Fewer still have emerged from the darkest depths of alcoholism--from the perpetual fistfights and muggings, car crashes and blackouts--to tell the harrowing truth about the modern Irish immigrant experience. When I showed up for work Monday morning I found out Con had been arrested over the weekend for drunk driving. The only thing that sort of redeemed this book was the author was still trying to find ways to drink without falling back into addiction and general outrageous behavior up until the second to the last page of the book, so I like that he didn't miraculously recover and find solace I was mostly disappointed in this and reading it reminded me of how underated James Frey's A Million Little Pieces is. He saluted back and I slipped out the www. But brutal though Orangutan may be, it is ultimately a story of hope and redemption—it is the story of an Irish drunk unlike any you've met before. Inside the courtyard there must have been fifty guys with semiautomatics and bags of drugs.
But it would be different now that I was in America. The area to our left was known as the South Bronx, or Fort Apache, as it was more commonly called back then. I could picture my cabdriver disappearing down the block. He charmed us all with both his brogue and his hilarious experience in a fertility clinic. It was just too big, too overwhelming. I had been through car accidents, I had been stabbed and hospitalized and almost drowned, and now I had fallen off a roof and I was alive. His eyes glistened in the sun.
And he walks away from too many car crashes without a scrape to make this very believable. What do you think of these guns? His cast of characters are hilarious, too. I really hope he did. The particular subject of growing up in Northern Ireland Broderick recounts still interests me but more importantly, I recalled the author's approach to recovery in this book--as far as I had heard him talk on the radio that cued me to pick the book up then in the first place-- still seemed unique or counter intuitive among the addiction and recovery books that mostly involved 'white middle class that is equipped with luxury of going to rehab facilities. Broderick has written a play, Father Who, and published articles in The Irish Echo, The Irish Voice, and The New York Times. And the women are amazing also.
However, within the four sections the Festival presents, there is also room for retrospectives and themed programmes. If there were, the studios would never release a single turd. Colin's story sheds light on alcoholism and Irishmen, which is evidently endemic. Whether he is languishing in the boozy squalor of the Bronx, coke-fueled and manic in the streets of Manhattan, chasing Hunter S. The rush was so powerful it scared me. I was mostly disappointed in this and reading it reminded me of how underated James Frey's A Million Little Pieces is.
No one knew I was here. Whatever you think of Colin the person, the addict or the flake, you gotta hand it to him as a great writer. If you could sum up Orangutan in three words, what would they be? The pieces of my body would never be found. Here were a lot of very high guys with enough artillery to start a war. The first time I did cocaine, I was with a friend of mine from Dublin.
His cast of characters are hilarious, too. It was love, of all things, that brought him back to life. He makes no apologies for his addiction and it clearly wasn't written for atonement but he was, and is, a like-able guy, notably sensitive and kind when sober. Whether he is languishing in the boozy squalor of the Bronx, coke-fueled and manic in the streets of Manhattan, chasing Hunter S. They were right about America. The inside of the bar was cool and dark after the bright, sweaty ride home.
We made our way up the dark stairwell. Someone was always sprawled on a bench www. Someone was always wailing away about the old country. For the next twenty years, as he drank himself into oblivion, there were failed marriages, car wrecks, hospitals and jail cells. I clenched my fists and snapped bolt upright, ready for a fight as I forced my leaden eyelids open.
One of the reasons I gave another try was because the author wrote another memoir That's that a few years ago and I wanted to treat the books as the Irish diaspora material to look into in depth. They brought so much heart to this project I think people are going to be amazed that most of them had zero experience even on a stage. Some writers are born, others stumble into it, and some are called; interestingly Broderick represents all three of these conditions at various points in his off-kilter life. Fewer still have emerged from the darkest depths of alcoholism—from the perpetual fistfights and muggings, car crashes and blackouts—to tell the harrowing truth about the modern Irish immigrant experience. Reminiscent of A Million Little Pieces, which was brought up with the issue of ethics of the addiction recovery genre and capitalizing it, I could not get over the very trouble that made me to ditch this a decade ago: this book read so much alike A Million. He must have quite a gift of gab or a lot of charm to have hurt and upset and disappointed as many people as it sounds like he did, and still find work, love, and friendship.
In November, exactly four years after I had begun, I finally had an acceptable draft of the book in hand. As his addiction to booze, drugs and fast times intensifies his focus often does too. This I had to see. We were late for an appointment downtown and stuck in some kind of traffic backup. Paul, Ian, and Sean had just started the company weeks before I had arrived, and already they were swamped with more work than they could get to. Rip it apart, throw some of it out--throw it all out if you have to--and rewrite. I was amazed at how many women fell in love with him and stayed with him through the drinking, although not surprised that ultimately each one of them dropped him like the dirty sock he was except the last one, who he turned his life around for.