Donal Ryan has hit the big time with his inclusion in the Leaving Cert syllabus list of texts for the Leaving Cert in 2017. This recognition is obviously well deserved and students will enjoy his quirky depiction of Celtic Tiger Ireland. It is amazing, and a source of great pride, how modern and with-it the ‘new’ Leaving Cert Syllabus really is, unlike the ancient ‘dead poet’s society’ attitude of years gone by. Today, any young aspiring Irish writer who gets shortlisted (or even long-listed) for the Booker guarantees him/her inclusion in the new course in a very short space of time.
My favourite Novel of all Time… Reading in the Dark by Seamus Deane
STUDY NOTES
ON
READING IN THE DARK *
BY SEAMUS DEANE
*Page references are from the Vintage, 1997 edition
This has to be one of my favourite novels of all time – definitely the best book never to win The Booker! There you go – I’ve put my cards on the table for all to see. This incredibly well-crafted novel is set in Derry over a 16-year period from 1945 to 1961, the book presents a child’s view of the tensions in the city during that time. Throughout the book we are reminded of the conflict that surrounds the narrator.
An example of the narrator’s direct involvement is shown in the story of the St. Patrick’s Day riot where the police baton-charged a march and were enticed down a long street where half a barrel of oil was poured onto the street as they approached. Two police cars skidded sharply under a hail of stones and one burst into flames. Here the writer emphasises the hazards and dangers of the time and shows the children’s thrill at getting the better of the police.
The reader learns to piece the story together of a tense historical period, where secrets about past deeds are buried and rarely, if ever, revealed even to those who are closest to those who participated in them. Few direct references are made to the actual events of the time, with the exception of the 12th of July celebrations, commemorating the triumph of the Protestant armies at the Battle of the Boyne; the Apprentice Boys march on the 12th of August, celebrating the liberation of the city of Derry from a besieging Catholic army in 1689; and the 18th of December, the burning of Lundy’s effigy. These are briefly mentioned and used as landmarks to guide the structure of the book. Deane also refers to the church festivities on the 15th of August which were turned into a political event as time went on. With knowledge of these events, many aspects of the boy’s story are more meaningful to the reader who can then understand the significance of many apparently general comments.
The unnamed narrator is a young boy, who describes the years of his growing up in Derry in the 1940s and ‘50s. He is the third oldest of seven children in a working-class Catholic family. The story traces the family’s complicated history which reveals many secrets surrounding the mysterious disappearance of Eddie, his father’s brother. Eddie had been accused of being a police informer and had been unable to prove his innocence. He was executed by the IRA in a remote farmhouse under the orders of the narrator’s maternal grandfather. However, it emerged later that the real informer had been McIlhenny, his aunt Kate’s husband, and therefore Eddie had been killed in error.
The boy’s mother knew this, and when she found out she warned McIlhenny in time for him to escape to America. She did this because she had had a relationship with him in the past before he married her sister. Her husband did not know this. He was unaware that his brother had not been an informer and dies at the end of the novel, grieving for the trouble he thought his brother had brought upon the family.
The boy’s mother has had to endure her husband’s suffering, unable to tell him the awful truth. When she learns that it was her own father who organised Eddie’s execution, she cannot cope with what she knows. She becomes emotionally crippled with guilt and helplessness and begins to disintegrate emotionally and psychologically. Now only the boy knows the full story and like his mother he is bound to silence. He uncovers the truth bit by bit but it is a large burden of knowledge for a young boy to carry.
THEMES AND ISSUES
The Theme of Secrecy: A well-known saying in the North of Ireland is, ‘Whatever you say, say nothing’. This saying reflects the troubled times in the North. Seamus Heaney used the phrase as the title and the theme of one of his most impressive poems on the Northern Troubles which raged from 1969 until 1998.
There is a natural reserve built in to any discussion about politics or about happenings where there may be conflict. This is very much the case in many novels written about the Northern situation, and Deane’s novel is no exception. There is very little direct discussion about what has happened to Eddie. Much of the information comes to the boy in a vague, roundabout way and it takes the boy’s perceptive abilities to link the threads together.
Secrets abound in the novel, and as the human mind is naturally curious, the boy is determined to find out what is obviously being hidden from him. The boy knows that his grandfather is a possible source of information, especially now that his health is deteriorating and he appears close to death. The boy is often sent in to sit with his grandfather and eventually, he tells him that Eddie was executed as an informer, but that there was more to it, ‘He shut his eyes and he told me, he told me. He, Grandfather, had ordered the execution. But he was wrong. Eddie had been set up. He had not been an informer at all’ (p. 126).
