A lady on a swing, a full smile, a happy one. Night time for
sure, a disappearing tinge of blue in the black. Probably the moonlight,
probably not. There’s something eerie about the cover. And it makes me wonder,
walk into or walk through; is it to do with the supernatural? And then I read
praises written on the back cover and they put my mind to rest and I venture
on.
‘Walk into’ it is! Bang! Again. And again. And again. Battered,
bruised, shattered, broken, bleeding, hurt – inside and out, dead – almost –
inside, not out. But unnoticed. No veil, yet unnoticed. Invisible.
How did you get that? – I walked into a door. So sad. Ha ha
ha.
Paula was born an O’Leary, had to fall in love to be a Spencer.
Married at 18 to Charlo, this the story of Paula’s married life. If it can be
called one. Married - yeah, life – not very sure. Set up in a suburb of Dublin
where girls were either sluts or not, and boys were either a good ride or not.
Paula is a good ride, thinks Charlo. Charlo is a good ride,
thinks Paula.
And one day Paula is there on the floor. And the next day
too. And as Paula lies curled up, whimpering on the floor almost every day, or
night, or the times in between, the author writes on. He takes you there; in
the bedroom, in the kitchen, in the bathroom. You look and that’s all you can
do. All you can do is nod grievously as the bottle takes over her.
Roddy Doyle’s brilliance is evident in Paula’s humoring
herself and her life. Please don’t tell me she actually believed love still
existed; till the very end. Did it, Mr. Doyle? Or is it that unseen, empowering
shit called positive thinking where you train your mind to believe things. “He
loves me. He can’t live without me. He said that.”
The gory violence is only subdued by her relentless pursuit
for normalcy, a hope that negates despair. And in the end it is the mother in
her that fights back; the wife is merely a believer, the mother thankfully
treads the path beyond the realm of belief. The beast is finally put in place.
Roddy Doyle is a powerful writer. He’s drilled a hole into
Paula’s mind. He’s managed to connect the wires to a giant screen and he sees
and he writes. There is no tarnishing, there are no blemishes as he captures
the ramblings. Paula talks to you; she does. And more often than once you want
to scream, ‘Get up bitch, get a life. Wake up, wash your face, lose your pain,
lose him’. And you do. Compelling!
And I look at the cover again. Is that a toothless smile I see?
Is that a black eye hidden by a shadow? Let’s see, no, can’t be a broken finger
curling on to the chains. Or is it?
My rating : * * * * * * * * * * (9/10)
Roddy Doyle image - https://www.rte.ie/culture/2017/0901/900835-reviewed-smile-by-roddy-doyle/
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