Oh, Play That Thing

Rating:
Summary: "It's not like Ireland,they forget here."
Review:
Although I read and thoroughly enjoyed "A Star Called Henry"as well as all of Doyle's other novels;I was not aware that this new novel was part of a trilogy,"The Last Roundup".What a surprise I got when I saw it sitting there on the bookshelf recently.Not only that,by chance,I found that Roddy was doing a reading and discussion at the University of Toronto on Sept.27,2004.Of course,I attended and what a treat!He signed two of my books and had pictures taken.
His new book is great and full of surprises.He is a master at blending history and fiction.His writing style leaves one in wonderment.He uses words,sentence structure,phrases,etc.like a painter uses oils and brushes to create pictures on canvas.You will see what I mean by simply filpping through a few pages.
He writes about life in the US as masterfully as he does about Ireland.In many ways, he reminds me of Steinbeck, Erskine Caldwell and Larry McMurtry.Also like them,no two novels are the same;except for being excellent.
There are some great lines hidden amongst the storyline of this novel,ie;
"He was Louis Armstrong's white man."
John Mc Cormack;"The voice that bridged the Atlantic."
"You've got to speculate to accumulate."
Referring to the Depression--"No colored man ever jumped out of a window 'cos his pockets went empty on him.Wouldn't be enough room on the sidewalk."
"And brother,were I'm from is not the question.It,s where I'm going and if you're going with me."
I just can't wait to hear this book on tape or DVD.On top of all this there's still another in the trilogy to look for with anticipation.
Oh,by the way, the cover of the dust jacket of my copy is very different than the one shown here.Mine has a picture of a record titled "Oh,Play That Thing";pat'd Jan.21,'13.as well as what appears to be an young trumpet player--Armstrong?My copy was published by Alfred A.Knopf Canada.

Rating:
Summary: O Stop This Thing...
Review: After such a brilliant start to his trilogy with 'A Star Called Henry', Doyle disappoints. Henry in my mind is a character that must remain forever young, daring, charismatic; not a poor, trodden, maimed, middle-aged man who, despite living about 20 years in America, ends up in pretty much the exact state in which he was in at the end of the first book. While some of the sense of adventure still clearly remains, I finished the book somewhat disappointed. Doyle's writing was often confusing; he seems to think that endless dialogues will compensate for his lack of even a few sentences to establish ambiance. Characters, while vivid, did not carry quite the same power as they did in 'A Star Called Henry'. Flashbacks, in which excerpt from the former are repeated, stand out as better writing than the stuff that surrounds it. And, as I said, Henry, by the end of the novel, has grown too much in too short a space. A 300-page book made our hero age nearly 25 years, when his every adventure could be made into a separate book. A beginning that held potential; but Henry, who has slept with about every woman in town despite promising to only truly love his wife has become a man who is impertinent, but not charmingly so. A young fighting Irish hero, in a very short space, becomes an old, depressingly beat, and almost - gasp - dull man.

Rating:
Summary: Doyle leaves the nest
Review: Day by day, in every way, I am getting better and better, sings Fat Olaf's half-sister throughout the pages of Oh, Play That Thing. And so, presumably, does author Roddy Doyle.

The Irish author has indeed gotten better with each novel he writes. Deservedly earning 1993's Booker Award for Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, Doyle has warranted acclaim for his unique take on modern-day Ireland, delivering captivating characters and quietly astonishing tragedies while capturing the urban patois of Irish speech.

What a shock, then, when Doyle released A Star Called Henry in 1999, unveiling a hitherto unseen tool in his arsenal: ferocity. A historical novel of Ireland's violent past, Star was brash, lyrical, and often visionary, an abrupt turnabout from Doyle's standard offbeat fare.

Now, in Oh, Play That Thing, Star's tremendous follow-up, Doyle takes his riskiest step yet; he leaves Ireland altogether for 1920s America. The risk pays off handsomely. Doyle appears to be incapable of writing a bad novel.

Henry Smart, Doyle's wily protagonist, has just immigrated to Manhattan, a city that "made tiny things of the people around me, all gawking at the manmade cliffs, and the ranks of even higher cliffs behind them . . . I could see the terror in their eyes." It is already an America of slick admen and crass opportunism, and Henry will not be left out.

A natural charmer, Henry throws himself into the new world with gusto. But when his usual practice of skimming off the top draws attention to his past, he flees to Chicago, where he sees a man playing the trumpet so viciously "[h]is lips were bleeding - I saw drops fall like notes to his patent leather shoes - but he was the happiest man on earth." The man is Louis Armstrong, and Henry's life is taking an unexpected detour.

Coming from the author of The Commitments, a novel that disparagingly regarded jazz as "sound for the sake of sound," it may surprise readers how passionately Doyle evokes Armstrong's music. What is not surprising is how fluently Doyle weaves musical tempos and lyrics into the rhythm of the story, crafting entire scenes around songs that lend both ambience and potency to Henry's life.

As usual, Doyle maintains his mastery of distinctive yet realistic dialogue, a rapid-fire staccato similar to the works of American authors James Ellroy or David Mamet. But the real pleasure is witnessing Doyle's continual evolution as a stylist, expanding his stories beyond the fabulous dialogue of his earlier novels with gritty atmosphere and astonishing physicality.

Henry Smart is a spectacular character; ceaselessly moving and thinking, luckier than he is smart, callous yet eminently likeable. As he moves from the embedded violence of Ireland to the ingrained racism of America, Henry begins to recognize more than simply his own desires. The growth Doyle allows Henry is remarkable, matched perfectly with Doyle's perpetual inventiveness.

Oh, Play That Thing is a coup of imagination and verve, the equal to A Star Called Henry, and a triumph on its own. When Henry's story eventually continues, Doyle will have his work cut out for him.