Meanwhile, unaware that the boy already knows something, it takes quite some time before the boy’s father can bring himself to tell his sons the truth, as he understands it, about his own brother. In a quiet country church, he finally managed to do it. ‘Eddie was never killed in that shoot-out,’ he said suddenly and looked away from us immediately … ‘No, he wasn’t killed in the distillery. He was an informer. His own people killed him.’ Now he had said it all, and a great shame and sorrow was weighing his head down towards the front of the pew’ (p. 133).
To be an informer was one of the worst possible crimes that any person could commit – to inform on your own people for a few pounds was unforgivable. Families who had informers in their ranks could never be trusted and life could be and was often made a misery for anyone related to an informer.
‘He was talking all the time, forcing it out of himself, and Liam’s face was white as a star beside him. Informer. Betrayed his companions. Why he did it could not be known. His brother. Thank God his parents were not alive to see it. It was so stale a secret, like a gust of bad breath, and the way the three of us were crouched together in the middle pew of the church, like conspirators, with the sun beginning to warble again, it was like a false relief, as though the church were a machine that had stopped throbbing to let the world come in again around its becalmed silence’ (p. 134).
The boy’s mother is also very protective of the awful secrets that she has to carry and she is determined not to reveal them to any other person. Again, secrecy is vital, as the revelation of what she has done would do irreparable damage to her husband and to her sister. The boy can see this worry in her because he shares some, but not all of what she knows.
‘We were pierced together by the same shaft. But she didn’t know that. Nor was I going to say anything unless she did. And even then, when it had all been told, I had the sense of something being held back, something more than she knew, something Grandfather had cut out’ (p. 127).
It is this desperate clinging onto awful secrets which fuels the whole novel. As the plot unfolds, the enormity of the secrets is impressed upon the reader. The action of the novel escalates and this keeps the reader turning the pages to find out if a secret will be told. Feelings, which accompany secrecy, intensify as the story goes on. Fear, intense shame, guilt and helplessness are all present.
The Theme of Family Relationships: One of the main themes of this book is the topic of family relationships, which are under strain partly due to the times they live in. The boy’s relationship with each parent changes as the story unfolds. He rarely asks questions yet he is given information from various sources. By piecing the fragments together he realises that neither parent knows exactly what happened, yet he is prevented from interfering and informing them by an awareness of the pain that this would cause them.
Each piece of the jigsaw puzzle he finds causes further alterations in the boy’s relationship with both parents. Sometimes one parent will tell him a little, giving him the impression that they trust him. At other times, he learns something from outside the family, which draws him away and makes him more reserved with them. It is only when his grandfather tells him on his deathbed that he had ordered Eddie’s execution and that Eddie had been set up, that things begin to change radically for the boy, ‘I left him and went straight home, where I could never talk to my father or my mother properly again’ (p. 126).
The boy knows that his mother is struggling to live with the knowledge that her husband is unaware that his innocent brother was murdered under her father’s instructions as punishment for a crime that he had not committed. She has also had a relationship with McIlhenny, her sister’s husband, and her husband is unaware of this too. McIlhenny was, in fact, the informer who had framed Eddie, her husband’s brother, and she was the one who had alerted him before he escaped to Chicago. As a result of her actions she is tortured by a mixture of guilt and grief.
It does not help when she realises that her son knows the truth. This heightens the strain between mother and son. Instead of sharing the burden, they become isolated from and wary of each other. The father cannot understand why their relationship has suddenly deteriorated. Near the end of the book, the boy’s mother finds the strain of keeping this secret too much for her, and she begins to disintegrate emotionally. Even though he did his best to reassure her that he would never say anything, she wished he were not there, ‘Why don’t you go away?’ she asked me. ‘Then maybe I could look after your father properly for once, without your eyes on me’ (p. 224).
Father and son do not have a particularly close relationship: there are many unspoken barriers between them. His father is bitterly ashamed of having an informer in the family and rarely speaks about his brother Eddie. A few brief glimpses into the past show that as children, the boy’s father and Eddie had been close friends, which made the blow even harder when Eddie was accused of betraying the family. At one point, he is unable to prevent himself from hitting his son when he speaks disrespectfully of Eddie. He was angry with his son for antagonising the police and challenging him.
