Having read both Angela's Ashes and 'Tis, this book provides yet a greater sense of the Ireland of the McCourt era. The pictures are authentic and show the true Ireland of old. I would recommend this to anyone who is fascinated with Frank McCourt's writings - it will all become quite real.

The Limerick of Angela's Ashes is beautifully, if not sadly portrayed in this collection of photographs and commentary on life in Ireland in the 30's and 40's. This is truly a "must have" for anyone with an interest in the heritage of the Irish people in the twentieth century. The succinct captioning is beautiful and moving. The photography, printed in sepia tones, is marvelous. You won't be able to put it down.

And,considering his great job since 9/11/01, I'd say few would disagree.

As a transplanted New Yorker who arrived just prior to Rudy Giulianni's second re-election (which just happened to coincide with a week-long gang epidemic that quickly disappeared after he was elected), I have watched my adopted city fall into the grips of a freedom crippling fascist and have wondered how on earth Guilianni was ever given power. Surely, I thought, the fair residents of this great city are not all so overwhelmingly stupid to have honestly believed that such a dangerous man would be the savior of our city.

Reading this powerful little book has answered my questions. The book itself is simply quotes attributed to Guilianni, with the occasional reporting of facts surrounding an issue or event. Taken as parts they can be seen as an instructive look at how one can use spin control and bombastic indignation to cover up almost anything, but when the piece is assembled as a whole, an inadvertent narrative begins to emerge.

These excerpts from Guilianni's full political career, stretching from the late 60's to the late 90's, provides an overwhelmingly fascinating narrative of a mild mannered liberal who becomes a mild mannered -- if passive aggressive and ethically sketchy -- conservative who slowly (from about 1995 to 1999) becomes a power hungry, openly vindictive, petty, horrible man. As the pages turn and the reader is greeted with quotes that provide point and counterpoint on issue after issue, one finds oneself constructing the timeline of Guilianni's own personal descent into madness; we are all able to watch as this man becomes crazier and crazier with every passing year.

In the end, there are two narratives here. One is that of a city that is held prisoner by the tyrannical oppression of one of the century's most dangers threats to personal freedom. The other is that of a flawed man, a man who had strong, workable ideas for how to turn a rough city into a utopia, and in the process somehow lost his soul entirely.

Fantastic compilation of the the most-tyranical mayor in New York's history, this book compels readers to reconsider everything Hizzoner has done for the city in the name of law and order. Regardlessly if you call him Ghoul-iani, Hizzoner, or Il Duce 2, this book will provide you with humorous quotes and anecdotes from his two terms in office. I can understand know why Donna Hanover wants a divorce! In the same tradition as the feeble-minded Geroge W. Bush, Giuliani's neurotic personality is vividly put to public scrutiny here (and deservingly so). Gracie Mansion wasn't the same when he became mayor,and when he exits, it sure will be an important and memorable period of tyranical politicians do in the name of the right-wing. An excellent book for New Yorkers and those who aren't!

Perhaps it's just me, but I'm really beginning to feel like the McCourt family is just cashing in after Frank McCourt's two very successful novels. Of course, I'm not saying that Malachy McCourt is a bad writer, or that he has nothing positive to offer to the literary world, but this memoir left me with mixed feelings.

No doubt, Malachy has a witty sense of humor and an interesting way of perceiving the negative side to life, but on the other hand, the structure of this book rubbed me the wrong way. You're led to believe that his stepdaughter, Nina, had a great life in an institution, yet 100 pages later, you're reading about molested and neglected children in the home she was placed in. Meanwhile, he's gone on to talk about everything else twenty years later before coming back to discussing Nina.

I also ended the book with a feeling of "What was this book's purpose?" Many people experience tough lives while many people do not, but I felt the book lacked a significant climax, besides his health problems, which are nothing particularly unusual for people nowadays.

However, I'd be VERY interested to see what kind of fictional work that McCourt could turn out with his sense of humor. Maybe we'll see some soon.

I had the pleasure of attending a book signing by Malachy McCourt recently. He is a true storyteller, and the only thing better than reading his new book Singing My Him Song, was listening to him read it.

For those who enjoyed A Monk Swimming, you will love this latest account of his life. A more reflective and introspective Malachy is revealed, without losing any of the humor or cheekiness of his first book. The best book I've read in a long time.

