Healy's confessional narrative is sincere and unflinching, each moment of violence and abuse is combined with dark humour giving an honest reflection of the author's past. Perhaps, The Grass Arena is a hardened version of Joyce's Portrait of the Artist, albeit without the pretensions of modernism. The flow of the story is not entirely chronological, Healy gives a concise history of life with his family, bullying at school and his first ventures into the working world, involving petty theft and fighting. Yet, later on in the novel when Healy's alcoholism dominates the narrative the reader is dragged down into the dirty side of London through pub fights, sickness and death. The delirious flow of events only adds to the authenticity of Healy's voice; the experiences described are not feigned or dramatised, but merely drawn from the author's inebriated memory.
The Grass Arena is a relatively short autobiography at under 300 pages, yet Healy compresses all his past demons into this work. His language is simple and devoid of pretension, his mimicry of London and Irish dialogue, unlike authors of fiction, is not laboured but reads naturally.
Though it would be easy to compare The Grass Arena to other 'dirty' London novels, such as Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London or anything from the Will Self back catalogue, Healy's novel stands above these other works. Its exposure of the true London underworld is unparalleled, the vagrants who live in 'the grass arena' i.e: a public park use desperate tricks to avoid arrest and procure alcohol at one point they drink methylated spirits just to get drunk. All this, along with Healy's humourous nick-names for his fellow drinkers such as Bottle Joe, Humpy Smith and One-Eyed Tony add to the appeal of the novel.
Healy was not a writer, he was not someone who dreamt up stories. He went out and lived his story before finding the time to write it all down as penance/catharsis.
I don't wish to reveal the ending of The Grass Arena here, as I found it pleasantly surprising to read through pages of despair and intoxication before the author redeems himself with sobriety. I would recommend this book to any interested in The London Novel, or even any form of 'dark' autobiography. Healy's London is as dark as any horror story.