‘Was there something amiss with me? No, I told him, there’s something amiss with the family. The police were on top of us long before I was born. If he wanted to blame someone, let him blame Eddie, not me. He hit me so fast, I saw nothing. My shoulder felt hot and broken. I got up, hating him, although I could feel the tears coming as the pain increased through the numbness’ (p. 102).
Another piece of the family history which adds further strain to family relationships, is the fact that his mother’s father killed a policeman in his youth in retaliation for a close friend’s death. Unshakable alibis enabled him to escape the punishment. This is something that the family must live with and they are constantly reminded of it in subtle and not so subtle ways whenever they come into contact with the police. One incident is the repeated persecution of the boy’s mother by Sergeant Burke when the children are at school. As a family living with the guilt of murders committed or organised by other members, they have difficulty maintaining steady or open relationships due to the burden of secrecy imposed on them. Like Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, who had blood on their hands and troubled consciences, this family, even though the main members concerned did not actually commit the crime, are tainted by it and must live with the consequences.
Deane depicts the family in a very credible manner. The absence of significant conversation and the conveying of information through a child’s thoughts and reflections show all too clearly how the family structure is being worn down. Yet, at the same time, the family shows a resilience and a determination to keep going despite all that has happened and is happening, perhaps because of some inner strength, never acknowledged.
The Theme of Growing Up: This novel is narrated in the form of an autobiography and it shows a progressive change in the boy’s outlook on life from the time he discovers what has happened to his family in the past.
Here the main character’s development is rather a painful one as the boy begins to realise the extent of the tragic happenings in his family and he has to try and accept that they are irredeemable. His uncle cannot be resurrected and his grandfather has always had two murders on his conscience. His mother has been betrayed in love and his father believes he has been betrayed by his own brother.
All of the above have a significant impact on the boy. As an observer from the outside, the boy watches his parents and because he cannot do anything to heal their wounds he simply retreats into himself. ‘But knowing what I did separated me from them both.’ For much of the time he is alone, alienated by what he knows and unable to confide in anyone, least of all in a family member. Isolation from those around him is a noticeable part of his growing up (as it is in our other texts). At no point does he relate an in-depth conversation with any member of his family about his family. He is very much on his own with his thoughts and with his efforts to link up the things he knows by using his own initiative.
He is an avid reader and often reads late into the night, finding solace in books,
‘I’d switch off the light, get back in bed, and lie there, the book still open, re-imagining all that I had read, the various ways the plot might unravel, the novel opening into endless possibilities in the dark’ (p. 20).
Reading was for him a way of opening the doors of his imagination and allowing it to run free. As a child he had the ability to think things out in detail. This ability helped him piece the truth together from the flimsy snippets of information he had acquired.
As he grows up, he becomes more and more distant from his parents because this is the only way with which he could cope with what he knows,
‘I went away to university in Belfast, glad to have so mishandled everything that I had created a distance between my parents and myself that had become my only way of loving them’ (p. 22).
In a sense, this attempt was successful as ten years on, much of what had once been clear in his mind had become more vague. The years passed and the memories began to become so confused and muddled, that he wondered at times if he had dreamt it all.
The novel ends in 1971 with the musings of a young adult who is home again for his father’s funeral. It is a desperately sad ending as the family’s grief is for more than just the loss of a member; the father dies still unaware of the dreadful truth. The chief mourners, his wife and son, have a lot to lament. It is left to the reader to surmise how the young man is now feeling; relief that his father dies without knowing that his brother had died in error, anger that he could never be told, or guilt that he knew all along? Or is it just an intense, heartbreaking sadness? Deane deliberately ends the story with a sparse use of language. What is left unsaid speaks volumes, we are left as Seamus Heaney says in “Harvest Bow”, ‘gleaning the unsaid off the palpable’. Isn’t this always the case?
LITERARY GENRE
Type: Social Realism/Autobiography/Memoir: In Reading in the Dark, fiction and fact, myth and history combine to create a hybrid between two modes of writing, autobiography and fiction. If the reader did not know it was a novel, he or she might be forgiven for assuming that it was purely autobiographical. For the narrator, there are two worlds: the city of Derry and its haunting secrets of the past and the wealth of legends that haunt his childhood. Both worlds, real and unreal, are cleverly intertwined in the novel, which gives strength to the impact of the book.
In some respects, it also takes the form of a detective novel, if the suspense of finding out the truth about the real murderer and the real informer are taken into consideration. However, it would be insulting to the author to dismiss it as such, because it contains far more than that. Much of what happens to the family is a glimpse into the fabric of life in Northern Ireland at the time, and it is based on real happenings. It is therefore socially realistic. It is also a novel with a tragic ending, yet it does not completely fit the general definition of tragedy.
