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The Road to McCarthy, by Pete McCarthy

The Road to McCarthy
by Pete McCarthy
Hodder and Stoughton, 2002


Pete McCarthy's The Road to McCarthy is nominated for the best book Critical Mick read in 2008
 

 

West (and North, and South) Along the Road

Pete McCarthy's 2000 travelogue, McCarthy's Bar, won the Oo for Best Book Critical Mick Read in 2005. And as I can't stop talking about his follow-up, The Road to McCarthy, consider this 462-page intercontinental adventure a strong runner for 2008.

On the trail of Irish emigrants from Tangier to Tasmania to Butte, Montana, The Road to McCarthy provides the perfect mix of history and present reality. McCarthy's writing transports readers bodily to the Carribean tropics and coldest Alaska, and brings the characters who dwell (or merely drink) there come to life.

The travels are described in a voice full of humor, with more than a little nod to Joe Gould. Want to see what I mean? Have a New York breakfast with Pete McCarthy:

[The day after St. Patrick's in New York] I'm feeling a bit rough when I surface at eleven, on account of all the second-hand smoke. I'm too late for the hotel's complimentary pastry served with choice of beverage, so I'm sitting in a Greek diner reading Be Cool by Elmore Leonard and eating cinnamon toast.

There are padded counter stools, a few booths and a guy who shouts, "You gaddit!" every time someone orders something. The door opens and an old guy in a corduroy hunting cap, checked shirt, stained tie and threadbare overcoat comes in and sits at the next but one counter stool. Yougaddit pours him a mug of black coffee and takes his breakfast order.

"Chicken salad on rye, lettuce and mayo, no tomato."

"You gaddit!"

Then to the person on the other side of the serving hatch, "Chick-inn salad on whiskey, no tomayto!"

The Hunter looks across at me. "That an Elmore Leonard thriller? Y'know he wrote some pretty good westerns in his time. That movie. Apache, was it? Burt Lancaster?"

Pete McCarthy's McCarthy's Bar was the Best Book Critical Mick Read in 2005.
McCarthy's Bar
Click to see what other books were in the running for Best Book Critical Mick Read in 2005.

The late English travel writer Pete McCarthy's first book is better than Bryson, as observant and insightful as Lamott, and more Irish than John Banville and half those other award-winning posers. McCarthy's Bar is a brilliant travelogue. Take it with you on your own journey, even if your footsteps lead nowhere near Ireland.

He takes a sip of coffee.

"Gee, but books are expensive these days. Took a paperback to my brother in hospital last week. Eleven dollars. In the Depression they were twenty-five cents. Idea was anybody could have one. Not any more. Same with movies now. Ten dollars for a movie? Jeez! Say, where ya from? I thought so. I took a trip to the British Isles fifteen years ago with that Irish airline, Aer Lingus? Said they've never lost a passenger, so that was good enough for me. Scared a flying, see. Made my life insurance out to my brother. Enjoyed Ireland. Wanted to see the Abbey theatre, though, but didn't get to see it. Didn't get to see the zoo either. I like zoos…."

The place is filling up. A guy orders coffee to go the stares at two exhausted-looking yesterday's doughnuts in the clear plastic case on the counter.

"Are these the only doughnuts you have?"

"Yessir."

He almost leaves but changes his mind.

"Ah, okay, I'll take 'em. And gimme a lo-fat creamer, and some sweetener."

Summer Reading 2008. John Creed, Cormac Millar, and the late great Pete McCarthy. Happily accompanied by O'Hara's Celtic Stout! It's a good summer to be in America.

"You gaddit."

He leaves, gets into the van he's parked right outside the window and drives off. Yougaddit waits till he's turned the corner, then reaches under the counter, takes out a pristine box of today's freshly baked doughnuts and lays them out in the plastic case.

The Hunter is just finishing his sandwich. His lower teeth don't fit so well and slurps of mayo keep escaping, but he's managing to clean himself up okay with a napkin. He gets to thinking about air travel again.

"Did ya see that, what was it, Concord? Jesus."

A fifty-year-old woman in last night's make-up and clothes eating a Spanish omelette on the next stool to him takes this as her cue to join in.

"I worked on the Virgin account for a few years. I met Richard Branson once."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

She pauses to pursue some diced red pepper.

"People say he's an asshole, but he's not."

It's nice here. Like being in a village. As I get up to leave I say to the Hunter, "Hey," because that's what they all used to say to each other on NYPD Blue when they were entering or leaving a room. "Hey," I say, remembering his threadbare coat, "Better stay warm today."

"Yeah," he says. "Throw another Irishman on the fire."

I smile and slap him on the back, even though I haven't got a clue what he means.

(pages 189-191)

secret message here.

Critical Mick says: No better travelling companion could be imagined, which is cause for sincere sorrow. McCarthy was diagnosed with cancer in 2004 and passed away just months later. It's a consolation that his two books are a joy to re-read.

And now for an important disclaimer from Critical Mick

Yo! This review and all content on the DFA Guide site are copyright 2008 Mick Halpin. All links to other sites and documents are copyright to whatever source wrote something cool enough for Mick to give it a referral. Try to claim them as your own work and bad karma will catch up with you, baby. Believe it.

Irate, huh? Managed to piss off another one? Direct your hatemail to mick @ mickhalpin dot com.


This Page Was Last Updated On 22 July, 2008.

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