100 books like Autobiography of a Child

Edna O’Brien’s 2012 autobiography Country Girl is a blunt, gripping, lyrical and non-self-pitying depiction of her early life in the west of Ireland. It exposes the stultifying conformity imposed by the Catholic Church, family and community which I experienced myself. She rebelled as she sought freedom and self-expression from a domineering mother and drunken father. Edna’s escape to Dublin, London and New York as well as her exile from Ireland reflects an individual addicted to drugs and alcohol who seeks acknowledgement, liberty and success through many failed relationships. Edna’s autobiography resonates with many of my own experiences of the 1960’s. Country Girl demonstrates how one Irish female writer broke the cultural silence so that others would not feel alone. Her writing was an inspiration to me for my own memoir.

McGinley’s 2011 autobiography That Unearthly Valley: A Donegal Childhood is a carbon copy of my own upbringing in a small rural, Irish and narrow-minded community in County Donegal in the mid-twentieth century where the dominance and hypocrisy of the Catholic priest and school instilled fear and religious compliance in daily life. 

McGinley’s clearly narrated memories reveal a young man’s frustration at the silent and secret practices of those in authority from which his only escape was education and by disowning his birthplace. His descriptions of feeling like an outcast hhelpme to question the traumatic impact of our childhoods upon our adult lives. Like myself, it was only by distancing himself from home that he was able to lay bare a disturbing existence of repression.

John McGahern’s Memoir is a chronological narrative of his experiences in County Leitrim Ireland from the age of three. His continuous prose of detailed descriptions of places, people, and incidents combined with the child’s voice create a brutal home and school environment from which his only escape is the beauty of the local landscape. His contrasting depiction of his brutal father and loving mother resurrects my parents’ behaviour. He uses the most effective order of words to create a gripping narrative to represent Irish family silence. John’s precise style creates an addictive tension hooking me to every word where I am left to ponder on what is not said. John’s narration of his experiences encouraged me to partially adopt his approach in my own memoir.

Hugo Hamilton’s 2003 autobiography The Speckled People recounts his Dublin childhood experiences of being brought up by a brutal, Gaelic-speaking and nationalist father who forbade him from speaking English and a German mother who escaped from Nazi Germany. 

Hugo’s linguistic difficulties and cultural disparities restricted his personal development where confusion and frustration led to isolation. I am fascinated by his search for self-identity through his love of English resulting in a thought-provoking narrative that reflects the powerful role of language in the representation of the self and identity formation. I can vouch for this in my own memoir where the increasing complexity of language of the ageing child highlights the stages of my linguistic and cognitive development.

David has lost his wife far too early. A man in mourning, he relives their twenty years together and sees that the ground beneath them had shifted and he had simply not noticed, or was it more that he had chosen not to. The writing here is spectacular and the theme of love and loss so very moving. Set between Ireland and Spain, McMahon captures the sublime and mundane nature of long-term love with exceptional skill. Another reason I like this book is that in my debut novel, my main character Maurice Hannigan, while very different from David, was also a widower, and naturally, the issue of loss figured heavily so I feel a bond to this book that is very special.

Set over three generations of the one family, this is the story of their fight for survival. What I love here is not just the prose, because there is no one finer than O’Callaghan, but also because it touches on the depopulation of Ireland’s small islands during the famine and the small island to which he refers has a very significant family connection for me. Partly based on O’Callaghan’s own family, Life Sentences tells an epic story of working-class life in Ireland from famine right through to modern-day. It is an unforgettable tale of love, abandonment, and reconciliation.

I love this book because it is a compilation of first-person accounts of major events throughout the history of Ireland. From St. Patrick to the raids of the Vikings, the rebellions of former rebels, and all the way to the civil war of 1923-24. Each selection is from extant works located in libraries and institutions around the country.

We hear the wild stories told with awe and wonder, with shock and abhorrence, as if we are sitting in a pub listening to the author whisper his witness in astonishment or regret. Suddenly, we understand the Irish rebels, the generations of rebels through the centuries, and we find ourselves full of admiration for those men and women who endured and fought and finally found freedom for their countrymen.  

This is an unusual, ambitious, and relevant book, focusing on the Christian values contained within Irish political thought over a period of approximately three hundred years (from the late eighteenth century to approximately the year 2000). Many Irish politicians and patriots included a Christian element in their visions of and for an independent or a self-governed Ireland. Beginning with Wolfe Tone and the United Irishmen of the 1790s, this Christian element is traced through Emmet, O’Connell, the Young Irelanders, the Fenians, the Home Rulers, and the leaders of the 1916 rising. The book goes on to trace the Christian vision through the periods of the Irish Revolution, independent Ireland, and the northern troubles of the late twentieth century. Engrossing and insightful, this excellent book provides much food for thought!

Let’s be clear: the title is ironic. This is a love story, told mostly in retrospect. Well, it’s not love exactly. It’s sex. Or a kind of twisted idea of romance. It’s attraction anyway, not quite obsessive, but close.  And it’s mysterious. Who are these people? How do they connect to each other? How do they know each other? Do they even like each other? Why/why not?

The answers, if readers can identify them, are not reassuring. And yet... I loved this book, read it twice, straight off. It’s partly the descriptions of the physical world – natural and constructed – always partial, never conclusive, that are so attractive to read. 

And it’s a very young book. Exhilarating. 

Perhaps no book has moved me more than Ireland by Frank Delaney. 

Through a series of tales told by an itinerant storyteller the author paints a series of haunting, vivid portraits of Irish history. Each story stands alone, but over the course of three nights of story-telling, the pieces of this mosaic come together, revealing a clearer history than most history books could hope to present. 

Delaney reaches deeper historical facts and allows a rare glimpse into how people felt and what they believed. I felt that I was listening to the storyteller, rather than reading words. This presents the Irish people in a unique and engaging light.