로 고증하면서 기존의 잘못 알려진 것들, 왜곡된 이미지가 무엇인지 따져 묻는다. 특히 「서론-나의 논어 독법」은 리링 교수만의 논어 읽기 방법 10가지가 소개되어 있다. 여기서 그는 『논어』의 원래 장르가 무엇인지, 어떤 독자를 대상으로 펴낸 책인지 등을 밝혔고, 『논어』를 읽을 때의 주의사항, 금기사항, 참고할만한 서적 등에 대해 조목조목 들려준다. 이것은 분명 토론거리이며 그를 통해 우리시대 『논어』 읽기의 가장 기초적인 표지석이 마련될 가능성도 있다. 그 가운데 몇가지를 살펴보면 아래와 같다.

‘자서이니 자서로 읽으라’는 말은 『논어』를 읽을 때 편안한 마음을 가지라는 것이다. “그것은 공자 문하에서 남긴 대화록으로 일부분은 선생님의 말이고, 일부분은 학생들의 말이다. 우리가 이 책을 읽는 것은 그들의 한담을 듣는 것으로 꼭 정식 경전으로 볼 것만도 아니고 부들부들 떨 만큼 감동적인 것만 있는 것도 아니다. 공자와 학생들의 한담을, 춘추 말기 당시의 백화白話로 된 한담을, 당시 사람들이 아무리 공자를 크게 숭배했다손 치더라도 경전으로 삼을 수는 없었다”는 것이 리링의 생각이다. ‘『논어』는 엘리트를 대상으로 한 책’이라는 것도 중요하다. 즉, 이 책은 귀족의 자제 혹은 몰락한 귀족 자제들 가운데 뜻을 품은 자들을 위한 것이지 일반 백성들을 위한 책이 아니라는 것이다. 그 외에 그는 ‘길고 두서가 없으니 인내심을 갖고 읽어라’ ‘어록체이니, 흐트러뜨려 읽어라’ ‘연대에 따라 종縱으로 읽어 156명의 등장인물과 그 배경을 이해하고, 인의효우충신관서공경 등 개념들을 엮어 횡橫으로 읽음으로써 단서들을 채록하고, 약간의 심리적인 분석도 하라’ ‘이해하기 어려운 구절은 제쳐놓아라’ 등이 있다. 또한 『논어』를 읽을 때 참고할 책으로 『논어정씨주』(정현 주), 『논어집해』(하안 집해), 『논어집주』(주희) 등을 추천하기도 했다. 마지막으로 ‘출토문헌의 발견은 매우 중요’하다는 것이다. 곽점 초간의 13종의 유가 전적 가운데 3종의 어총이 매우 중요하고, ‘상하이박물관 초나라 죽간’에도 『논어』의 많은 인물이 언급되어 있어 중요하고, 팔각랑 한나라 죽간도 중요한데 여기엔 한 선제 때의 『논어』 결본 등이 있다고 했다.

제2부 ‘『논어』 옆에서 옆으로 찢기’는 ‘사상’ 편이다. 공자의 말과 제자들의 입으로 전해진 말을 최종적으로 귀납해서 공자의 핵심사유를 소개하고, 벼슬을 찾아 돌아다닌 공자의 경험을 통해 내면 깊숙한 곳의 모순을 들여다보았다. 그를 위해 저자는 9장 ‘주공을 향한 꿈’ ‘ 천명과 인성’에서 공자의 기본 세계관을 짚어보았고, 그가 추구한 핵심사유를 ‘성인聖人과 인자仁者’ ‘군자와 소인’으로 개괄한 뒤, 이를 세부적으로 ‘10대 덕’과 이를 구현하는 ‘예제’로 나누어 상술했다. 그런 다음 다시 공자 개인에게로 돌아와 ‘공자가 읽었던 책’ ‘공자가 배웠을 만한 스승’을 살펴본 뒤, 그가 노나라를 떠날 수밖에 없었던 정치적 상황, 15년의 외유가 남긴 ‘정치적 번뇌’를 통해서 선천적으로 정치에 민감했던 한 지식인의 내면의 무늬를 읽어냈다.

우리는 이 장을 통해 공자의 사상을 훨씬 체계적으로 이해할 수 있다. 한가지 예를 들자면 공자의 인물품평 기준이다. 공자는 인물을 품평할 때 도덕과 지적 능력으로 나눠서 살펴보았다. 도덕에 따라 나누면 성인, 인자, 군자, 소인 등 넷으로 나뉜다. 지적 능력에 따라 나누면 ‘가장 지혜로운 사람[上智]’, ‘중간 정도의 지혜를 가진 사람[中人]’, ‘가장 어리석은 사람[下愚]’ 등으로 나뉜다. 리링은 공자는 주로 ‘도덕’을 기준 삼아 사람을 군자와 소인으로 구분했다며 이를 14가지로 다시 세분해서 살핀다. 14가지 중 하나를 예로 들자면 “군자는 자기에게서 구하는 데 비해, 소인은 남에게서 구한다”이다.