Essentially then, Reading in the Dark combines two genres, a socially realistic novel and tragic fiction, with a hint of a detective novel and political thriller thrown in for good measure!
The Structure of the Novel: The book is written as a first person narrative. A complex situation is presented from a young boy’s point of view and he comments on each happening ass it occurs. The plot is clearly drawn and extremely well ordered. It is written chronologically and meticulously dated. This is important as part of the plot hangs on the accuracy of dates when the boy is trying to figure out who knows what and when. This also emphasises the clarity of the boy’s memories. Each chapter is sub-divided into different sections, which are short and condensed, and each section has its own significant link with the overall plot of the novel.
While the novel takes us through a 16-year period from 1945 to 1961, it does refer back to a period twenty years earlier to when Eddie disappeared in 1922 after the attack on the distillery, to 1926 when McIlhenny left for Chicago, to when his parents first met in 1930 and to when they got married in 1935. This period is mentioned a number of times to remind the reader that this was a turbulent time, both for the family and for the province. With this technique, Deane controls the plot so that the reader’s curiosity is aroused in the first few pages and maintained throughout. Answers are given bit by bit, moving from the present to the past and back again. The plot twists and turns as the true story gradually emerges. The reader is challenged to work out what is happening each time that the boy gathers a new piece of information.
Old stories and fables are included at strategic points, which adds to the fictional aspect of the novel. The child finds it hard to know what to believe as the legends of the past spill over into reality. It becomes difficult to distinguish between truths and untruths as many of the family secrets are hazy and vague and take on the ghostly qualities of legends. The chapter, Field of the Disappeared, illustrates this perfectly. The boy is unsure whether the old tale is true or not, but it is here that Eddie is linked up with a ghostly legend.
Ghosts haunt the story from the very first page. The boy’s mother is transfixed in the stairway watching a ghost she believes to be inhabiting the family’s house. Her conscience torments her and memories of her past come back to haunt her. Ghostly spirits are woven through the stories which the boy hears from adults and the ghostly memories of dead family members echo through the pages. Yet for the narrator at the end of the novel, things are not as vague as they seem,
‘Hauntings are, in their way, very specific. Everything has to be exact, even the vaguenesses. My family’s history was like that too. It came to me in bits, from people who rarely recognised all they had told’ (p. 225).
In the chapter, All of It? (p. 182) everything finally comes to light (see p. 187), and the boy assembles all that he knows. The enormity of what he has to carry becomes evident to the reader. This chapter is appropriately placed close to the end of the novel, which unifies its structure.
The Style of the Novel: Deane uses a beautifully poetic style of writing to create a tightly written story. His writing is primarily clear and direct. The opening lines of the novel illustrate this:
‘On the stairs there was a clear plain silence. It was a short staircase, fourteen steps in all, covered in lino from which the original pattern had been polished away to the point where it had the look of a faint memory’ (p. 5).
The writing can be very factual and distant at the most emotional times, for example in the Pistol chapter when he is severely beaten. ‘So they beat us too, Liam and me, across the table from him. I remember the sweat and rage on his face as he looked’ (p. 28). The description of the beating is related in a very matter of fact way. In Roses the boy rips up the back garden coldly, methodically, almost in a trance or in a frenzy. The incident is again presented in a factual way with emotions well disguised or hidden. Yet this is what makes it all the more effective,
‘But as the nausea and dread died in me and I saw the broken roses hanging down in the choking dust, I gave up and stood there in a trance, hearing the front door open and my mother’s voice and the children babbling and running’ (p. 105).
Often a memorable image will follow on from what is presented in a factual manner,
‘Walking on that concreted patch where the bushes had been was like walking on hot ground below which voices and roses were burning, burning’ (p. 108).
Deane also generates suspense extremely well at intervals. There is a great sense of excitement here:
‘The police and B Specials raced down after us, under a hail of stones thrown at the cars and the jeeps they rode in or ran alongside. Advertising hoardings at the side of the street took the first volley of our missiles as the two leading cars hit the oil. A giant paper Coca-Cola bottle was punctured, along with the raised chin of a clean-shaven Gilette model. The cars swung and hurtled into the side walls, shredding stones from them like flakes of straw. The oil glittered in the sudsy swathe of the tyres, and one car lit up in a blue circle of flames as the police ran from it. The whole street seemed to be bent sideways, tilted by the blazing hoardings into the old Gaelic football ground’ (p. 36).
