The Irish, according to history and myth, harbored the classics of antiquity in their sea enclosed monasteries while Europe was overwhelmed by the “barbarians” from the East. There is enough truth to it that books have been written with titles like How the Irish Saved Civilization. Ireland may have saved the day, but she was soon to enter a millennium of chaos, subjugation and internecine violence. A friend of mine, a real fan of Ireland, finished his first romp through a book on Irish history (written by an Irishman) and was stunned at how brutal the story is … much of it self-inflicted. This, of course, jars with the beauty of their language, the ballads sung in the pubs and the many romantic cliches that have attached themselves to the Emerald Isle. I bring this Irish conundrum up because I sometimes feel they are at it again … that is saving some part of our besieged Civilization.
We live in a distracted, informal, polemical age where rules are meant to be broken and the inherent uncertainty that is the shared human experience is being suppressed by violent certainties from all parts of our lives. This is not fertile grounds for the lyrical, searching novel. Too much of our fiction lacks beauty. There is too much telling and not enough showing. The “wonder” of fiction seems to be in very short supply. Much of this complaint may be my age and background talking and I apologize if that is the case. Regardless, my lament has found refuge in contemporary Irish literature where the art of fiction appears to be alive and well.
The following is a list of Irish writers and their novels that I have read over the past three or four years. While they are all very different, they share the gift of a lovely sentence, a finely tuned ear and a nuanced heart. Humor and pathos are evenly distributed even in the darkest of stories. We live in an unforgiving time with vengeance driven politics swirling amidst a poisoned digital world. All these Irish writers and their stories share a forgiving bias no matter the circumstance and in doing so open their writing up to something more than a narrative or a “message”. The list includes only those still alive and working. The order is based on my most recent reading of the author and is as limited as it is subjective.
DOLAN RYAN … I just finished The Queen of Dirt Island. A short rain-soaked story set in rural Ireland with three generations of strong willed, often hilariously foul-mouthed women trying to make-do amidst the gossip and inuendo of a village life. The writing is as sharp as the women’s wits. Having mostly listened to another of his novels, the very dark but still richly textured The Spinning Heart, I am hard pressed to identify a better writer of dialogue alive today. His ear is that of a rural Dennis Lehane. The violence of Ryan is psychological, however, and his gift extends to the less dramatic and more quotidian lives of both sexes.
NIAL WILLIAMS … his fictional Irish town on the Shannon River, Faha, has become a tourist attraction. I gather he deals with unwanted admirers from America on a consistent basis. He deserves this notoriety though I worry that it will signal the commercialization of his vast gift for storytelling. It doesn’t help that one of novels, Four Letters of Love, is now a “major motion picture”. It was inevitable. I just finished The History of the Rain. Idiosyncratic in shape and form, out loud funny and maybe a bit too cute, this novel shares the strengths of the other two I have read: This Is Happiness and Time of the Child. The former may be one of my favorite reads EVER while the latter is not too far behind. The writing is simply a thing of wonder. How many ways can you describe a rainy day in Ireland? How many ways can you describe an Irish cow in his field? It drops not a notch with pitch perfect dialogue and characters so memorable you are disappointed if they do not show up in the next book. Though he is not as overtly clever Ian McEwan, reading and discovering Williams has given me the same joy I felt when Ian came into my literary life.
JOHN BANVILLE … I have written about this highly respected writer in earlier posts. As I pointed out, there are TWO Banvilles just as there was two Graham Greenes. The most recent incarnation is that of a mystery writer. I have read three of his four Strafford & Quirke mysteries, the latest being The Drowned. They get better each time as the first version of Banville begins to bleed into his lighter, “entertainment” fare. It was the first version that put him on the literary map. It led to awards and a career as an insightful and respected book critic. The serious books are uneven, numerous and very unorthodox. What they have in common is sparkling prose and seductively elusive themes. While they can be sexy and funny, their greatest value is their penetrating critiques of our modern world. The ones I recommend include: The Book of Evidence, Eclipse, The Shroud, and The Sea. He also wrote a charming “sequel”, Mrs. Osmond, to Henry James’ The Portrait of a Lady. Banville’s range is clearly as noteworthy as his talent.
CLAIRE KEEGAN … I remember first reading her years ago. It felt like a discovery. I handed out copies of both Small Things Like These and Foster. Both remain in my mind perfect novellas though I stubbornly cling to Foster as the more mature work. Each should be reread as a reminder of what literature can do. Her other short works pale but so do Tolstoy’s other works when lined up against his massive twin towers of Russian literature. She has become a bit of a reluctant celebrity. I hope she sticks with her very private rural life and avoids the creative disaster that is notoriety. She says it takes her forever to write. That is okay with me. Meanwhile, while I wait, I will continue to reread.
MAGGIE O’FARRELL … as a self-described feminist writer, Maggie contains her editorial points of view remarkably well. Pedantry does not interfere with her substantial storytelling gift. Her prose is sumptuous and her ability to use historical context to enrich her characters and themes leave the reader all too available for her feminist arguments. Hamnet was as good a read as I have experienced in the last ten years. I gather the movie is very good and, I hope, that the spotlight and money that comes with it does not corrupt her gifts. The Marriage Portrait was a bit overwritten, but the ending(s) saved it and left you with a “portrait” of man’s misogynist sins as sharp and damning as any I have read or watched. On a wildly different note, Maggie’s I Am, I Am, I Am is an arresting and original piece of autobiography. In this vivid memoir, she recreates the seven times in her life where she had a brush with death. The last is too long. They are uneven. But it is an arresting read and certainly gets you thinking about your own life’s many remembered and forgotten twists and turns.
SEBASTIAN BARRY … I just finished his 2016 novel, Days Without End. It is an Irish version of the 19thcentury American West. It might be among the finest novels I have read. A tour de force of imagination, Barry blends his near perfect writing style with the vernacular of the west and conjures, with an intimate first-person point of view, the horror and wonder of the Indian Wars, the Civil War and the many roads that connected them. The narrator is a gay Irish immigrant who barely survives both the Great Famine and an equally horrific voyage to the New World. The back story of his gay life both in and out of the military is a deeply humorous and moving literary creation. Love, loyalty, betrayal and wretched violence are all embedded in this short novel. I did not think Barry could surpass his often-sublime The Secret Scripture. He has with this book; however, The Secret Scripture is of a wholly different fare and resists comparison. I will continue to delve deeper into the Barry oeuvre.
These are my Irish crew right now. A shout out to Sally Rooney is required. Her Intermezzo was fabulous and suggests a maturing style that I look forward to reading. Colum McCann is a talented writer adored by many. I thought his most recent book. Twist, was too forced. His great novel, Let the Great World Spin, captures my thoughts on his talent the best. The first half is pure lyrical genius but by the end much of the magic has faded. Maybe he should stick with shorter fare.
Any piece on Irish writers must include homage to those who have passed away. Jeanette Haien was a multi-talented artist who came to writing late and like Norman McLean and A River Runs Through It, she had one great book in her. The All of It is a perfect book. It really is. Thomas Flanagan’s The Year of the French is the first of his magisterial historical fiction romp. Long and beautiful, this book and the trilogy might be the finest historical fiction I have read. Finally, William Trevor lies in wait for those who are looking for the most clear-eyed and heartbreaking of the island’s many wonderful post WWII writers. While his short stories may be his greatest legacy, his short novels are stunners. The Story of Lucy Gault is a good place to start.
Thank you for reading …