특히 저자는 공자의 계급적인 입장과 역사관을 살펴보았는데 “공자의 사상은 귀족 중심적”이라는 것, 현재의 귀족이 아니라 앞선 세대를 살았던, 법도를 갖추고 예의를 알았던 귀족들의 삶을 부러워했다는 점을 말했다. “우리는 공자가 출신을 중시하지 않고, 노동인민을 인정했다고 여겨서는 안 된다. 사실상 진정으로 공자를 이해한다면 그가 귀족들보다 더 귀족적임을 알 수 있을 것이다”(224쪽)라고 저자는 강조한다.

제3부 ‘『논어』 성전으로서의 이미지 찢기’는 ‘공자가 성인이 된 역사적 과정’과 리링 교수의 전작 『집 잃은 개喪家狗』를 둘러싼 논쟁에 대한 해명, ‘『논어』에서 무엇을 배울 것인가’로 구성되었다. 특히 마지막 장 ‘논어에서 무엇을 배울 것인가’에서는 오늘날 공자의 가치가 결코 도덕선생, 정치가, 종교 지도자로서 지닌 가치가 아니라며, 세가지로 정리하고 있다. 하나는 공자는 학식이 가장 깊은 사람이었다는 것, 둘째는 공자가 뛰어난 사회평론가였다는 것, 셋째는 백가쟁명의 시대를 연 인물이었다는 것이다. 또한 리링 교수는 ‘내가 제일 좋아하는 공자의 열 마디 말’도 소개했다. “군자는 단결하되 당파를 만들지 않으며, 소인은 당파를 만들되 단결하지 않는다”(「위정」), “마을 사람 중에 선한 사람이 좋아하고, 선하지 않은 사람이 미워하는 것만 못하다”(「자로」) 등이 포함된 이 10문장은 모두 ‘지식인을 겨냥한 말’들이다. 리링은 말한다.

“공자는 허위에 반대했는데 나는 그것을 좋아한다. 공자는 남과 함께 선을 행하고, 될 수 있는 한 남을 이해하며, 남에 대한 편견이 생겨나는 것을 막아야 한다고 주장했는데, 나는 그것을 좋아한다. 공자는 향원鄕愿(수령을 속이고 양민을 괴롭히던 촌락의 토호)에 반대하고, 좋고 나쁨이 여론에 좌우되는 것에 반대했는데, 나는 그것을 좋아한다. 공자는 패거리를 짓는 것에 반대했는데, 나는 그것을 좋아한다. 공자는 아부하지 않고 홀로 설 것을 강조했는데, 나는 그것을 좋아한다.” (495쪽)

리링 『논어』 읽기의 새로움과 즐거움

1. 공자는 복고파이지만 오래된 것을 좋아한 것은 아니다

공자는 옛것을 회복하려고 했지만, 그가 꼭 집어서 회복하고자 했던 것은 하나라나 상나라가 아니다. 그는 두 나라를 공경하되 멀리했으며, 다락에 넣어놓고 사용하지 않았다. 그가 회복코자 한 것은 주공周公의 나라였다. 주공은 노나라의 조상이며 서주西周를 만든 이다. 공자가 서주를 좋아한 것은 그것의 문명화된 정도가 높아, 문화적 수준이 높고 군자의 냄새가 진하게 났기 때문이다. 공자에게 서주는 오래된 과거가 아니라 가까운 과거였다. 고대가 아니라 근대였다.

2. 공자 사상은 ‘천인합일天人合一’이 아니다

전국시대부터 진한시대에 이르기까지 옛사람들이 가장 즐겨 말했던 것은 ‘하늘과 사람의 합일’이 아니라 ‘하늘과 사람의 구분’이고 이를 바탕으로 한 둘의 ‘관계’이다. 천인합일을 강조한 것은 장재張載(장횡거)를 비롯한 송나라 이후의 일이다. 리링은 최근 20년 동안 천인합일 사상이 동양 고유의 것이라며 서구근대에 맞서는 녹색-평화사상으로 거듭난 일을 개탄한다. 모든 일들이 중국은 천인합일, 서양은 천인분열이라고 했지만 리링은 오히려 서구가 천인합일에 가깝고 동양은, 공자가 속했던 시대는 “땅의 백성과 하늘의 신이 통하는 것을 끊어버린” 시대라고 강조한다. 즉, 공자의 사상은 천인분열의 시각에서 읽어야지 천인합일의 시각에서 읽으면 오류를 범하게 된다.

