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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What do we care he says let them do their worst we have the Blessed Virgin Mary to protect us she spoke to my daughter she says she's going to come with a sign. For the love of God go along and listen to her young Brady in these times every man must look after his immortal soul!

He got a grip of me by the shoulder and says: Will you do that for me Francie I knew your father.

I know you did I says he was supposed to go up to you about the television but he didn't that's why I had to go and watch the octopus in Nugents. Right says Mickey I'd better be making tracks good luck now and off he went with the barrow.

I shouted after him: I don't suppose you'd be able to fix it now Mickey would you?

He didn't look round I knew he wouldn't be able to anyway it was too far gone after the kick da gave it. It was finished, that television. I should have thrown it on the dump by right for what was it doing in the coalhouse only taking up space. I went on up the street and who did I meet only the drunk lad. Come on into the Tower I says but he shook his head. I says what are you talking about and he says did you not hear about Traynor's daughter? I says I did but what the fuck do I care about Traynor's daughter come on in and I pulled out a fiver. No he says no I have to go on about my business the priest was down to see me he says I've to get into no more trouble. I've got into enough trouble through going about with you I have to go on up to see Father Dominic he says he might have a job for me. Excuse me he says pushing past me and away he goes with the raggy coat flapping behind him. Go on you humpy bastard! I shouted after him, you were glad enough of it when it was going!

I went in and bought a packet of fags and something to clean my jacket all they had was shampoo that'll do I says. When I came out I seen Mrs Connolly going past on the far side of the street with a basin full of flowers. I waved to her but she got all red and stuck down her head and never let on she seen me. A loudspeaker whistled and screeched then a hymn started up. It was called Faith of Our Fathers. I listened for a while but it was only a fuck up of a hymn. I stood outside the home bakery and sang my own. It was about Matt Talbot, my old friend from the Father Tiddly days. This is more like it, I said, this is a real hymn!

I love my planks the best of all

In spite of cold and frost and rain

And I love my cat I give him kipper teas

But most of all I love my chains.

I sang a few more verses all about them saying to him: Do you want us to buy you a drink Matt? Fuck off with yourself!

I had a good laugh at that, sitting on the wall and shouting at them going by: Matt Talbot for president!

Then I sang more. I pasted back my hair and sang into a lollystick.

Well its one for the money!

Two for the show!

I sang that one. Then I sang:

When you move in right up close to me

that's when I get the shakes all over me!

I sang more. I shouted:

Francie Brady on Radio Luxembourg!

Then I got fed up singing fuck this I said, fucking singing. I went into the cafe its you he says what do you want I says sausages rashers beans chips eggs all that. I'm sorry we're closing sorry but we got to close now. I bought a bag of Tayto crisps and went out to the hide. I tried to clean the jacket up with the shampoo but it was no use I used half the bottle all it did was make it worse then I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning and went round to the slaughterhouse but it was too early I was waiting for near two hours before Leddy came how long are you here he says a good while Mr Leddy I said. Its near time you'd show your face around here or where in the hell were you! Oh I says I was off rambling. Rambling he says, you'd do well to ramble in your own time Brady I've a mind to kick you rambling down that road. Well says I you won't have to worry for that's the end of it it'll be all over now shortly. He pulled on his apron and says they have a half ton of shite round at that hotel you were supposed to collect it and they have my heart scalded now get round there today and fuckingwell see about it. Right so Mr Leddy I said.

Then we started into the killing and we were working right through till dinnertime. Then he wiped his hands on his apron and says I'm away to my dinner take that cart round now. And make sure and tell them tell them you'll collect on time next week. I will indeed Mr Leddy I says. When he was gone off down the town I took the captive bolt pistol down off the nail where it was hanging and got the butcher's steel and the knife out of the drawer. There was a bucket of old slops and pig meal or something lying by the door so I just stuck them into that and went away off with the cart whistling. So Traynor's daughter had been talking to Our Lady again, eh? They were all talk about her going to appear on the Diamond. I heard two old women on about it. We should be very proud says one of them its not every town the Mother Of God comes to visit. Indeed it is not says the other one I wonder missus will there be angels. I wouldn't know about that now but sure what odds whether there is or not so long as she saves us from the end of the world what do we care? Now you said it missus now you said it. Everywhere you went: Not long now.

I went by Doctor Roche's house it was all painted up with big blue cardboard letters spread out on the grass: AVE MARIA WELCOME TO OUR TOWN. I was wondering could I mix them up to make THIS IS DOCTOR ROCHE THE BASTARD'S HOUSE, but I counted them and there wasn't enough letters and anyway they were the wrong ones.

Tell Leddy to collect this brock on time or its the last he'll get from us says the kitchen man and stands there looking at me like I was stealing something off him. I will indeed I said and started shovelling it into the cart. I shovelled and whistled away and made sure there wasn't a scrap left so there'd be no more complaining. Then off I went again on my travels. Everybody was all holy now, we're all in this together people of the town, bogmen taking off their caps to women, looking into prams and everything. This is the holiest town in the world they should have put that up on a banner.

There was a nice altar on the Diamond. There was three angels flying over it just in front of the door of the Ulster Bank.

I never saw the town looking so well. It looked like the brightest, happiest town in the whole world.

I went round the back swinging my meal bucket. I could see the neighbour's curtain twitching whistle whistle hello there Mr Neighbour its me Francie with my special delivery for Mrs Nugent. Then away she went from the window so I knocked on Mrs Nugent's door and out she came wearing her blue housecoat. Hello Mrs Nugent I said is Mr Nugent in I have a message for him from Mr Leddy. She went all white and stood there just stuttering I'm sorry she said my husband isn't here he's gone to work oh I said that's all right and with one quick shove I pushed her inside she fell back against something. I twisted the key in the lock behind me. She had a white mask of a face on her and her mouth a small o now you know what its like for dumb people who have holes in their stomachs Mrs Nugent. They try to cry out and they can't they don't know how. She stumbled trying to get to the phone or the door and when I smelt the scones and seen Philip's picture I started to shake and kicked her I don't know how many times. She groaned and said please I didn't care if she groaned or said please or what she said. I caught her round the neck and I said: You did two bad things Mrs Nugent. You made me turn my back on my ma and you took Joe away from me. Why did you do that Mrs Nugent? She didn't answer I didn't want to hear any answer I smacked her against the wall a few times there was a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth and her hand was reaching out trying to touch me when I cocked the captive bolt. I lifted her off the floor with one hand and shot the bolt right into her head thlok was the sound it made, like a goldfish dropping into a bowl. If you ask anyone how you kill a pig they will tell you cut its throat across but you don't you do it longways. Then she just lay there with her chin sticking up and I opened her then I stuck my hand in her stomach and wrote PIGS all over the walls of the upstairs room.

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