When Malachy McCourt's first book, " A Monk Swimming", came out, I read it because of the success of his brother's best seller. I found it charming and very readable. This book, however, is masterful. In my opinion, it's the best book from any McCourt to date. It has everything....power, pathos and extreme thoughtfulness. He does tend to get political at times and I do not always agree with his politics but the way he feels, in relation to his life is excusable and understandable. He is self effacing and brash at the same time. The reader can actually feel his pain....and his joy. A real treat!!

This book was thrown together with little effort. It only has 100+ pages due to the double spacing and large type. Save your money for a better effort.

Beyond question, the melody variously known as "Danny Boy" or "Londonderry Air" is one of the great tunes of all time. Its measured rising and falling cadences would grace the catalog of Franz Schubert or any of the other great classical vocal composers.

Malachy McCourt, brother of novelist Frank McCourt (ANGELA'S ASHES) and a well-known writer and radio-TV luminary in his own right, has produced a curious little book of less than 95 pages about the famous tune and its well-known lyrics. His book is part history, part speculation, part myth and part personal editorial essay. And it is not free from touches of Irish blarney.

McCourt's findings may surprise --- and dismay --- many. The great tune, long since adopted as a kind of unofficial Irish national anthem, may not be of Irish origin. A folklorist named Jane Ross supposedly first noted it down around 1851. She reportedly heard it played by a blind fiddler, Jimmy McCurry, in Limavady, Londonderry --- but there is at least a possibility that the melody may have originated in Scotland. No one knows for sure. At least one respected musical scholar claims that the tune follows no known metric scheme for Irish folk music.

Many different sets of words were attached to the tune after its first publication in 1855 --- but those that have become indissolubly identified with it ("O Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, from glen to glen and down the mountainside....") were written in 1910 by an English lawyer and song-lyric cobbler named Frederick E. Weatherly, who probably never set foot in Ireland. They were actually intended for a different tune, but when Weatherly's sister-in-law sent him some years later the familiar melody from her home in Australia, he saw that it was a perfect fit for his earlier verses. Thus an "Irish" classic was created from a melody that may be Scottish and words by an Englishman.

McCourt gives us this information straightforwardly enough, but he fleshes them out with a good deal of barely relevant material. It seems strange to arraign a book of 95 pages on charges of padding, but the complaint seems justified. McCourt solicited opinions about the song from Irish celebrities (including brother Frank) and speculates at length on such side issues as who is singing the song and to whom it is addressed (one possibility among several: it is the song of Danny Boy's gay lover!). The author's tone varies between straight historical writing and folksiness, including occasional cutesy use of "tis" and "t'was." McCourt also grinds a personal axe or two. He thinks ill of those Catholic dioceses that have banned the singing of "Danny Boy" at funerals because it is "secular."

There are some fascinating bits of trivia here, however. Victorians hesitated to refer to the song as Londonderry Air because, to their prudish ears, it sounded too much like "London derriere." Irish nationalists never use that title either, because they want no mention of London in the title. Wordsmith Weatherly was once in legal partnership with one of the sons of Charles Dickens. And another of Weatherly's lyrics was the popular "Roses of Picardy," set to music memorably by Haydn Wood. Wood studied under the composer Sir Charles Stanford, who quoted "Londonderry Air" in one of his Irish rhapsodies. Make of that what you will. This is a curious little book, entertaining in its quirky way but almost undone by its relentless folksiness. "Londonderry Air" remains a musical treasure, regardless of its origin.

--- Reviewed by Robert Finn

The legend of the beloved Irish ballad is revealed in Malachy McCourt's Danny Boy, a seminal title probing its roots and underlying meaning. McCourt extensively traveled throughout Ireland interviewing musicologists, historians, celebrities and Irish icons in the course of his investigation. In Danny Boy, Irish folklore and history spice an exciting contribution to music history and appreciation.

Like others, I'm sure, I wanted to read Malachy McCourt's book as a companion/comparison book to his brother's bestseller. My guess is that it will sell well -- it is already on the NY Times best seller list -- primarily because of his brother's reputation via Angela's Ashes.

While Malachy's writing is entertaining and occasionally insightful, I think he relies too much on the stereotypical Irish blarney rather than on truthfully exploring his life.

My impression is that by the time he got to the last few chapters, Malachy was running out of steam and depended too much on (inflated?) memories of his sexual encounters.

My 3-star rating is sympathetic -- I think this book actually is closer to a 2+!