3. 여성관념 등 ‘공자의 생각’을 미화하려는 무익한 시도

공자가 내린 소인의 정의에는 계급적 편견이 담겨있다는 게 리링의 생각이다. 마찬가지로 그의 여성에 대한 관점에도 성적 차별 관념이 담겨 있다. 공자는 “여자와 소인은 다루기가 어렵다. 가까이하면 불손해지고 멀리하면 원망한다”라고 하여 수많은 여성들에게 그다지 예의를 차리지 않았다. 공자가 여성들을 한군데에 모아 그 전체를 소인과 동류라고 한 것, 이것은 『논어』에 명명백백히 쓰여 있는 말이다. 그런데 학자들은 공자의 말씀이 공자의 이미지를 손상시킨다고 생각해 이 걸림돌을 제거하려 한다. 가장 대표적인 예가 『논어』에 나오는 ‘여자女子’라는 단어를 ‘여자汝子’(아랫사람을 부르는 말)로 읽거나 ‘사내아이 종竪子’으로 읽어야 한다는 주장이다. 또한 ‘소인小人’을 어린아이로 이해해야 한다는 주장도 있다. 하지만 곡해는 헛수고가 될 뿐이며, 강변은 무익할 따름이다. (308~309쪽)

4. 역사에서 공자를 떠받든 세가지 방식

리링은 말한다. “역사적으로 공자를 떠받드는 방법은 세가지였다. 첫째는 정치적 정통성을 강조하는 것으로, 이는 한나라 유자들이 취한 방법이었다. 둘째는 도통을 강조하는 것으로, 이는 송나라 유자들이 취한 방법이었다. 셋째는 유학을 종교로 삼는 것으로, 이는 근대 이후 기독교의 자극을 받아 형성된 구세救世설이다. 그런데 이 세가지는 모두 이데올로기로 공자를 사랑한다고 말하지만 사실은 공자를 해치는 짓이다.”(34쪽) 리링은 이와는 반대되는 방향으로 간다. 공자를 정치화하고 도덕화하고 종교화하는 것에서 벗어나려 한다. 그는 “백성을 우매하게 만드는 자는 그 자신이 반드시 백성을 위해 우매해진다”고 강조한다.

5. 성인聖人은 죽은 사람이고 제왕이다

공자는 성인을 피라미드의 가장 상위 클래스로 보았다. 공자가 살아생전에 성인이 되었다는 말은 성립되지 않는다. 왜냐하면 공자가 인정한 성인은 모두 이미 죽은 사람들이기 때문이다. 또한 공자는 성인은 반드시 최고 권력자라야 한다고 생각했다. “자기 몸을 바르게 닦아서, 백성들을 편안하게 하는 것”이 바로 성인의 역할인데 권력이 있어야 가능하기 때문이다. 고대의 신하들은 그런 힘이 없었다. 그들은 왕에 예속된 인물이며, 신하의 어원도 따지고 보면 ‘노예’에서 뻗어 나왔다. 그런고로 성인=죽은 제왕이다. 살아있는 왕은 성인이 될 수 없다. 공자는 자신이 성인은커녕 인자仁者도 아니며 군자君子도 못된다고 보았다. 공자는 자신을 “배워도 늘 모자라고, 가르치는 데 싫증을 내지 않는 사람”이라고 인정했을 뿐이다. 리링은 이처럼 공자를 있는 그대로 인정하자고 주장한다.

6. 서恕는 ‘너그러이 용서한다’가 아니다

리링은 옛사람들이 말한, 공자가 강조한 ‘서恕’라는 것이 너그러이 용서한다는 뜻이 아님에 유의해야 한다고 말한다. 공자가 말한 ‘서’는 이 마음으로 저 마음을 바꾸어 헤아리는 것이다. 이것은 “사람을 사람으로 대한다”는 뜻의 ‘인仁’과 대등한 관계에 놓이는 개념이다. 사람을 사람으로 대하고, 이 마음으로 저 마음을 헤아리는 것은 동일선상의 마음의 운용이다. 여기서 파생되는 것이 바로 “등치되는 것으로 원한을 갚고 덕으로 덕을 갚는”(「헌문」)다는 『논어』의 구절이다. 이는 사실 원한으로 원한을 갚는다는 말이다. 공자는 결코 ‘덕으로 원한을 갚으라’고 말하지 않았다. 그런 말은 『노자』와 관련 있다는 게 리링의 생각이다. 즉, ‘서恕’라는 말을 제대로 알아야 “모든 것을 용서할 수는 없다”는 공자의 생각을 제대로 알 수 있다.

7. 공자의 禮‘ - 조화’ 이전에 ‘구별’을 중시했고, 번다함을 싫어했다

공자가 말하는 예에서 중요하게 생각한 것은 ‘구별別’이다. 조화는 구별의 기초 위에서 추구되는 것이다. 공자의 인仁 또한 그 사랑에는 차등이 존재한다. 그것은 평등이나 박애가 아니다. 유가는 예를 높이는데, 예란 필연적으로 번잡스러워진다. 하지만 정작 공자는 번잡한 예에 반대했다. 그가 즐겨한 한마디는 “글을 널리 배우고 예로 요약하라”는 것이다. 이 말이 『논어』에 세차례 나온다고 리링은 강조한다. 공자는 독서는 ‘넓게’ 해야 하지만 예를 익히는 것은 ‘요약되어야’ 한다고 보았다. 예에 관한 문제에서 그는 ‘넓지만 요약됨이 부족한 것’에 반대했다.

