Patrick McCabe, 1999, HarperCollins
While I think I can see why this was nominated for a Booker Prize, I was left cold. It’s the reminiscences of a transvestite prostitute from Northern Ireland, who, in an open secret, was born to a young woman who was impregnated by her priest. His story is mostly thinking back on the bitterness of his childhood, his revenge fantasies towards his father, swooning over the exotic shoes and clothing his various boyfriends gave him, and odd memories of his friends who were caught up in The Troubles, either with the Royalists or the IRA.
This is one of those books that leave me feeling that I should have enjoyed more than I did. It’s difficult to say exactly what I found off-putting. It’s well written, the narrative voice is strong, and the situations are interesting. And yet, for some reason, I never found myself completely engaged.