wodehousing

An Irishman’s account of life in New York. Well, at least that’s what it’s supposed to be. Brendan Behan was a playwright who wrote a play called The Hostage (which he mentions about 500 times) and claims to have a insurmountable love for New York City. But his book is about 50% Irish nostalgia and 40% name dropping with famous celebrities of the 60s.
Okay, so Behan was drunk when he wrote this book (he had to dictate it, such was his state), and everything does admittedly read like a drunken rant, with no connection from one event to the other, skipping about the timeline. It was entertaining, but not very engrossing. I only got the sense that I would not enjoy meeting Mr. Behan, as he seemed quite pretentious and vain.
As for the descriptions of New York, where were they? There were none; only fond recollections of pubs and old hotels. Everything was very strongly linked with drinking.