8. 공자의 스승은 누구일까

리링은 공자가 특정한 누구에게 배우지는 않았다고 본다. 다만 살펴볼 수 있는 유일한 것은 공자에게 음악을 가르친 악사樂士들이 있었다는 것이다. 예컨대 사양자는 그의 선생님이었다. 공자는 평생동안 음악을 벗했고, 음악을 배우려고 노력했고, 마음을 다스리기 위해 직접 음악을 연주하기도 했다. 접기

====

평점 분포     8.4

==

공감

     

논어를 종횡으로 해체. 논어를 읽고자 하는 분은 서문은 꼭 읽어봐야 함. 

madwife 2017-12-03 공감 (3) 댓글 (0)

Thanks to

 

공감

     

리링...더 이상 말이 필요 없는 저자다. 고전 읽기의 전범을 보여줄 수 있는 책이다. 

雨裝愚齋 2011-07-26 공감 (3) 댓글 (0)

Thanks to

 

공감

마이리뷰

구매자 (4)

전체 (5)

===

리뷰쓰기

공감순 

     

책이 엉망이다.

- 세미나를 위해 책을 읽고 있다. 일단 4장까지 읽었으니 이에 대한 평.

- 중간에 영 엉망인 부분이 많아 읽는데 많이 거슬렸다. 

-  먼저 서론에 붙은 주석 번호와 미주에 내용이 서로 다르다. 번호가 밀렸다. 편집의 문제였던 듯.

- 엉터리로 기록된 부분이 있다. 리링이 몰랐거나 역자 황종원이 몰랐다는 건데, 사소한 실수라고 치부하기엔 너무하다. 43쪽: "사실은 콘스탄티노플이 기독교를 선택했듯이 한 무제가 공자를 선택한 것이다." 콘스탄티노플은 로마 황제 콘스탄티누스의 이름을 딴 도시 이름이다. 당연히 콘스탄티노플은 콘스탄티누스가 되어야 한다. 

- 번역의 일관성이 없다. 한자를 현대 중국어 음으로 옮길지, 우리식 한자 읽기로 옮길지 정하지 못하고 마구 뒤섞여 있다. 예를 들면 아래와 같다. 47쪽 "취푸 동쪽에 있는 량공린梁公林이다. 이곳은 공자의 아버지, 어머니, 그리고 형의 장지로 알려져 있다. 량공린은 방산防山 일대에 있으며, 방산은 곡부 노고성魯故城의 동편에 있다." 앞에서는 '취푸'라고 했다가 뒤에서는 '곡부'라고 한다. '방산', '노고성' 등은 우리식으로 읽은 것은 일관성이 없어 보인다. '취푸'와 '곡부'가 섞여 쓰이는 경우는 이 밖에도 많다.

- 3장. 공부가孔父嘉는 '공보가'로 옮겨야 하는거 아닌가…? '부父'가 인명에서는 '보'로 읽어야 한다고 알고 있다. 

- 일관성이 없는 부분이 자주 눈에 띈다. 97쪽: "송나라 수도는 지금의 허난성 상치우商丘에 있었으니, 곡부에서 멀지 않았다. 그의 집은 상구에서 북상하여 노나라로 이주한 것이다." '상치우'가 뒤에서는 '상구'가 되어 있다. '곡부'가 다시 등장한 것도 문제. 

- 마무리가 덜 되었는지 괄포, 쉼표, 작은 따옴표 등이 빠져있다. 89쪽에는 닫는 괄호 ')'가 없고, 99쪽 두번째로 인용한 원문에는 시작하는 작은 따옴표가 없다. 100쪽 첫째 줄에는 '<열선전><신선전>'이라고 표기했다. 쉼표를 넣어야 할듯. 

- 109쪽. 부자동굴夫子洞은 앞에서는 '부자굴'로 옮겼었다. 

- 이런 실수가 툭툭 튀어나오니 책 읽는데 많은 방해가 된다. 채 마무리가 안된 책을 읽는 기분이다.

- 이 이외에 내용에 대한 부분을 이야기하면.

- 서론 '논어 독법'이 가장 좋다. 저자의 몇 가지 포인트는 <논어>를 읽는 많은 사람들이 염두해 두어야 할 사항이다.

- 1~4장까지 공자의 삶을 언급한 부분은 의외로 치밀하지 못하다. 많은 부분을 공자의 고향 '취푸'를 설명하는데 할애하며, 공자의 성적도를 이야기하는 부분도 지나치게 많다. 설명은 장황하니 예리한 맛이 없다.

- 이렇게 된 가장 큰 문제는 기존의 기록, 특히 사마천의 기록, <공자세가>를 맹신하고 있기 때문이다. 10쪽: "사마천은 한 무제 시대에 공자를 지극히 경모한 대학자였다."라고 평가한다. 더 나아가 103쪽: "오체투지를 할 정도로 공자를 숭배했던 사마천이 고의적으로 성인을 모멸했을 리도 없다."라고 말한다. 최술을 비롯한 청대 학자들의 비판, 특히 앞서 읽었던 시라카와 시즈카의 책과는 전혀 다른 주장을 펼치고 있다. 그러다보니 리링이 그리는 공자의 모습은 기존에 우리가 알고 있는 공자의 모습과 크게 다르지 않다.

