No one talks to Uncle Tom's wife, Jane, because she's from Galway and she has the look of a Spaniard. You can always tell when people are not talking by the way they pass each other. The women hoist their noses, tighten their mouths and turn their faces away. Narrow focus on the wrongs perpetrated by the English has paralyzed industry and confidence. The cult of masculinity, centered on drinking, destroys the social fabric.
Women stand with their arms folded, chatting.
They don't sit because all they do is stay home, take care of the children, clean the house and cook a bit and the men need the chairs. The men sit because they're worn out from walking to the Labour Exchange every morning to sign up for the dole, discussing the world's problems and wondering what to do with the rest of the day. A ngela's Ashes is written on one note, a sustained note of almost hysterical anger that carries the narrative along briskly enough. Tis tells of McCourt's emigration to the United States at the age of nineteen, his misadventures in New York and elsewhere, his education at New York University, his early years as a teacher, and his failed first marriage. It is a diffuse story that demands a certain amount of introspection that the author, whether because he won't or can't, doesn't provide.