When friends ask me what I have been reading lately that I would recommend, the first book that often pops into my head is one I actually read over a decade ago. Angela’s Ashes is that good, that memorable, and I want to make sure that no one who loves a good tale misses out on it.
Frank McCourt’s book was not only breathtaking, it’s publishing story was groundbreaking. It was a forerunner of the current, now long-running, trend of childhood memoirs. It is hard to imagine that only 15 years ago, memoir was a genre left almost entirely to eminent figures reflecting on the breadth and depth of their entire, long lives.
It was also original because it was a “word-of-mouth” bestseller. A limited number of copies were printed, a very modest publicity campaign was launched and expectations were low. And then those first buyers and independent booksellers spread the word…
I was sad to hear of McCourt’s death. I didn’t know him, but his singular prose made me feel like I did, like he was a friend who gave me a wonderful gift– which I am always eager to pass along.