This notion of the street bending sideways extends the chaotic picture even further.
Some striking images are used to convey conflict to the reader:
‘It was a city of bonfires …………….. The night sky reddened around the rising furls of black tyre-smoke that exploded every so often in high soprano bursts of paraffined flame. The acrid odour would gradually give way to the more fragrant aroma of soft-burning trees that drifted across the little houses in their serried slopes, gravelled streets falling down from the asphalted Lone Moor Road that for us marked the limit between the city proper and the beginning of the countryside that spread out into Donegal four miles away’ (p. 33).
This is a beautiful piece of sensual writing: the sounds, sights and smells reach across to the reader.
Another memorable image in which Derry is brought vividly to life in this way is, ‘the shadows on the gable wall shrivelled as the fires burnt low to their red intestines’ (p. 34) and another example, ‘The dismembered streets lay strewn all around the ruined distillery where Uncle Eddie had fought, aching with a long, dolorous absence’ (p. 34).
There are many haunting descriptions in the book. Katie’s story especially is an excellent example of this:
‘The greenish light came into the room in mid-air and spread all over it, and with that came this whispering of voices, a man’s and a woman’s, whispering, whispering, furious, almost as if they were spitting in anger, except that the voices were dry, whipped up like swirlings of dust in a wind’ (p. 69).
In many ways, it is this haunting quality of the book which remains in the reader’s mind long after the book has been put down. (Warning: Katie’s Story should not be read late at night! Be warned!).
Deane also has an accurate way of describing people. Crazy Joe, the local crackpot, ‘had a sculpted, clean appearance. His medallion face fronted his large head like a mask, and the head itself, perched on his tiny body, swung and vibrated all the time like an insect’s’ (p. 81).
There is little use of direct speech in the novel, and when it is used, it is as a vehicle for important parts of the story, for example when the boy’s father tells him what he believes really happened to Eddie. It is well used when Katie is telling the children a story and commenting on it, as this makes it more immediate. Deane is particularly economical in his use of dialogue, which serves to emphasise Northern reticence about sensitive issues – Remember, ‘Whatever you say, say nothing’.
CULTURAL CONTEXT
This novel is essentially a child’s account of growing up in a world of conflict. In Derry during ‘the Troubles’, your religion, your family history in ‘The Troubles’ and your own behaviour all ‘labelled’ you. Religion is rarely mentioned directly but this does not mean that it was unimportant. We know that it was a huge cultural factor at the time. Often what is left unsaid is more powerful than what is said, as much may be implied. In the chapter Fire it is pointed out that Protestants had more excuses to celebrate than Catholics – this is only one of a few direct reference to Protestants in the book. Priests make a brief appearance, for example Fr. O’Neill, when he marched the boy down to the local police station to ‘apologise’ for throwing a stone at a police car. There are other references to priests, such as Fr. Nugent, the Spiritual Director who knows all about the facts of life, Fr. Gildea, the Maths teacher and Fr. Moran who comes to hear his grandfather’s confession before he dies.
Family history, however, was a significant factor in the way in which people were treated in the community. People were judged by their connections. This family had a cousin in gaol because of connections in the IRA, an uncle who was ‘known’ to be an informer and a grandfather who managed to escape punishment for murdering a policeman. Therefore they were a ‘marked’ family and the boy was often treated more harshly because of this ‘history’. There were a number of incidents involving Sergeant Burke.
One clear incident was where the boy was foolish enough to throw a stone at a police car to escape being beaten by bullies. As a result he was taken by the police and for punishment, deliberately classed as an informer, to embarrass him by public humiliation. This was particularly difficult for him, because his father’s brother was widely believed to have been an informer, making it even harder for him to disprove the rumour. It was a clever ruse by the police who knew what would hurt most – to disgrace the family by bringing up the sins of the past. Sergeant Burke had a strong reason for his intense dislike and ruthless persecution of the family. The policeman, Billy Mahon, who had been killed by the boy’s maternal grandfather, was his colleague and close friend.
The small, closely-knit community also magnified the errors people made. The boy’s mother once told him something worth thinking about: ‘People in small places make big mistakes. Not bigger than the mistakes of other people. But that there is less room for big mistakes in small places. She smiled ironically’ (p. 211). Here she may have been referring to mistakes in love, but the saying applies to the disappearance of Eddie and McIlhenny, as well.