- 그럼에도 불구하고 이 책에서 주목해볼 수 있는 부분 가운데 하나는 출토퇸 죽간본에 대한 연구를 가지고 논어를 설명한다는 것이다. 들고 다니기 쉬운 어록체로 된 책, 마치 명언 카드를 뒤섞어 정리한 것 같다는 그의 이야기는 흥미롭다. 

- 방대한 분량에 비해 다루고 있는 내용은 좀 평범하다. 일본 저자나 서양 저자의 날카로움이 보이지 않는다. 미주를 꼼꼼하게 읽지는 못했으나 중국 이외의 연구 성과를 참고하지 않는다는 것도 큰 단점이라고 할 수 있다.

- 머릿말을 읽으며 중국에 저렇게 공자붐이 불었던가 하고 놀랐다. 

 

- 책이 나온지 오래 되어 서평이 있을거 같아 찾아보았다. 생각보다 몇 편이 없다. 1) 프레시안에 실린 김갑수의 글 '누가 공자를 '권력의 앞잡이'로 만들었나?'(클릭) 리링의 전작 '상가구'를 번역할 역자가 쓴 글이다. 온통 리링과 공자 이야기만 있고 이 책에 대한 이야기는 없다. 2) 교수신문에 실린 신정근의 서평(클릭). 밥상이야기는 여기서도 나온다. 서평이라고 부르기엔 글이 무디다. 3) 블로거 노는 사람의 글(클릭) 적절한 판단이라 생각한다. 마지막 '정리'에 동의!

- 접기

내사랑취두부 2012-03-08 공감(13) 댓글(0)

===

     

공자의 절박함으로 돌아가기

 공자는 “천하에 도가 있으면 드러내고, 천하에 도가 없으면 은거하라”고 했다. 하지만 그 자신은 도가 없음이 명백한 시대에 살면서도 자신을 드러내지 못해 괴로워했다. 결국은 학생을 가르치는 것이 그의 삶이자 낙이 됐다지만, 그는 제자들에게 도가 없는 천하에서 백이와 숙제가 그러했듯 은거하는 도리를 설파할 수밖에 없었다. 그런 까닭에 가난을 마다하지 않고 어지러운 조정에 출사하지 않고 은거한 안회를 아꼈다. 그렇지만 정작 공자는 본인의 포부가 실현될 수 있는 가능성을 끝끝내 포기하지 못했다. 그에게는 제자들에게 옳은 삶을 가르치는 교육자로서의 삶만으로는 충족되지 않는 정치가로서의 번뇌가 떠나지 않았다.

 심지어 공자는 아무도 자신을 이해해주지 않는다는 답답한 마음을 담아 경쇠를 친 것만으로도 비난을 받기도 했다. “천하구나. 경쇠 치는 소리가! 자기를 알아주지 않으면 그만두면 될 일이다. (하략)” 공자의 경쇠 소리에 그의 마음이 들어있다며 이렇듯 혹독하게 퍼부은 사람은 실은 그 앞을 지나던 행상이었다. 뜻을 펼치지 못하는 답답함을 음악으로 풀 수밖에 없었던 공자의 처지는 물론, 그 깊은 심정이 문 밖의 행인조차도 알아차릴 수 있을 정도로 확연했다는 점은 자신의 뜻을 실제 현실에서 펼치려는 그의 의지가 얼마나 강했는지를 보여준다. 여기서 단순히 시대에서 인정받지 못한 공자에 대한 안타까움만 느낀다면 그것은 독자의 감정과잉이다. 어떤 감정인가. 성인으로서의 공자에 대한 일방적인 숭배다.

 그는 자신의 시대가 난세라는 것도, 이런 시대에 나서지 않는 것이 군자의 처세라는 사실도 알고 있었다. 그럼에도 불구하고 그는 기회만 있으면 끊임없이 현실 정치에 나섰다가 실패하는 과정을 반복했다. 그는 군자이자 선생이며 동시에 정치가였다. 춘추시대라는 난세는 이 두 가지 역할의 도리가 충돌할 수밖에 없는 때였다. 공자가 그의 이상과 포부가 높았음에도 실패했다는 사실보다 이런 결과를 그가 충분히 예측했음에도 언제나 현실에 발을 내디뎠다는 사실이 더 중요하다. 심지어 제자들의 반발을 사면서까지 한낱 주인을 배반한 가신에 불과한 양화, 필힐의 초빙에 응하려하기도 했다. 공자가 논어에서 보여준 은거의 도리와 집요한 출사 시도 사이의 괴리를 외면하면 그의 정치적 시도는 신화가 된다. 공자가 실패할 줄 알면서도 세상에 대한 사명감으로 출사하려 했다는 오해가 이에서 비롯된다. 하지만 공자는 실패를 ‘각오하고’ 나섰을지언정, 실패를 ‘예견하고’ 나서지는 않았다.

