Rating: 
Summary: rip off
Review: This book was enjoyable but i'm sure some exagerations were involved. About 1/4 way through, much seemed as if i read this before. Then it came to me, this is a rip off of "The Ginger Man" by J.P. Donleavy. To my amazement, the author actually mentions this book later on. At least Donleavy's book was a novel. Big brother ought to smack the little brother for this.
Rating: 
Summary: Roses and Thorns
Review: Malachy, brother of Frank, as he may so eagerly be known now, is in no way a shadow of his sibling. Malachy tells the story of HIS life, an approach to his early days in America which surprisingly but pleasantly differs from his brothers'. I followed this man through his countless journeys into bars and parties, all the while noting his very famous friends. Not only does this book show us the inner workings of Malachy himself, but gives us grounds and context to the lives of many influential people still revered today. Telling everything, and stopping at nothing, McCourt erases the line between obscenity and necessity. Every play on words made me laugh, and I felt every bit of anxiety. McCourt tells us in perfect detail his hobnobbings with the famous, and his flirtings with alcoholism, crime, and sex, in this wonderful tale of someone who found that the feeling of fame is strikingly different from the feeling of acceptance.
Rating: 
Summary: Absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever . . .
Review: When I read Frank McCourt's "Angela's Ashes," I was intrigued by Frank's affectionate portrayal of his brother Malachy. So intrigued, that I immediately bought "A Monk Swimming" to learn more about this amusing character. What an amazing disappointment. He has abolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever. During the course of the book, I found him more and more offensive. I didn't even finish it, and I rarely put a book away without finishing it.
Rating:
Summary: It works for me!
Review: Reading all of the contradictory reviews here certainly made me curious! As one who has also survived alcoholism and the ubiquitous absent drunken Irish father, I found the book full of (retrospective) self-awareness. It's not news to the author that he was a lousy husband & father. But the richness of the language (sometimes much funnier than the content) saves it from being just an AA Drunkologue. The rhythm, the implied orality, and the lovely circuitous scenic route to the facts call to mind the both the works of JJ and childhood memories of conversations with the auld ones.
Rating:
Summary: A Silly Tale Told by a Stage Irishman
Review: This bore of a book is a huge disappointment to me. I thought it might be both funny and insightful. It was neither. I had met Malachy McCourt in New York City, in the 90s. At the time, I was doing a weekly commentary for WBAI's Radio Free Eireann. He would turn up on the show as an occasional guest doing a light comedy routine. Initially, I was shocked that McCourt didn't plug the RFE's boy-oh, Johnny "Bob" McDonagh, in his acknowledgments. McDonagh, a champion of Irish freedom, had been very good to him, allowing him plenty of free mike time on the popular left-of-center station. Instead, McCourt paid tribute to Adrian Flannelly, a host of a NYC-based Irish radio show, mostly known for its politically conservative and pro-Dublin slant. The hard truth is that McCourt's yarn belongs more in a dysfunctional family medical journal. It's a sickening case study about him boozing it up, loathing the memory of his father, wildly hating the Roman Catholic Church, and playing at life with air-headed blue bloods, rugby players, and card carrying alcoholics. Interestingly, he just loves all the Jews he meets. Now, this sounded just a little bit contrived to me. Especially, since McCourt also made it a point, without a shred of evidence, to brand the members of the New York Athletic Club as "Hitlereans." Mean stuff, coming from an impoverished foreigner, who ate, slept, and drank freely thanks to many generous Manhattanites. Predictably, McCourt blasted the Brits every chance he got in his feeble tome, but that also rang false. When he had an opportunity to picket the NYC visit of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip, as others did, he declined. McCourt, however, did appear at an exclusive reception for the royal couple, along with his Tory cronies, where he had a public chat with Prince Philip. Did he use that rare opportunity to protest British rule in Ireland that he pretends to care so passionately about? No, our pseudo rebel hero didn't. Instead, he tried to ingratiate himself with the Britannic duo. I think the pandering scene with the royals said more about his true character then anything else. What a windbag this reformed drunk is! It all made me believe that Ireland, and America, too, would have been better off if McCourt had never stopped his notorious boozing! After 290 pages of his mindless drivel, I no longer cared what happened to him. In fact, I felt deeply sorry for his poor parents for having brought him into the world and for the good people of Limerick, and NYC, too, for having to put up with him all these whiskey-soaked, bad-mouthing years. Finally, what is to be said about this dubious memoir? I think this: It's a silly tale told by a stage Irishman.
Rating:
Summary: A Monk Swimming
Review: After listening on tape to Angela's Ashes and Tiz, which was narrated by Frank McCourt, I couldn't wait to listen to "A Monk Swimming". What a disappointment! Malachy McCourt, like his brother, was the narrator on the tape. Malachy was not a very good narrator. The book was hard to follow and I wonder if everything he says he did was true. The ending left a person hanging wondering what happened to his marriage and children. I felt that since Frank wrote a book(s), Malachy decided to "cash in" also.
Rating:
Summary: A Tragic Tale
Review: Looking beneath the roguish escapades and encounters which abound in this book, and which are told in the way only a master story teller can, is the tragic story of a man fighting the demons of his own upbringing and the loss of a loved father to the excesses of alcohol. A disturbing tale of a father's failings towards his family being passed on to the next generation. Malachy appears to watch helplessly on as the drama unfolds , his life too, controlled by his lust for the bottle and debauchery. This book should be read in conjunction with brother Frank's story as they balance each other well in the way they deal with the demons of their childhood.
Rating:
Summary: A hardy start, but loses drive towards the end
Review: I was at first disgusted by Malachy McCourt's attempt to live off his brother Frank's success as a writer, but when I actually picked up A Monk Swimming, I was impressed by his originality and divorce from imitation. The first half or so of the book consists of some dubiously and some exceedingly funny tales told in creative, innovative language. Somewhere along the way, however, the book descends into a ultimate sameness, page after page: the drunkeness and sex escapades of the author. At the same time, Malachy runs out of ways to make English interesting. In the end, although a reformation is hinted at, none is ever really told, and the book is concluded with stories of Malachy's father, Malachy, which really don't fit the previous theme.
Rating:
Summary: Blech!
Review: Let's face it... the only reason you'd look into reading this book is if you have already read and enjoyed Angela's Ashes. Well, don't bother. If there was some story line buried between the covers of this book, I never found it. I'm still wondering why I forced myself to read the whole thing! How anyone could think that name dropping, drinking and being a bad father and husband is great reading is beyond me.
Rating: 
Summary: You can't handle the truth!
Review: Readers who take Malachy's work to be some kind of brag, are missing the whole point! There is no pride in his drunkenness or womanizing. The man brings us along with him and, with brutal honesty, laughs at the tragedy of his life. The sorrow expressed at book's end, on life without a father, is infinitely more profound than that of brother Frank. Malachy and Frank McCourt are living proof that you cannot buy an education. They are self-made literary giants who got this way by simply reading the masters...and then some. If there is any pride in either of these guys it is for having survived and living to tell about it. One took the high road and one took the low road. Like many brothers they are two sides of the same coin. I sobbed with Frank and I laughed with Malachy, but both made me cringe and marvel at what human beings can do to themselves and to eachother. The underlying lesson remains exactly the same. Alcohol kills, impoverishes, and results in every manner of dysfunction for generations. What will you do with the hand that life has dealt you?
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