A strong feature of the culture of the time is people’s belief in old tales and stories. One story is told of a local couple who married and the husband went away to sea and was presumed dead. The sailor’s spirit comes back to torment his wife who had taken up with another man while he was away. The priest drove the spirit out, yet at night, the image of a child in pain could be seen in the window. The house concerned was a local one, so people continued to tell that story and the boy is entranced by it.
Another story was about an enchanted field, known as ‘The Field of the Disappeared’. Here the souls of all those from the area who had drowned or disappeared came together three or four times a year on certain holy days to cry like birds and look down on the fields where they had been born. Any human who entered the field would suffer the same fate. Birds did not fly over the field. The boy’s father told his sons this story as they looked across the field. This reminded the boy of his uncle Eddie whom he knew was on his father’s mind – perhaps his lost soul may come here too?
Katie’s story was told to him by his aunt, his mother’s sister. A young woman was looking after two orphans, a boy and a girl, who both became possessed by some spirit and were never seen again. The woman reported this, but she was not believed by the local priest who suspected that she was going mad and seeing things until he saw it himself. Stories such as these show the resilient beliefs in the supernatural that were in the community, and they come up frequently in Deane’s book.
GENERAL VISION/VIEWPOINT
Overall, this book is a product of Derry’s troubled times and it is not unique. It is not a completely hopeless view of life at the time, but the book has a tragic and traumatic outcome and there is little present to alleviate it. In the last section of the book his father dies, and his mother remains haunted by what she has done. A young English soldier was shot dead outside their door by a sniper during a street search, bringing the conflict literally onto their doorstep. Ironically, the barricades are beginning to come down as his father’s funeral is about to go ahead. Sadly the family barricades never did come down, and this makes it even more tragic when the actual political barricades are lifted.
Deane parallels the personal story with the political developments that are taking place in the community. The secrets and mistaken beliefs that divide a family are symbolic of the secrets and divisions that divide a whole people. The author is not a detached observer: the gap between Seamus Deane and the narrator is so narrow as to be almost indistinguishable. The reader is invited to sympathise with the boy in the unique position he finds himself in. We, the readers, are expected to do our fair share of ‘reading in the dark’ also!
A Word About the Author Seamus Deane
Born in Derry, Northern Ireland, in 1940, Deane was brought up as part of a Catholic nationalist family. He attended St. Columb’s College in Derry, where he befriended fellow-student Seamus Heaney, Queen’s University Belfast (BA and MA) and Pembroke College, Cambridge University (PhD). He is a member of the Royal Irish Academy and a founding director of the Field Day Theatre Company.
Reading in the Dark (published in 1996) was his first novel and it won the 1996 Guardian Fiction Prize and the 1996 South Bank Show Annual Award for Literature, is a New York Times Notable Book, won the Irish Times International Fiction Prize and the Irish Literature Prize in 1997, besides being shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1996. The novel has been translated into more than 20 languages. Since the publication of Reading in the Dark in 1996 Deane has garnered for himself the reputation of being one of Ireland’s pre-eminent academic scholars and literary critics and has also edited the very influential Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing.
Knockaderry Clouncagh Drama Group’s Production of “The Loves of Cass McGuire” Reviewed
Following their hugely successful production of Jim Nolan’s ‘Moonshine’ last year, the Knockaderry Clouncagh Drama Group, directed by Johnny Corkery, are back once again, this time with yet another poignant Irish play, Brian Friel’s ‘The Loves of Cass McGuire’. The audience were highly entertained but were also at times brought close to tears at the opening performance in The Resource Centre, Knockaderry of this powerful and deeply moving production of Brian Friel’s play. The play tells the sad delusional story of Cass, (played magnificently by Sue Mullins pictured above), who is a tired and tipsy woman, who has spent fifty two years working in a ‘speakeasy’ – a bar of sorts, a block from Skid Row, among downbeats, bums and washed up people in New York city.
Cass McGuire returns to Ireland after all those years in America and her remaining family – a brother (and his family) and her mother – welcome her back but then place her in a nursing home, Eden House, when she gets too difficult to handle. The play focusses on and explores the psychology of Cass as she returns from her emigration and exile and her search for ‘home’. Gripping, often humorous, but steeped in compassion, Friel scripts a rich and complex portrait of a marginalised emigrant returning home. We are only too aware of the different perceptions our relatives in America, ‘the Yanks’, have of ‘the ould sod’; the land of leprechauns, Arran sweaters and thatched cottages. We can, therefore, easily empathise with Cass’s dilemma. She has returned to a world she cannot recognise and the play explores the difficulties she has in coming to terms with a life not as she imagined and the exclusions society now imposes upon her. Whereas Friel’s, Philadelphia Here I Come dealt with Gar’s physical act of emigration, this play deals with the psychology of returning and this marks it out as a very relevant work – indeed, it can be said of Cass, like many a returning exile, she comes back to a home that does not exist except in her fantasy.
