Patrick McCabe - The Butcher Boy

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SHORTLISTED FOR THE 1992 BOOKER PRIZE
WINNER OF THE IRISH TIMES-AER LINGUS
LITERATURE PRIZE FOR FICTION
"BRILLIANT, UNIQUE. Patrick McCabe pushes your head through the book and you come out the other end gasping, admiring, and knowing that reading fiction will never be the same again. It's the best Irish novel I've read in years." – Roddy Doyle, Author, Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha
"STUNNING… PART HUCK FINN, PART HOLDEN CAULFIELD, PART HANNIBAL LECTER." – The New York Times Book Review
"AN ALMOST PERFECT NOVEL… A BECKETT MONOLOGUE WITH PLOT BY ALFRED HITCHCOCK… STARTLINGLY ORIGINAL." – The Washington Post Book World
"BRILLIANT… Francie is a shrewd and amusing observer… his voice is mordant, colloquial and brash as a punch in the nose." – Scott Turow
"A ROLLICKING NASTY NOVEL." – The Village Voice
"There are a number of fine novels about violent youth, and Patrick McCabe's frightening and sorrowful The Butcher Boy stands up to any of them… Francie portrays himself in every word he utters, and his language gives Patrick McCabe's The Butcher Boy its valuable dread power." – The Atlanta Journal Constitution
"A CHILLING TALE OF A CHILD'S HELL… OFTEN SCREAMINGLY FUNNY… THE BOOK HAS A COMPELLING AND TERRIBLE BEAUTY." – The Boston Globe
"A tour de force." – Kirkus Reviews
"IT'S AS BRIGHT AS IT IS DEPRESSING, AS FUNNY AS IT IS GRUESOME. We see Francie clearly as psychopath, and we ache with sympathy for him. It's almost impossible to pinpoint the moment in his growing up when the imagination of an ordinary boy shades over into something dangerously loony. The key is Francie's slangy, angry, '60s-flavored voice, which McCabe renders with a minimum of punctuation and a maximum of control." – Los Angeles Times Book Review
"AN UNRELENTING, UPBEAT STREAM OF PATTER. McCabe's acclaimed third novel… walks the path of dementia with remarkable assurance." – Entertainment Weekly
"McCABE'S FRANCIE SPEAKS IN A RICH VERNACULAR SPIRITED BY THE BRASSY AND ENDEARING RHYTHMS OF PERPETUAL DELINQUENCY; even in his gradual unhinging, Francie remains a winning raconteur. By looking so deeply into Francie's soul, McCabe subtly suggests a common source of political and personal violence – lack of love and hope." – Publishers Weekly
"PATRICK McCABE IS AN OUTSTANDING WRITER. The Butcher Boy is fearful, original, compelling and very hard to put out of your mind. American readers should pay close attention to this man." – Thomas McGuane
"A BRILLIANT BOOK SO VERY FUNNY AS WELL AS BEING HEARTRENDINGLY SAD." – J. P. Donleavy
"Written with wonderful assurance and a technical skill that is as great as it is unobtrusive… Perhaps the novel is best read as a twisted coming-of-age story; imagine Huck Finn crossed with Charlie Starkweather, and you have Francie Brady, the young narrator of The Butcher Boy." – The Washington Post Book World
"A POTENT AMALGAM OF COMEDY, HORROR AND PATHOS… The Butcher Boy is a prime slice of modern Gothic… McCabe presents a study in spiritual derangement that rivets." – The Sunday Times (London)
"DEADLY SERIOUS, TERRIFICALLY LOONY AND SCARY, AND ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS… Francie Brady's story is reminiscent of Samuel Beckett's Molloy, Moran, Malone, and the Unnameable even, with Anthony Burgess's Alex tossed in for good measure." – James McManus
"THE MOST ASTONISHING IRISH NOVEL FOR MANY YEARS, A MASTERPIECE." – Sunday Independent
"A POWERFUL AND DEEPLY SHOCKING NOVEL where the seemingly innocent logic of a child imperceptibly turns into the manic logic of an unhinged mind. Patrick McCabe portrays 1960s small-town life from a bizarre perspective where the aliens from Outer Space on the television are as real as the emotional poverty of one child filled with unconscious envy for another." – Dermont Bolger

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Yup, I said, and we always will. That's the way it was meant to be Francie boy!

I left it for a few days so that it would all be forgotten then I called to the house and says to Mr Purcell is Joe there. No, he says, he's gone away to his uncle's for the weekend he won't be back till Monday. O I says I'll call back Monday then even though I was nearly sure I seen him at the curtain upstairs. I didn't say that because there was no sense in causing any trouble. Very well says Mr Purcell I'll tell him. Thank you I said then off I went. But the thing was I didn't see him on Monday either because now Mr Purcell took him home in the car and all I could see was him going past behind the steamed-up glass I never saw him looking out to see if I was at the corner or anything.

Da said to me: I was talking to Leddy this morning then starts spluttering into this big hankie the size of a sheet.

I didn't bother waiting to hear what he was talking to him about.

Another day I met Leddy himself coming flopping down the street in his wellies you could smell the pig dung half an hour before you saw him at all. I believe you might be coming round to give me a bit of a hand he says. Look at Leddy I thought, talk about pigs! Whatever about us, he was one for sure. He'd been working with them that long he'd turned into one. He had a big pink face and a scrunched-up snout. There was enough pigs round there without me I said. I'd had it with pigs. But I said thanks anyway. Right says Leddy suit yourself and off he goes flop flop flop down the street.