 이 책이 던지는 문제의식은 오늘날 공자를 그가 살던 시대의 관점에서 보지 못한다는 데 있다. 가장 단적으로 말하자면 공자가 그가 살던 현실에 받아들여지지 못했다는 사실이 공자 자신에게 어떤 의미였는지를 모른다. 공자는 춘추 시대의 어느 누구보다도 현실에 깊이 발을 담근 인물이었으나 후세인들은 오히려 정반대로 공자에게서 그가 살았던 시대의 특수성과 그의 시대인식을 지우는 데 몰두한다. 어떻게든 그의 한마디 한마디를 공자가 아닌 자신이 살고 있는 시대에 부합하게 해석하던 노력은 결국 그를 시간과 공간을 초월한 성인으로 재창조하는 것으로 귀결됐다. 공자가 살면서 입었던 수많은 상처와 실패 그리고 괴리는 모두 성인이 되기 위해 당연히 겪어야만 했던 통과의례로 떠받들린다. 난세에는 몸을 피해야 한다고 제자들에게 몸소 가르쳤던 공자가 이를 거스르는 선택을 할 때의 고뇌와 결국 실패를 거듭할 때의 괴로움은 은폐된다. 마치 그는 이 모든 시련을 자신이 세상을 구하는 성인이 되기 위한 필연적인 과정으로 받아들인 것처럼 포장한다. 하지만 그는 분명 세상에서 상처받았고 그런데도 세상을 끝내 포기하지 못해 더 상처받아야 했다.

 이 책은 공자가 잊어서는 안 되는 위대한 사상가라는 사실을 부정하지는 않는다. 대신 그의 말과 행동을 기록한 논어의 모든 구절들이 어디까지나 중국의 춘추 시대라는 특정한 시대를 공자라는 개인이 받아들인 방식이라는 전제를 항상 기억해야 한다는 사실을 기억하라고 외칠 뿐이다. 이 사실을 잊는 순간, 우리가 논어에서 읽는 구절을 말한 공자는 사라지고 이 짧은 단편들을 자신의 시대와 주장에 임의대로 끼워 맞추려는 우리 자신 혹은 특정한 시대의 권력과 욕망만 남는다. 물론 공자라는 인물과 그의 언행에는 너무도 오래전부터 수많은 인간과 권력에 의한 해석이 덧씌워져 이미 수많은 시간이 흐른 오늘날의 관점에서 보면 마치 그것이 공자 자신의 생각처럼 보일 지경이다. 주자의 해석을 공자의 의도 자체와 동일시해 정치 투쟁도 불사했던 역사가 한국에도 있었다.

 따라서 저자인 리링이 강조하는 공자에 대한 역사적 관점은 오늘날에 이르기까지 ‘공자의 성인화’가 이뤄진 과정까지 포괄할 수밖에 없었다. 저자는 이 책에서 공자의 삶과 흔적, 그리고 논어에 드러난 그의 언행을 공자 본인과 그 당시의 관점에서 해석하는 좁은 수준을 넘어섰다. 각종 문헌에 기록된 공자의 외모를 토대로 신화화의 중요한 수단인 공식적인 초상과 공자의 핵심 제자와 도통(道統)의 흐름을 의미하는 이른바 4배(配)12철(哲)이 형성된 과정을 밝히는 부분은 이런 접근 방식의 가치가 가장 잘 드러난 대목이다. 공식 초상의 형성은 공자를 그의 시대로부터 분리해 어느 시대에나 적용될 수 있는 준칙을 세운 사표로서의 이미지를 완성시키는 과정이었다. 공자 당대에 기록된 그의 모습이 후대 인간들이 성인에게 기대하는 표상으로 확대돼 공자가 시대를 초월한 숭배의 대상으로 확고해지는 흐름이 확인 가능한 자료를 중심으로 치밀하게 전개됐다.

 이에 대해 4배 12철의 확립은 공자를 둘러싼 학파와 그 정통성의 구축을 위해 어떤 작위적인 노력이 가해졌는지를 보다 비판적으로 검토한다. 저자는 특히 4배 12철이 공자가 성인으로서 추앙받을 대상으로 확립된 이상 그가 갖게 된 권력, 이른바 도통(道統)을 물려받을 직선적인 계보로 이용됐다는 문제를 지적한다. 공자의 제자 13인 외에 자사, 맹자, 주희를 공자와 함께 존숭 받을 성현으로 높이고 이들이 공자로부터 그의 제자 증자를 거쳐 이어진 유학의 정통성을 물려받았다는 주장은 실상 역사적 정당성이 부족하다는 것이다. 단지 이제는 그러한 가상의 정통성이 당연하게 받아들여질 정도로 오랜 시간이 흘렀을 뿐이다. 그렇다고 해서 역대 중국 왕조가 직접 나선 이러한 공자 학파의 편성이 공자 당대의 상황을 반영하지 못하고 오히려 각 시대의 필요에 따라 작위적으로 이용된 정치적 고려의 결과였다는 사실 자체는 변하지 않는다. 물론 그러한 과정 자체를 유학의 역사적 흐름으로 이해할 수는 있겠지만, 그것이 오늘날까지 그대로 승계돼야 할 유학적 전통, 혹은 공자의 가르침 그 자체일 수는 없다는 것이다.