The ‘loves’ referred to in the title of the play meanwhile are not love affairs, but rather the love Cass has for people in her life. Among them Cass’s mother played by Mary Angela Downes, her brother Harry (Colman Duffy), his wife Alice (Rachel Lenihan) and four children to whom down the years she has sent money and presents and cards, doing what ‘the Yank’, was expected to do. She believes her sacrifice for her family will be appreciated, and she dreams of a happy homecoming, but sadly finds she has been deluding herself. The reality was much different, however, and she wasn’t much thought about in her absence and when she came home, she was seen as a bawdy, loud, embarrassment and put into a home, the ironically named Eden House. Eventually this loveless scenario is replaced by a fantasy world of make-believe where a new vision of happiness is constructed from her past. Cass and the other residents, particularly Trilbe Costelloe (Mary Geaney) and Mr. Ingram (Paddy Mulcahy), begin rhapsodising about a past that never happened – they lay their dreams before us and ask us to thread softly.. The play, therefore, combines pathos, humour and truth – it is tragic but there is also scope for humour and, typical of Friel, and this production at times, the humour and comedy is of the type that brings the audience to the verge of tears.
This production gives full voice and exposure to the myriad of theatrical devices and innovations used by Friel to push the boundaries of theatre. In this play Friel plays with conventions of theatre and memory. Cass, (Sue Mullins at her mischievous best), breaks through the ‘fourth wall’ constantly, emerging on to the stage from the body of the audience. Furthermore, she refers directly to the author and title of the play, and she works hard to deny memories of how she got into her current situation, repelling the eerie draw of the other patrons of Eden House, superbly captured in the performances of Mary Geaney and Pat Mulcahy in particular. My only genuine regret on the night was that Friel was not present to see the production for himself!
Sue Mullins was amazing as Cass and her shouts of bawdy joy and puzzled moments of stillness as she peered out into the audience and a deserted banquet hall, were all part of a memorable tour de force. Colman Duffy was splendid as the weak but well-meaning Harry and he was well supported by Rachel Lenihan, recently returned from her successful trip to The Globe Theatre in London. Paddy Mulcahy as Mr. Ingram and especially Mary Geaney as Trilbe were essential and excellent in establishing and maintaining the poetic mood of this play and in easing Cass’s adjustment to Eden House ‘truth’. John Young brought much needed laughter (if ironic and knowing) to the story as Pat Quinn. Owen McMahon as Dom and Alison Lenihan, (in her first live role for the Drama Group), brought the innocence and dreams of youth to the production.
This production by the Knockaderry Clouncagh Drama Group gives full rein to a cast lead by strong, forceful female characters, especially the lonely, isolated figure of Cass McGuire played with aplomb by Sue Mullins. This role and the role of Madge in Philadelphia Here I Come, foreshadows Friel’s later success with the Mundy sisters in Dancing at Lughnasa – actually if Knockaderry Drama Goup are considering a production for next year’s drama circuit they could do worse than turn to Dancing at Lughnasa – casting would not be a problem anyway!
This is a very powerful play, both humorous and sad, but ultimately uplifting. The play deals with identity, the notion of truth and communication, and how memories both public and private enable us to ride the highs and lows of life. Throughout the play, images from the past flood into Cass’s head and the story unfolds when, she returns to an Ireland and family which have changed utterly from what she had imagined all those years ago. To save herself from these changes, she eventually shares her life, work and experiences with us and those around her – continuously bursting through Friel’s ‘Fourth Wall’ to engage the audience. We also meet her brother and family who have remained at home, and we hear their stories. On her entry to Eden House, a “rest home” for older people, Cass encounters Trilbe Costellooe, Mr. Ingram and the new arrival Mrs. Butcher (played by Betty O’Sullivan), who help her see her way to survival. Those sad stories and memories of other days came home with me after this production. This is a powerful and engaging production, not to be missed. Directed deftly by Johnny Corkery, it combines excellent stage craft, a classic Friel set and a vibrant cast which brings Friel’s characters to life.
Some ‘Grace Notes’ on Macbeth
The term ‘Grace Note’ comes to us from the world of Irish Traditional music where they are used as embellishments, added extras to further personalise the tune. Here they are used in a similar fashion – maybe becoming the difference between a H1 and an H2!