I called round to Joe's again. There you are Mr Purcell I says, I was wondering would the man himself be about? Mr Purcell didn't say anything for a minute or two just stood there biting the inside of his lip and then he says: Didn't you call here this morning? I did I says. And what did my wife tell you? O she said Joe was busy helping her in the kitchen I think. Well you think right he said and he'll be busy all evening now if you don't mind. And what does he start to do then only close the door. It was the first time Mr Purcell had ever spoke like that to me. I was just standing there staring at the blue paint of this door and I didn't know what to think about it all. The next time I called Mrs Purcell answered it and when I asked her was Joe coming out to the river she said he was at music. Music, I said, I didn't know he did music where is he at music? Up at the convent she said, where they all go to music. The convent I said, I didn't know he went to music Mrs Purcell. He never went to music before did he? No, she says, he didn't. She was starting to close the door now too. There was a petrol truck trying to turn at the end of the lane. I watched it for a minute and then I says to Mrs Purcell OK then Mrs Purcell I must call down after and maybe he'll be here then. Very well Francis she says looking out through crack then the door closed softly with a click. I stood there standing back from the way she said very well Francis and looking at it like the way you'd hold an envelope up to the light to see if there was anything in it. When I thought to myself: What she means is I hope he doesn't call down here ever again. I felt like I'd swallowed a chicken bone it kept moving around in my throat and I couldn't get it out. I looked up at the bedroom windows to see if there was anybody looking down. But there wasn't of course. That was just rubbish, me thinking that. Just because I thought I saw him there one other time didn't mean he'd be there again if he was there the first time that is. I went off down the lane I was going to go for a walk but then I doubled back because I couldn't figure out how Joe was doing music if he hadn't a piano he must be doing guitar. But the nuns don't teach guitar. I shone the glass of the sitting room window with the sleeve of my jumper and sure enough there it was, a new mahogany piano and sitting there on the music stand the music book with the ass and cart on the front going off into misty green mountains. I couldn't read it but I knew what it was – Emerald Gems of Ireland.

Philip was swinging the music case as he went by Mrs Connolly's hedge singing to himself. I just came out from behind the gate and says well Philip. He starts the twisting again only this time at the handle of the music case and I think he said hello Francis. I said Francie, not Francis. Francie, he said, and then he got all red. I wasn't sure how to start I thought of a couple of different things to say but none of them sounded right. In the end I just said: You gave Joe Purcell your music book, didn't you?

He said what and raised his eyebrows so I said it again. No I didn't he said. Well, I said, I'm afraid you did but all he would say then was I didn't. If you didn't I said, it would be in the music case then wouldn't it? Yes he says but he wasn't really listening to me. He was twisting the handle and looking past me again. Let me look in the case then and we'll see, I said and then we'll know for sure. Can I have it then Philip? He handed the case to me and looked away. I ran my fingers over its polished flakes I loved the way they peeled off and stuck to your fingers the way old paint does. He had a good lot of books in there, songs you'd never heard of before. There was one of a man singing to the moon with two palm trees behind him and another Bluebells in Spring with all these flowers swaying in the breeze and a girl in a blue dress la dee dee through the fields. Study in F, that was another one. There was a pen at the bottom of the case too. I spread them all out on the ground to make sure. Oh fuck I said I'm sorry Philip. There was a patch of water I didn't see and one of them got a bit wet. It was the Study in F. I told Philip I was sorry over and over but he kept saying it was all right. I don't want to get you in trouble I said. No no, he said, no. I checked them a good few times after that and then I said: Its not here Philip. He said I don't know maybe its at home Francie I don't know. I said no Philip it isn't at home and you know it isn't because you gave it to Joe Purcell maybe for a lend but you still gave it to him. Oh Francie please he said. I said all you have to do is tell me you might as well for I seen it in his house its on the piano. I don't know Francie he starts again he could have bought his own, or maybe I did give it to him I don't know. You don't know now if you gave it to him or not I said. He said again maybe but I said look there's no sense in saying maybe Philip. That's the book you gave him for I seen it in this very case there's an ass and cart on the front of it and mountains. And you gave it to Joe Purcell and now you're saying you didn't. You gave it to him didn't you? Maybe it was only for a lend but you still gave it to him didn't you? All you have to do is tell me Philip that's all I want to know. Then he splutters yes yes yes and sniffles a bit. I had wanted him to say it all right but then when he did I didn't like it. What I was going to say at first was well there we are that's all that over, all you had to do was say that in the first place. But that wasn't what I said in the end. I said: What did you do that for? He says I just gave it to him Francie the music teacher said. Then it came into my head, Joe and Francie standing there in the music teacher's room. There you are Joe said Philip handing him the book. Thank you very much said Joe. And Philip smiling away. I said to Philip: This is all to do with the goldfish isn't it? Then what does he say only: What goldfish? I don't know what you mean Francie.

When I looked at him saying that straight into my face, I thought: Please, Philip. Don't go like your mother. I explained everything to him. It was all right him giving Joe the goldfish when I was away in the school. But that was all over now. It's no use thinking by giving music books to Joe that you can get in with us, Philip. It wouldn't be fair to tell you lies. I asked him did he understand what I meant? He said he did and although he was disappointed I knew it was better for him to know.

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