About 10 years ago, James Novak read “Angela's Ashes,” the Pulitzer Prize-winning 1996 memoir by Frank McCourt that chronicles the author's impoverished childhood in Ireland and subsequent escape to America.

Drawing inspiration from McCourt's tale, which reminded him of his own upbringing in Laconia, the U.S. Air Force veteran made himself a pledge.

“I realized even though the circumstances were different, (McCourt) had a very miserable childhood, and I could identify with that,” Novak said. “And so I said, ‘You know, someday I'm going to write about my childhood.'”

Novak was born in 1939 as Lucien Virgin, the third child of a French-Canadian Catholic mother who had married outside her religion and divorced the children's father a month after Lucien's birth. In his recently self-published memoir, “Ora's Boy,” Novak recounts his coming of age, which included time in an orphanage, two stepfathers and struggle to provide for himself starting as a preteen.

With perseverance and pluck, young Lucien overcame hardships, changed his name and achieved success. By sharing his experience, Novak hopes to inspire others facing adversity early in life.

“I've looked at so many downtrodden kids and dysfunctional families in my life,” Novak said. “I was hoping that through this book, maybe I can offer them some hope — that I shared their feelings of despair and rejection, and I did find a path to succeed. And I just wanted them to know that with drive and determination, they too can forge a better life for themselves.”

Novak's father, Charles Virgin, was largely absent from his life, but his mother, Ora, is a central figure in the book, the woman whose choices and worldview shaped her son's plight.

Among his earliest memories, Novak recounts how as he prepared to enter second grade at a Laconia Catholic school, Ora told him he'd instead be going away to school with his two older sisters, Lorraine and Claudette. But after driving the children to the St. Vincent de Paul School — a Manchester orphanage and boarding school — Ora dropped off 6-year-old Lucien and left with the girls.

“I'll never know the real reason she sent me there, but I'll always remember it as the most traumatic experience in my young life,” Novak writes.

After a year at St. Vincent's, Lucien returned home to Laconia but endured sleeping on a porch during the summer because Ora rented out his bedroom. He witnessed frequent discord between his mother and her second husband, Harold Manson. And once Lucien began earning $5 a week with a paper route, Ora told him he'd need to start buying his own toothpaste, soap and other necessities.

“This was the critical moment in my life that she plotted to free herself from ever having to provide anything more than food and shelter for me from that day on,” Novak writes.

Although Novak's portrait of his mother is hardly flattering, he remembers her sympathetically.

“My mother had a very difficult childhood,” he said. “And back then, a woman who was divorced twice, married three times — she was literally ostracized. I think, when I look back on it, she just was emotionally unavailable for her children. And I don't think it's that she didn't love us. She did, but she didn't know how to love us, because she didn't come from an environment of love. She had to quit school in the eighth grade to go work in a factory and pay room and board. So that was her emphasis: ‘You don't need an education; you can make good money working in the shoe shop.'

“She was obsessed with money. To her, she equated that with power, strength and approval. She was too preoccupied with her own quest for love and acceptance in a town that scorned her.”

Despite the trials Novak faced in his youth, his book doesn't belabor them. The author sprinkles his memoir with positive memories, such as swimming with his sisters at Lake Opechee, receiving a Cub Scout uniform for Christmas and meeting Little Richard at a Weirs Beach arcade. And like McCourt in “Angela's Ashes,” Novak includes lighthearted moments, such as the time one of his St. Vincent's classmates pelted Bishop Matthew Brady with a snowball.

Although he acknowledges in the book that his experiences taught him to distrust adults, Novak also credits those who helped him along the way, including the customers on his paper route along North Main Street in Laconia.

“It was a five-mile paper route, and I'd be freezing, and my last customer would say, ‘I've got to go to town for something. You want a ride back to town?' ” he said.

After graduating from Laconia High School in 1957, Lucien enlisted in the Air Force, legally changed his name and served his country for 23 years. He rose to the rank of captain, earned bachelor's and master's degrees, and later spent 15 years working in the defense industry before retiring at 55. He traveled the world, married and divorced before moving back to Laconia in 2001.

There, Novak met his second wife, Denise, who also grew up in the city, and the couple moved to Bluffton, S.C., in 2009.

He spent 14 months writing “Ora's Boy,” which has attracted a modest following in Laconia.

Annie's Book Stop has sold about 130 copies of the book since its February publication, said Simone Henderson, the Laconia bookstore's owner. Although she's heard a few negative comments from locals who took exception to some of Novak's portrayals, most of the feedback has been positive, she said.

“I think it's very inspirational,” said Henderson, who's read the book. “The things that happened to him when he was young were somewhat tragic, but he was able to pull himself out of that and become very successful despite his background. I think it's very encouraging for people to read that.”

Novak will make two Laconia appearances this week to promote “Ora's Boy.” He will read book excerpts and sign copies at the Laconia Public Library on Thursday at 6 p.m. and at Annie's Book Stop on Saturday at 10 a.m.

Although Novak's background scarred him in some ways, it also taught him to believe in himself and not depend on others, he said. He hopes the book can help others take charge of their own destinies as he did.

“You can't say, ‘Oh, poor, pitiful me,' ” he said. “I believe you're responsible for who you become.”