All Souls: A Family Story from Southie

The feature which works best in All Souls is the dramatically understated quality of MacDonald's prose. There isn't an ounce of pretense here, and this, when balanced against the horrors he is telling, creates a surface tension of great effect. As a piece of art, as a work of writing, there is little to learn beyond this, however; MacDonald is careful in how he uses language, but there are no surprises. So, this work's strength is also its weakness. Given that, it is a hard book to put down. It has a unique strength that makes one want to reach the end.

This guy had a LIFE. I don't envy him and I'm happy that he has come out on top...as far as an "Angela's Ashes"...not even close. I read this after a "true story" about a guy that worked for Whitey Bulger in Southie...I thought this would be another perspective and I looooved Angela's Ashes...I just wasn't hooked to any of the family except for the author...it was an interesting read but not that emotional or moving...again, I'm so glad he made it through his awful life but I don't think I'd make my friends read it...

An ancient slander against the Irish holds that they would sell their own children for money to buy whiskey and damn if that isn't exactly what one of Michael MacDonald's sisters tries to do in "All Souls", MacDonald's didactic tale of coming of age in the Old Colony projects in South Boston. The sister in question wants to sell her child for money to buy crack, not whiskey, but it's the same difference in a case of life imitating stereotype.

In Old Colony, where "everyone is Irish or claims to be", the MacDonald family is, as they might say in Donegal, callanach and barbartha (rowdy and uncivilized), even when measured by shanty project standards. The family matriarch (there is no patriarch), "Ma", had ten children by three men. She supplements the welfare check by playing the accordion in taverns and her kids run wild in the streets, with predictable results-crime, drug addiction, mental illness, and suicide. The residents consider the project "the greatest place in the world", and pretend to live by something called the "Southie Code"-all for one and one for all, don't steal from your neighbor, throw the bums a dime, and above all, don't snitch. Of course, they rob each other blind, sell each other dope, and kill each other with distressing regularity. The only Southie Commandment they all seem to honor is "Thou Shall Not Snitch", since the police are the bad guys and the criminals, who have supplanted the missing fathers, the criminals are the neighborhood heroes.

"All Souls" is brisk and thoughtful. The book has value because it shows that urban poverty will produce the same social plagues regardless of race. It compares favorably to Claude Brown's classic about growing up amid the squalor and violence of Harlem, "Manchild in the Promised Land". High praise indeed. The narrative, however, is seriously flawed. One has to wonder how a five year-old MacDonald can so vividly recall visiting a brother in a mental hospital, or how an eight year-old MacDonald can so meticulously recount the Southie anti-busing riots, when he was "filled with the spirit of rebellion". The writing also suffers from wrenching, abrupt shifts. For example, one brother, an athlete, a boxer on the verge of making it, a man who wouldn't drink beer in public and who admonishes those that do because it sets a bad example for neighborhood kids, this man is suddenly shot dead while robbing an armored car because somehow, unannounced to the reader, he had developed a "major cocaine addiction".

Winged cockroaches drowning in Sprite? Mr. MacDonald finds twenty dead cockroaches (ubiquitous in the project) floating in cup of Sprite
and realizes that they have wings:

"They all floated in the cup with their useless
wings spread out. I stared at them for a good
long time wondering if they didn't know how to
use their wings, or if they just didn't know
they had them, until it was too late to save
themselves".

As metaphors go, that is about as sappy as it gets. Mr. MacDonald did, though, spread his wings and save himself from the Sprite of the project mentality.

I've never been to Boston, my upbringing was about as suburban as you can get, and I loved "All Souls." It's the memoirs of Michael Patrick MacDonald, who grew up in the largely Irish-Catholic South Boston ("Southie") in the tumultuous 60s and 70s. The Publishers Weekly review summed up the book better than I could, so I will just add some of my own observations.

1.) "All Souls" is instrumental in publicizing a largely-neglected aspect of American history- the Boston busing riots. Aside from a few passing references to it in history textbooks, I'm not aware of any other book where the topic is explored from the viewpoint of someone who was actually there. Basically, William Garrity, a federal judge in Boston, found that the schools in Boston were segregated, and ordered that students should be bused to achieve an equal racial balance. The protest in South Boston was fierce. The people there resented the decision, and threw rocks at the first buses carrying black students into the South Boston area. If students were in a neighborhood assigned to be bused to the predominately black schools, then their parents would send them to a private school if they could afford it. Many times the students would simply drop out. When the busing started, fights broke out between the black and white students. Racism was rampant in South Boston, and many used the "n word" with abandon. Yet not all of the opposition to busing was racially motivated. Mostly the parents were concerned for the safety of their children, and resented the tight-knit community being forcibly torn apart.

2.) Another fascinating aspect of "All Souls" was the code of silence that enveloped Southie until very recently. If there were murders or suicides, you didn't mention it to the police. The myth was "in Southie, everyone looks out for each other." And to a certain extent that was true- it was a tight-knit community. The problem is that when someone was in real trouble, such as getting shot in a botched robbery, no one would come forward to give information that could save lives and rectify the situation. Whitey Bulger was largely responsible for perpetuating the code of silence and the "people look out for each other" myth. And he could say this, since he was comfortably living in a mansion, while most of the people in Southie were in public housing projects.

3.) The author's portrayal of poverty is fascinating and heartbreaking. We can see the effects of the breakdown of the family unit firsthand through the author's eyes. Most families had no father to look after them, and many of the mothers were on welfare. MacDonald's mother, Helen King, or "Ma" as he calls her, is one tough cookie. She managed to raise 10 kids on her own without a father- and the only income she received was from welfare and whatever tips she could scrape by playing the accordion at pubs. Most mothers were not as dedicated as this one, unfortunately. MacDonald never preaches about the issue, and there is much in here for people of all political persuasions to think about.

I love it how the book begins and ends with the author, now a grown man, attending a meeting of the newly-formed South Boston Vigil Group on All-Souls Day. They are people from all over South Boston who are ready to break the silence, and name the names of loved ones lost to murder, drugs, or suicide. Fans of gripping biography, social history, Irish-American history, and American history in general will not want to miss this.

Even though there are pages upon pages of great reviews for this book, I had to add my two cents.

Having grown up as a unidentified upper-middle class American in the 80's, searching for connection with community and my family's origins, I found this book to be inspiring. Macdonald's recollection of his community and pride in his flawed family induced me to appreciate my own average life, as well as appreciate those full of tragedy.