 애초 공자에게는 대대손손 물려줄 권력 따위는 없었다. 그는 성자가 아니었기 때문이다. 그가 논어에서 자신이 성자였음을 부인했다는 의미가 아니다. 그를 성자로 보는 순간 그가 수없이 시도했던 현실 정치의 참여에서 난세에는 몸을 감춘다는 스스로의 신조를 거스르고 실패의 부담까지 감수해야 했던 공자의 절박성과 진정성이 사라진다. 공자를 성인으로 본다면 공자가 아니라 이후에 그를 그렇게 볼 수밖에 없었던 역대 동양의 역사를 이해할 수는 있을 것이다. 게다가 공자 생전에 자공 등의 제자들에 의해 공자의 성인화가 시도될 때부터 이미 성인이라는 단어는 공자와 맞지 않고 붙일 수도 없는 칭호였음을 이 책은 집요하고 치밀하게 반복해서 강조한다. 이에 대해서는 춘추 시대 당시 성인은 천부적으로 총명한 과거의 지도자를 뜻하는 것으로 혈통으로 증명된 지배자이며 동시에 이미 죽은 자였다는 사실을 충분한 전거를 통해 드러낸다. 이러한 부분에서 고고학, 고문자학, 고문헌학의 이른바 삼고(三古)의 대가라는 저자의 역량이 단적으로 읽힌다.

 비록 이미 공자 생전부터 그 개념을 수정해 공자에 부합하도록 하려는 시도는 있었지만 무엇보다 공자 자신이 생전에 자신이 성인이 아니라는 전제를 확고하게 세웠다는 사실이 더욱 중요하다. 다시 말해 공자 당대에 성인이라는 단어가 함의하는 바를 이해하지 못한 채 사전적 의미만으로 그가 성인이라고 본다면 공자 자신을 보는 것이 아니라 그를 성인으로 숭앙해야 한다고 주장하는 이후 학자들을 바라보게 되는 셈이다. 공자를 성인이라고 보는 관점은 단순히 그의 학문적, 정신적 위대함을 높이 평가한다는 의미 이상의 역사적, 정치적인 의미가 있음을 이 책은 끊임없이 강조한다. 그리고 그러한 의미는 결국 공자의 언행을 그가 의도하는 바와 달리 해석하도록 유도하고 있음을 지적한다. 이 책의 저자처럼 공자가 성인이 아니라는 학설이 그를 비하하는 것이 아니듯, 공자를 성인으로 떠받드는 주장이 그를 존숭하는 것만은 아니다. 단지 공자를 그렇게 봐야만 했던 역대 중국 왕조의 이념을 일방적으로 답습하는 것에 지나지 않는다.

 이런 주장은 더 나아가 공자 자신이 세웠던 자기 인식의 기반을 일방적으로 부정하고 그의 언행을 공자 본인의 의도와 정반대로 해석할 위험성이 매우 크다. 오늘날의 중국에서 성인인 공자가 여성을 비하하고 계급적인 주장을 했을 리 없다는 전제 하에서 논어를 해석하는 것이 당연시되고 있음을 저자가 비판하는 대목 역시 이러한 문제의 단면이다. 비록 지금까지 오랫동안 공자를 그런 식으로 해석해왔고 공자 당대부터 어떻게든 그를 성인으로 모시려했을 정도로 그가 위대한 사상가라는 점에서 그런 주장에 일정부분 정당성이 있고, 무엇보다 그런 인식이 정치, 사회, 학문적으로 상당히 효과적이었음은 부정하기 어렵다. 하지만 이제 공자와 유학의 위상이 근본적으로 달라진 사회 체제 하에서 공자를 바라보는 관점이라면 공자에 대한 후대의 평가가 아닌 그 자신의 의도와 시대에 바탕을 둘 필요가 있다. 더 이상 공자는 그가 반드시 성인이어야만 정통성이 유지되는 아시아 사회의 유일무이한 준칙이 아니기 때문이다.

