Customer Reviews

Ice Time: A Tale of Fathers, Sons, and Hometown Heroes

5 star:		(11)
4 star:		(4)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(2)

 

 

I'm not even really a hockey fan but I am a big sports fan and this book resonated on a lot of levels for me. First of all, Atkinson's descriptions are amazing--he got me involved on the first page and I just kept wanting more. Also, his depiction of what it's like to be on a team was dead on. I didn't expect the book's emotional conclusion but that made it all the more powerful for me. The bottom line is that if you like good writing, you'll like ICE TIME.

Atkinson does a nice job describing a time, place and experience.
His description of the shifting climes of Methuen since his HS
days are particularly insightful. Just when you are enjoying the
book, though, Atkinson tends to interject some borderline
self-promotional prattle about his own hockey stats or die-hard toughness. The stats are irrelevant, and the toughness, if relevant, should be self-evident.

Overall on a scale of 1-10, a hat trick shy of perfect.

"The most ephemeral and intriguing aspect of hockey is its spontaneity; each rush down the ice blossoms into something different, a new constellation of passes and positioning that happens only once and then melts away, like a snowflake," writes Atkinson in this moving, hilarious and lovingly detailed story of a year in the working life of the Methuen (Massachusetts) High School hockey team. A gifted observer with an eye for character (as in, "Now, there's a character!"), he captures the players, coaches, school officals and parents around the team in living color and salty dialogue. In addition to that, he weaves in memories of his own time as a goalie for the same team 25 years earlier along with his hopes and dreams for his 5-year-old son Liam, whom he is just getting on the ice to participate in league hockey. The mix of spirited reporting and personal memoir, with its evident (but not sappy) love of the sport and everyone involved, is irresistible. For hockey fans, this is a must read. For those who love memoirs, this vivid chronicle of a place many have never been and may know nothing about is a beauty.

The author is constantly searching for emotional resonance and relevance, using events and information from the players', coaches and parents' lives, without ever really revealing much about his own life except in relation to his hockey playing. Yes, the absence of mention of Liam's mother is a very big gap and a weakness of the book, because the question is always there for the reader.

The book arrived within the time advertised, with the book somewhat more worn than I had hoped, but was still in good condition, and a very enjoyable read.

I confess that I played very little hockey growing up. I live in HOCKEYTOWN and have been a part of the culture of hockey since the hey day of Gordie Howe and the boys. Most of my adult friends did play hockey. I hear their voices in the characters that populate Mr. Atkinson's fine, fine work.

Mr. Atkinson follows the trials and tribulations of a high school hockey team in a Massachusetts town. I coach high school age boys and Mr. Atkinson has got it right. From the stale smell of a high school locker room to the angst of young love.

I appreciated his attention to detail. In one chapter he describes small town life while on a run through town. This was perfect.

There have been many fine books written about high school sports ("Friday Night Lights", "Fall River Dreams", "In These Girls the Heart is A Muscle") "Ice Time" has joined the club.

I can definitely identify with Atkinson's tale of high school hockey in working class Mass. I'm about his age, and my son also plays hockey - I played 3yrs HS in New York (cold part).
The locker room stuff is spot on, and the heart and soul of the kids comes across great. I little less about how he can still hang with the youngsters on the ice would have improved the book.
Also, Atkinson's parts with his son were touching, but he never mentions poor Liam's mom once in the book. I just kept wondering what happend to her that she never gets talked about.
Maybe another book for that one. If you have ever played high school hockey this is a MUST READ. It would also make a good screenplay, but Hollywood hates real hockey movies.

You don't have to be from Methuen (I am) to appreciate this well-crafted tale of hockey, parenting, and small town values. This is a great read created by a very talented writer - I felt like I was in the hands of the Bobby Orr of prose. The book's dialog and telling anecdotes about the people involved are sure to raise a few eyebrows - but we could use a little eyebrow raising around here.

The author does a good job of conveying the emotions of an athlete growing old but not ready to hang it up just yet. I am sure that anyone who ever participated in high school sports will be able to identify with this book and the travails of the Methuen Rangers. I highly recommend this book to anyone looking for fond memories and lifted spirits.

My Irish mom, still back in Methuen with a few of my siblings, would surely cringe at me being referred to as the "Big, tough French guy" on page 31 of this fine book. At least Jay had the courtesy to leave my name out of it. I'm grateful, particularly since my recollection of the event in question is somewhat of a departure from his. No matter....

This is a fine read, and finer still as it captures so accurately the rabid fervor that is hockey in Methuen, my hometown. Though I had the pleasure of playing for the Rangers' archrival, Central Catholic, Jay and I did play together, along with Dave Martin and Dennis Dube, Bob O'Donnell, Tom McGurren, and a host of other hockey lunatics, for a couple of years on Herb Edwards's team, the Blues. It was a terrific time to be a teenager, without much of the madness that has somehow insinutated itself into youth sports today.

Jay's memory is sharp (in most respects... :) and he's drawn the supporting cast in remarkably accurate detail. I can see our former teammate, the boisterous Dave Martin, exhorting his charges to dig deeper in an effort to get at the core of the game, which is all about stripping away the self to serve the greater good of the team. I can also, by the way, easily imagine Dave weedling in, as we used to say, with the officials.

What a refreshing, uncomplicated, non-political book this is. No pronouncements, no agenda, other than "this is my memory of a wonderful time." When I find myself staying late, alone, at our local rink to shoot just one more bucket of pucks, I now know I'm not alone, (and my 45 year old elbow also reminds of that the morning after). Somehow, though, I can't imagine not doing it, and it's nice to know that there are a bunch of "old guys" like myself doing the same thing back home.

Thanks, Jay, for making it all so real again, and sorry, again, for the dust up that night in the Frost Arena, that hallowed hall of hockeydom. We had some fun.

That "Big, Tough, French guy" (all 5'8" of me...), and former Central Catholic hockey captain,

-Herve Pelletier