Near the beginning of the novel Frank introduces his baby sister Margaret to the reader with great tenderness, using idiom and simile to explain why she affects everyone so strongly:
There’s a new baby soon, a little girl, and they call her Margaret. We all love Margaret. She has black curly hair and blue eyes like Mam and she waves her little hands and chirps like any little bird in the trees along Classon Avenue. Minnie says there was a holiday in heaven the day this child was made.
The simile the narrator uses here compares baby Margaret to a “little bird,” as if instead of crying she tweets and trills. Unlike a typical baby’s cries or fussing, Margaret’s quiet “chirping” is one of the many things that make her seem so adorable she’s almost angelic. Instead of being disruptive and noisy like most newborns, she’s a soothing presence in the McCourt household. Everyone loves her; Malachy Sr. even stops drinking and holds down a steady job for a short while after the time described in this passage.
The idiom “a holiday in heaven” implies that Margaret is a gift from God, made with extra care and happiness. The period-specific phrase comes from Frank’s deeply Catholic environment, in which babies were often seen as blessings directly from heaven. By framing her birth in this way, McCourt emphasizes how special Margaret is to the family. Rather than being another hungry mouth to feed like Frank and his brothers, Margaret is a source of pure joy.
When Frank is stuck in the hospital with typhoid, he has a lot of time to read. Here, the author uses allusion and simile to convey Frank’s newfound fascination with Shakespeare, despite his limited understanding of the historical context of the plays the book refers to:
I do believe, induced by potent circumstances
That thou art mine enemy.
The history writer says this is what Catherine, who is a wife of Henry the Eighth, says to Cardinal Wolsey, who is trying to have her head cut off. I don’t know what it means and I don’t care because it’s Shakespeare and it’s like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words.
Here, Frank reads a passage explaining a scene from the Shakespeare play Henry VIII, describing an exchange between Catherine of Aragon, first wife of Henry VIII, and Cardinal Wolsey, a powerful advisor and her enemy. The allusion to Shakespeare brings English history into Frank’s world, though he’s been told regularly by his Irish nationalist father and teachers that English literature’s cultural significance holds little importance for him as an Irish child. Frank doesn’t understand the weight of Catherine’s confrontation with Wolsey or its place in starting the English Reformation, although it’s also an important moment in Anglo-Irish history. For Frank, the language matters more than the content, so much so that he declares he doesn’t care “because it’s Shakespeare.”
McCourt’s simile here compares Shakespeare’s words to “jewels” in Frank’s mouth. As Frank recites lines from Henry VIII over and over, he’s enjoying the rhythm and mouthfeel of the words without needing to understand them. By likening the words to “jewels,” Frank conveys a sense of their richness and beauty, as though each syllable sparkles on its own.
Frank describes his apprehension upon seeing that his regular priest—an ancient man whom he feels comfortable confessing almost anything to because he’s basically deaf—has been replaced by a younger man. He uses a simile to describe how this new confessor’s fully functional ears make him feel:
Then one day the little panel in the confession box slides back and it’s not my man at all, it’s a young priest with a big ear like a seashell. He’ll surely hear everything.
Despite knowing nothing about him, Frank is horrified at the thought of giving his confession to this priest. The image of a “seashell” conjures the idea of an ear that can pick up and amplify even the faintest sounds. In Frank’s alarmed imagination, his scheme to confess to the elderly priest has failed, as this new one will be alert to every word Frank utters. It’s as though Frank’s most private and embarrassing thoughts about masturbation, wet dreams, and his mother and Laman Griffin having "the excitement" will now echo and reverberate, amplified by this hyper-sensitive ear.
The hyperbolic description of the priest’s ear as “big” and seashell-like comes from Frank’s discomfort. The priest’s ears aren’t actually an abnormal size. However, Frank’s exaggerated focus on the ear’s size suggests that Frank suddenly feels very exposed. The comforting anonymity he felt with the old priest’s limited hearing has been suddenly wrenched away, and he will have to actually confess to and atone for his “sins.”