 지금까지 우리가 당연하게 생각했던 논어의 해석, 공자에 대한 인식을 공박하고 그 근거를 찾아서 오랜 전거들을 거침없이 들춰내는 리링의 집요함은 감탄할 만 했다. 이러한 노력이 보기에 따라서는 다소 지나치다고 여겨질 수도 있고, 한편으로는 논어의 문면에 집착하는 과격한 근본주의로 비춰질 수도 있다. 그러나 그는 공자의 언행을 오늘날에 그대로 적용하거나 재현하자고 주장할 정도로 어리석지 않다. 오히려 공자라는 개인과 그가 살았던 춘추 시대의 특수성이라는 바탕 위에서 공자의 언행을 해석하고 그 한계를 냉철히 인식해야 한다고 말할 뿐이다. 공자가 설파한 덕과 예의 보편성과 그가 이를 실현하기 위해 내세웠던 구체적인 내용이 갖는 역사성을 성인의 가르침이라는 미명 아래 손쉽게 뒤섞는 일방적으로 확대된 논어 해석에서 그동안 덧칠된 부분을 조금이라도 덜어내기 위해 노력한다고 봐야 할 것이다. 만약 그의 표현에서 다소 과격한 부분이 있었다면 그동안 쌓인 공자에 대한 후대의 더께가 그만큼 두터운 탓에 거칠게 비질을 했다고 봐야하지 않을까 싶다.

- 접기

로렌초의시종 2011-09-26 공감(2) 댓글(1)

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제가 읽어 볼때 현존 가장 독특한 논어 해설서

논어에 대해서 분명 좋은 역주서와 해설서가 많이 있습니다.   하지만 리링의 논어 해설서는 정말 독특합니다.   기존에 몇몇 말이 안되는 너무 앞서나간 논어 해설서보다는   분명 수준이 다릅니다.   리링의 해설서는 독특하면서도 기발합니다. 또한 수준이 있습니다.

소나무 2012-08-05 공감(2) 댓글(0)

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당신은 강하다

누군가 종교를 물으면 '유교'라고 대답해야 겠다,고 생각했다. 나는, 인간세상을 평화롭게 하는 방법은 역시 정치라고 생각하는 인간이고, 사람의 마음이 복잡하고 다루기 힘들다고 생각하는 인간이고, 모순되게도 겸양이라는 태도가 필요하다고 생각하고. 또. 무엇보다 내 자신이 강하다고 생각한다. 아더왕연대기의 드루이드교신자가 기독교에 대해 '여자나 아이들이나 좋아할 종교'라고 말하는 태도로 모든 결정과 책임을 신께 미루는 태도가 싫다. 

별족 2019-05-28 공감(1) 댓글(0)

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2011-11-06 오후 9:31:00 저장된 글입니다.

논어 세번찟다. 

세번 찢는 것은 아마 기존의 공자의 인식에 대한 잘못 된 오류를 저자 나름대로 재해석하고자 하는 의미에서 책 제목을 그리 정했다는 생각이든다. 그 세가지를 인물,사상 계파로 분류해서 기존의 공자에 대한 이미지를 재 정립하고자 한 저자 나름의 해석이 일견 많은 공감으로 다가온다.. 사실 공자는 매우 정치적 성향이 강한 인물이지만 그런 성향이 자신의 일신적 영달을 위함 보다도 당시 사회의 근본을 일신 하고자 하는 목적이 우선의 과제가 아니었을까?  당시의 질풍노도의 시기에 오직 폭력의 힘에 의존해 절대 패권을 유지해야 한다는 명분을 일축하고 비폭력의 사회통합을 예기했다는 것은 오늘날 우리가 흔히 하는 너무 시대를 앞지른 감이 있는 진보적 전형의 사례에 속한다. 하지만 그 이후 진 제국이 유가적 원리와는 너무 상반 된 법가적 통일에 의해 중국 최초의 위업을 이루지만 단명한 제국의 예에서 보여지듯  오늘날에 와서야 역설적으로 유가와 공자의그 진가가 발휘 됨은 진 제국의 일시적 통일을 가능케 햇던 상 형벌의 논리보다 화해 와 상생의 논리를 우선했던 유가사상이 보다 더 보편적인 정서에 더 맞았기 때문이다. 자유주의자였던 공자를 위해 성인의 지위문제,에 대해 우리가 왈가왈부 하기보다 그냥 우리시대에 엄청 큰 반향으로 다가오는 그런 공자이길 저자는 원하지 않았나 하는 생각을 해 본다. 일종의 고착화 된 아니 화석화 된 공자가 아닌 지금 현재도 우리와 호흡하고 소통이 가능한 그런 이미지의 재현을 저자는 원하는게 아닐까 생각한다.   

작금의 우리 사회만 보더라도 공자의 유교적 영향이 미치지 앉은 곳이 없을 만큼 광대하다. 우리의 현실에 지대한 영향을 갖는 것은 조선의 정치적 선택으로 인한 바가 크지만 공자가 우리와 맞았기 때문에 마치 우리의 문화이듯 단절없이 우리의 생활 속에 자연스럽게 정착했다. 어떤 부분에선 중국보다 더 유교화됐다. 오히려 당대의 중국은  경제성장만이 최고인 듯 또 한번 춘추전국시대의 공자의 충고를 외면하는 것 같다. 중국이 세계의 패권을 이어받기 위해서는 공자가 우선 그에 맞는 대접을 받는 것이 우선이지 않을까...

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jjjoung0070 2012-02-09 공감(0) 댓글(0)

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