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Help Me I'm Irish! [Paperback]

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Item description for Help Me I'm Irish! by Ray Hamill...

Eamon McCann is an Irishman living among the redwoods in Northern California, searching for something he's been in need of since the day he was born - he's just not sure what that might be. Based on a real live dream, Help me, I'm Irish is Eamon's plea to the world, a series of tales intertwining his past with his present, each of them told in a humorous voice. From one of the finest writers in his own kitchen, this is Ray Hamill's best novel yet, a debut book about the non-meaning of life.

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Item Specifications...

Pages   328
Est. Packaging Dimensions:   Length: 8.35" Width: 5.51" Height: 1.02"
Weight:   0.93 lbs.
Binding  Softcover
Release Date   Dec 5, 2004
Publisher   Outskirts Press
ISBN  1932672486  
ISBN13  9781932672480  

Availability  139 units.
Availability accurate as of May 29, 2017 09:40.
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1Books > Subjects > Literature & Fiction > General > Comic
2Books > Subjects > Literature & Fiction > General > Contemporary
3Books > Subjects > Literature & Fiction > General

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WHY WE WANT TO RUN AWAY - a fun read!  May 7, 2006
Help Me, I'm Irish!
A Book About the Non-Meaning of Life
Ray Hamill
Outskirts Press, Inc.
10940 S. Parker Rd - 515, Parker, CO, USA
Genre: Biographical
ISBN: 1932672486, $16.95, 326pp, 2004

This book is a memoir in form, whether true or fictional, with short stories from now and then. My favorites are of Eamon McCann's misadventures with his young, creative friend Eugene during their summers spent at Donabate-running away to Africa at age eight to live like Tarzan, building their raft, recovering golf balls from the ponds to sell for candy money.

Ray Hamill makes his living as a journalist in Arcata, California and has a gift for humor. He writes a good Irish vernacular and some Australian, shares some Irish words such as craic (fun) and eejit (fool) and curses a bit here and there. His style is open and honest, easy and creative . . . enjoyable to read.

As I am interested in other people's insights into life, the heart of this book to me are his conversations with Arty. As Eamon thinks again of running away, I quote:

"Sometimes I feel like there's too many idiots surrounding me, suffocating me. And I hear little honesty, Arty, not in a long, long time, and it makes me wonder if running away wouldn't be a better option. And sometimes I lie awake at night and I look out the window, and on a clear night you can see forever and what seems like a billion stars, some of them long since having extinguished themselves but still somehow shining down on us. And I think to myself that in the great scheme of things we're less significant than an iota of a smidgen of an amoeba of a single hair on the back of a flea's arse, and we can't even get that right. We still mange to fuck that up, and we do so with such ease and natural ability."

"We're not very smart sometimes are we?" Arty offered back.

"No, we're not, Arty. We fight over religion, over greed, over ideological nonsense and over girls. We kill each other sometimes merely because we can. We have invented numerous drugs to give you a hard on or to grow your hair or perhaps even both at the same time, yet half the fuckin world goes to bed hungry at night and suffering from all kinds of curable diseases. A small handful of people have all the money in the world, and most of the rest of us waste our lives trying to figure out a way to join them, and most of them aren't even that happy in the first place. We dream, we delude ourselves, and we don't know why or how or even that we're doing it. Billions of us throw away our left-over food every night, while hundreds of millions more have to trek two miles every day just to get some clean water, and only on a lucky day. It just all seems so stupid Arty, and I betcha other life forms have discovered us, but when they get here, they say we're way to stupid for them to introduce themselves to us because it would cause mayhem here. . . ."

"And that, Arty, that's why sometimes I think I want to run away again, to leave all this crap behind me. To find a place where people have a pulse and not an agenda, where the truth is not something to be feared, where life forms are real and where pouring a pint of Guinness from my own personal key is the most stressful thing I'll do all day."

"And tell me, my young friend, do you believe such a place as this exists?"

"As a friend of mine once said, `ye have to believe in magic."

"You know, sometimes running away just promises such things as you're trying to imagine, dangling them in your face till you become so mesmerized you can't see past them, and then you waste your time and your life searching for a fulfillment you will never find, and you spend the rest of your life running around in circles, forever unfulfilled."

"Yeah, but is it not better to take a chance sometimes, when the alternative is...
well, the alternative is dull? I mean, life's not about what you take out of it, it's about what you put into it, right?"

"A lot of what you say is very true, my young friend, but there's more to it than just that."

I looked confused again, so Arty went on.

"Too many people dwell on the past, plan for the future and forget all about the present, my young friend. Don't forget who you are, where you are, how you got here, and most importantly of all, when you are. You life is right here, right now, this moment, right in front of you. . . ."

"You are, my young friend, afflicted with the condition known as human futility," he then added. "We spend our first eighteen years wishing we were adults, the next ten years not caring one way or the other, and the rest of our lives wishing we were kids again."

I contemplated what he said, and he continued.

"Life is relative, my young friend, and everything in it , as well. You think you're unhappy, yet the material possessions you have, the situation in life you have attained, the food on your table, the roof over your head, the freedom you awake to each morning, the atmosphere you traverse on a daily basis, all of these would make other people so happy words can't explain. And what others might have would make you so happy words can't explain, yet often it leaves them unfulfilled, feeling hopeless, suffocated, unhappy and without any real direction in their existence. Happiness is relative and purely in the eye of the beholder, my young friend."

And so it goes.

Ray Hamill was born in Dublin, Ireland, and Help Me, I'm Irish! is his debut book. Well done and thanks for the fun read!

Reviewed by Kaye Trout - May 6, 2006 - Copyright


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