Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha

Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha by Roddy Doyle


My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Doyle brilliantly evokes the language and consciousness of the ten-year-old Patrick Clarke in this rambunctious story of boyhood in late-1960s Ireland. We are truly transported into Paddy’s world--the stern headmaster, the gang of rowdy friends, the pathetic little brother, the loving but distant parents.

The true brilliance is in the writing. Somehow Doyle’s language perfectly calls up Paddy’s whole way of seeing things, so that we are inside the mind of this tough little Irish kid.

But what a world. When, I wonder, did the Irish gain a monopoly on suffering? This isn’t as bleak as Angela’s Ashes, but it has some of the same agonising pain: the self-inflicted kind.

I wanted to take my shoe off. I held the heel and groaned. They watched. I pulled, slowly, slowly. I thought about getting Kevin to pull it off, like in a film. But it would have hurt... I lifted my foot out. No blood. The sock was down at the back, under the heel. I took it off, hoping. They watched. I groaned again and took the sock away. They gasped and yeuched.

It was brilliant. The toenail had come off my big toe. It looked cruel. It was real. It was painful. I lifted the nail a little bit. They all looked. I sucked in breath… They’d all seen it. I wanted to go home now.

While I enjoyed the vivid liveliness of Paddy’s voice, I couldn’t really enjoy the story overall because of the subject matter. What’s not to enjoy about a little boy’s life, you ask? Here are some of the things Paddy gets up to regularly:

• Gives his brother ‘Sinbad’ a ‘dead leg’ more times than I could count
• Burns his brother’s lips off by making him put lighter fluid in his mouth, then lighting it
• Kicks his brother just about every time he sees him
• Holds his brother’s face in the gas from the gas stove
• Lights fires
• Gets in fights
• Pulls pranks on neighbors
• Lies to everyone
• Calls names
• Sticks bugs in hot tar
• Steals from shops

There’s more. It’s a whole world, one which I hope never to visit. I grew up in a polite, bookish world where we didn’t beat on each other or compete for injuries. Unfortunately, even though this book was brilliantly written, my distaste for the actions of the characters translated into a dislike for the book as a whole. I appreciate its mastery, but it wasn't a fun read.

Since Paddy was so unlikeable, even at only ten years old, I felt triumphant at the scene near the end of the book when he finally approaches his brother with a degree of affection, and Sinbad rejects him. Having been beaten, tortured, burned, teased, bullied and harassed by his older brother for his entire life, Sinbad refuses to relent when Paddy tries to give him a hug. It’s incredibly sad, and very real.

-I’m sorry for kicking you.
Nothing.
I went out and closed the door... I counted to ten. I opened the door, the ordinary way.
He was still there, the same. The exact same.
I wanted to kill him. I was going to; it wasn’t fair. All I wanted to do was help him and he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t even let me be in the room, and I was. And he was going to find out.
I closed his nose. I shut his nostrils with my fingers...
Something happened: I started crying. I went to thump him and before I had a fist made I was crying. I hung on to his nose for a while longer, just to be holding him. I didn’t know why I was crying; it shocked me. I let go of his nose. I put my arms around him. My hands touched round the back. He stayed hard and closed. I thought my arms would soften him. They’d have to.
I was hugging a statue...
-I won’t hit you again, okay; ever.
I didn’t expect an answer or anything. I waited a bit. Then I kicked him. And I thumped him. Twice.

Paddy suffers anxiety as his parents' marriage gradually decays, but even these circumstances didn't inspire any sympathy from me. He had been too tough, for too long, for me to want anything good for him.

View all my reviews >>