Malachy is not Frank, and thus has a very different style. I have recommended this book to others. Worth the read.

after reading "angela's ashes," i was interested to see how this book matched up. i loved "angela's ashes," but it was definitely depressing at times. This, on the other hand, had me laughing out loud at times because of the incredible language and interesting irish slang. this book was different than his brother's, more light-hearted, but with the same wonderful voice. Malachy is very witty, and i can see how he was so well liked in New York during his day.

A worthy effort, this book probably suffers chronic comparison syndrome to brother Frank's Pulizer prize winner, ANGELA'S ASHES. Mr. Malachy's memoir, however, displays a darker more sinister slant to the story of the Irish immigrant McCourt family. The title refers to a catechism malapropism Malachy used as a child: "Hail Mary, full of grace ... Blessed art Thou a monk swimming" And, if one believes that God looks out for fools and drunks, it is an appropriate title indeed. The book reeks of the influence the Church must have had over the young McCourt during his brief period of schooling in Limerick. It is a confession of all the debauchery, unkind acts and selfishness he enjoyed during his youth. Yes, he writes it well and yes, it is often funny, but the sorrow and regret behind the clever words is evident. Unlike brother Frank, the younger McCourt is sorry for the life behind him and still bears stinging grudges against himself and the parents that Frank came to terms with years ago. It is an expertly-worded alcoholic's lament.

Without the benefit of reading Malachy McCourt's brother's book "Angela's Ashes," I had no sibling manuscript to which to compare this book when I read it. I understood Frank McCourt's book was a wonderfully written, tragic account of impoverished life in Limerick, Ireland; realizing his brother's memoir covered a much different story in the States, I had no preconceived expectations of "A Monk Swimming" when I began to read it.

Though I did not approve of the author's moral behaviour, I thought his memoir was beautifully and honestly written. I do not think he intends to brag about his philandering and irresponsible behaviour as a young parent, media personality, and self-proclaimed "celebrity bartender"; rather, he seems to reflect upon the follies of his life with a healthy mix of wit and regret - strong regret. Writing frankly and irreverently, he doesn't paint a picture of himself as a hero or a saint, and for that, I admired him all the more as I read this book.

Clearly, as a recovered alcoholic now in a stable and happy marriage, he has gone through some kind of catharsis in writing this memoir, which climaxes itself in a catharsis when he confronts the pain of his childhood he had been shelving away for so long. We feel his joy and his agony, as well as his regret, as we read the acutely-written details of his young adulthood in New York, California, Ireland, and eventually across the globe.

Excellently written as it is, this is not a book for the patronizing readers looking for a bit of enlightening fluff about a contrived "rite of passage" of a pious Irish immigrant. Rather, it is a true story of a human being encountering moral conflicts - and witnessing them - and sometimes beating them, often losing to them, and always coming to terms honestly with them in quite often less-than-idyllic circumstances. It is a memoir for the eternal wanderers in us all...

This is not Frank, it's Malachy. If you're tempted to read this book because you enjoyed Angela's Ashes and 'Tis, and now you're yearning for more, this may not be for you. But if you want a winding invigorating journey of a memoir, pick this one up and you won't be able to put it down. Malachy's knack for storytelling is immediately evident. At times you may wonder if some of these tales may be invented (or at least tinged with a bit of embellishment for effect)... who cares! They're captivating. The only thing better than reading about this life would be to sit on a bar stool next to the author and hear him recall it all in person.

Not only does Mr. McCourt the Lesser trick the reader into thinking he is more involved than he is in the creation of this book, but he also manages to do a disservice to the fine Irish writers he (feebly) attempts to lionize. This is like Chuck Barris editing the stories of Updike, Roth and Bellow. Talk about pearls before swine. Agh!! Please, please pass on this silliness and look elsewhere. This would be shameful, but for a man who knows no shame. Give it up, Mal, and let the slew of talented writers who don't get published have a chance. Shame on the publisher - his partner in this crime. Can I give this book less than one star?

I cannot think of anyone less deserving to be an editor of anything. It was bad enough that he has made his fame at the knee of his brother - but now he's respectable by editing the greats of Irish fiction?

Not only does Mr. McCourt the Lesser trick the reader into thinking he is more involved than he is in the creation of this book, but he also manages to do a disservice to the fine Irish writers he (feebly) attempts to lionize. This is like Chuck Barris editing the stories of Updike, Roth and Bellow. Talk about pearls before swine. Agh!! Please, please pass on this silliness and look elsewhere. This would be shameful, but for a man who knows no shame. Give it up, Mal, and let the slew of talented writers who don't get published have a chance. Shame on the publisher - his partner in this crime.