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3.98 AVERAGE
3.98 AVERAGE
emotional
funny
hopeful
inspiring
sad
tense
slow-paced
emotional
medium-paced
So on reading – and loving – this book shortly after I read Shuggie Bain, it became apparent that stories about wee gay boys in Thatcher-ravaged Glasgow is my jam. Wee Damy is joining Shuggie in occupying a special spot on the bookshelf of my heart.
This is the memoir of journalist, author and broadcaster Damien Barr’s childhood, growing up in the 80’s and 90’s outside of Glasgow. I’ve been meaning to read this ever since seeing his Big Scottish Book Club filmed in my town, captivated by his warmth and love of books. And I’m also interested in reading about my country during that time period, where Margaret Thatcher and her government seemed intent on destroying Scotland.
We follow Damien as his family is falling apart, when his mum leaves his dad for another man and takes the kids with her. Damien is having to cope with seeing his beloved dad less in return for a brutal step-father, whilst trying to navigate primary school as his sense of being different grows. We follow him as he grapples with his sexuality, against a backdrop of increasing poverty and his once-industrial town being decimated by the closure of the ironworks. As his father grows more distant and his mother sinks deeper into alcoholism and poor choices, Damien strives to make something of himself.
Although the parallels between this and Shuggie Bain are easily drawn, this is a much less bleak tale. As we know, Damien has made something of himself, and this story is told with a heartwarming wit and charm. Damien is lucky enough to find people who are there for him, and watching him grow and embrace who he is really is a joy to share. As he tracks Maggie’s downfall alongside his own rise, and the deterioration of his hometown as he himself blossoms, it’s a strong reminder that we are not defined by our foundations and that sometimes the worst things can be the making of us.
This is the memoir of journalist, author and broadcaster Damien Barr’s childhood, growing up in the 80’s and 90’s outside of Glasgow. I’ve been meaning to read this ever since seeing his Big Scottish Book Club filmed in my town, captivated by his warmth and love of books. And I’m also interested in reading about my country during that time period, where Margaret Thatcher and her government seemed intent on destroying Scotland.
We follow Damien as his family is falling apart, when his mum leaves his dad for another man and takes the kids with her. Damien is having to cope with seeing his beloved dad less in return for a brutal step-father, whilst trying to navigate primary school as his sense of being different grows. We follow him as he grapples with his sexuality, against a backdrop of increasing poverty and his once-industrial town being decimated by the closure of the ironworks. As his father grows more distant and his mother sinks deeper into alcoholism and poor choices, Damien strives to make something of himself.
Although the parallels between this and Shuggie Bain are easily drawn, this is a much less bleak tale. As we know, Damien has made something of himself, and this story is told with a heartwarming wit and charm. Damien is lucky enough to find people who are there for him, and watching him grow and embrace who he is really is a joy to share. As he tracks Maggie’s downfall alongside his own rise, and the deterioration of his hometown as he himself blossoms, it’s a strong reminder that we are not defined by our foundations and that sometimes the worst things can be the making of us.
Overall I liked this book and I understood his struggle with sexuality completely. The only hard part of this for me as an American was reading the Scottish language written. I obviously do not have the accent so it was hard to decipher some of it. Great memoir otherwise!
I would highly recommend this memoir by Damian Barr which is meticulously written, and as sharp as you could hope. Growing up as a gay child, in abusive home after abusive home, he manages to convey his emotions and the fear at the time without ever descending into self pity or self obsession. His shrewd observations of the people who inhabited his small world are offset by his young mind’s love of fantasy and far off worlds. It’s a compelling listen which doesn’t pull you down in spite of the serious subject matter.
adventurous
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
sad
medium-paced
A memoir about growing up in the west of Scotland amidst, deprivation, violence, alcoholism and abuse, it was a really tough existence and particularly as Damian began to realise he was gay. Each chapter opens with a quote from Margaret Thatcher, which at times gave important context especially as she decimated the main industries and source of work in Scotland. Damian's father worked for the steel plant at Ravenscraig, he describes the hard, dirty work, well and the beauty of the double sunset as the furnaces lit the neighbouring sky. There is also the horror that as children they were playing in and around incredibly toxic materials. The book is most affecting as he writes about his struggles, being bullied at school, the way he protects himself from the alcohol fuelled parties in his teens, although he also doesn't allow his sister to be in his safe room even though there is a spare bed. I can appreciate that he was doing what he needed to in order to survive but it does rather suggest that he is following Margaret Thatcher's individualistic ideology a little too much. I wasn't sure about the whole 'Maggie and me' concept, at times it felt like a construct, at others necessary to explain her impact on Scotland, however, at the end it is clear that he admires her and was thrilled to be told that she would have liked him. That just left a sour taste for me and almost ruined my experience of the whole book. I would say if you want to know about the hardships of the west of Scotland read Shuggie Bain and if you want to enjoy Damian Barr's writing read You will be safe here, or read this but maybe avoid the epilogue.
Ok so I’ve been trying to figure out why I felt merely lukewarm about this book and I think it’s because I read it pretty close in time to We Were Always Here, which I think is a better example of this genre and one where it explores bigger and more relevant themes to modern queerness.
A good portion of not enjoying this book is largely my bias - I don’t enjoy reading stories or memoirs featuring abuse as device to shock or merely elicit sympathy. Is it horrible what the author went through? Absolutely. Should any child have to experience that? Never. Do I need to read another book about it without any other redeeming features? No. No I really don’t.
I gave this three stars instead of two since I recognise the writing skill and the bravery in putting this experience out in the world. But really if you want to read a transformation memoir read We Were Always Here instead.
A good portion of not enjoying this book is largely my bias - I don’t enjoy reading stories or memoirs featuring abuse as device to shock or merely elicit sympathy. Is it horrible what the author went through? Absolutely. Should any child have to experience that? Never. Do I need to read another book about it without any other redeeming features? No. No I really don’t.
I gave this three stars instead of two since I recognise the writing skill and the bravery in putting this experience out in the world. But really if you want to read a transformation memoir read We Were Always Here instead.
emotional
sad
fast-paced