Throughout the play Macbeth there is almost a grotesque obsession with violent and unnatural images of children and babies (as well as apparitions of a bloody child and of a child crowned), for instance:
Come to my women’s breasts…….I have given suck, and know
How tender ‘tis to love the babe that milks me….
None of woman born shall harm Macbeth..
There are also many images of barrenness, for instance:
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown
And put a barren sceptre in my grip,
Thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding.
Even though Macbeth is obsessed at the thought of the children of another man succeeding him, he himself does not have any children (Macduff states that he cannot properly avenge the murder of his own children, since Macbeth ‘has no children’). Lady Macbeth mentions that she has ‘given suck’, but here she may be referring to children from a previous marriage – or maybe any children the Macbeths have had are now dead. With this in mind, the voices of the witches that he hears could almost be those of his children that have died or possibly the voices of his imaginary children whom he wants to inherit the throne. (In some productions of the play the witches have been played by children. This is not too farfetched – after all, nowadays, when we think of witches, an image of an eccentric woman on a broomstick or a child dressed up in a pointy hat and cloak at Halloween readily comes to mind.)
IMAGES OF TIME AND SPEED
By Shakespeare’s standards, Macbeth is a short play. There are no major sub-plots, and the events of the central story unfold at an alarmingly fast pace. Macbeth returns home in Act 1 to prepare for the arrival of the king at very short notice, while Lady Macbeth summons him to ‘Hie thee hither’ and a messenger who has already travelled so quickly is ‘almost dead for breath’. The images of travel, speed and breathlessness create a sense of unbearable urgency in the play. Characters are obsessed by time passing – Macbeth himself seems to realise how Time ultimately is in control of his actions, when he addresses Time:
Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits.
Later he refers to Murder as something which moves with ‘stealthy pace’ and he acknowledges that
Come what come may,
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Macbeth’s reaction of distant resignation to the death of his wife begins with the famous deliberation on time,
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…….
IMAGES OF BLOOD
In Macbeth, the word ‘blood’ is mentioned 24 times, and ‘bloody’ is mentioned 15 times! Once blood has been shed, there is quite a gothic obsession with it, as Macbeth and his wife are haunted by images of blood. This horrified reaction to the blood they have shed is altered, when Macbeth realises that he cannot turn the clock back, saying –
I am in blood
Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more
Returning were as tedious as go o’er.
This image of wading through blood which creeps up your body surely has influenced countless Hollywood directors down the years e.g. in films such as The Shining.
Lady Macbeth might have control over her husband in the early stages of the play, but she cannot control her own mind which is plagued with bloody images, washing her hands of invisible blood, and saying –
Yet who would have thought the old man
To have had so much blood in him.
Perhaps most selflessly and poignantly, Macduff refers to the decline of Scotland with a different use of blood imagery when he says –
Bleed, bleed, poor country.
IMAGES OF SLEEP
In the middle of the night (with its ‘bloody and invisible hand’). The Macbeths murder Duncan, taking his sleep from him. Ironically, sleep is also taken from them, as Macbeth hears the words
Macbeth shall sleep no more.
For not only has Duncan been murdered in h is sleep, but sleep itself has been slain
Macbeth does murder sleep – the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.
In Act 3 Scene 2, Macbeth lives in ‘restless ecstasy’ and sees life as a ‘fitful fever’, while in Act 3 Scene 4, one of the last things Lady Macbeth says to her husband before she loses her reason is ‘you lack the season of all natures, sleep’. In the same scene, when asked, ‘What is the night?’, she can only reply, ‘Almost at odds with morning, which is which’ – life has become one long waking nightmare for her.
Macbeth has murdered sleep, and the next time we see Lady Macbeth, she cannot sleep as she wanders about trying to clean her ‘bloodstained’ hands. It seems that the murdering of sleep by Macbeth results directly in his wife’s inability to find peace or repose.
In Macbeth, Shakespeare is so fascinated by night-time and darkness, he uses the word ‘night’ 38 times and ‘sleep’ 26 times!
THE MACBETHS’ MARRIAGE
In Macbeth, Lady Macbeth is stronger initially, but cannot cope after Duncan is murdered; while this first murder is difficult for her husband, subsequent murders hardly cost him a thought. We know from life and literature (and the tabloids!) that in the aftermath of any major tragic event, the relationships of those involved can either grow stronger or break down – Shakespeare seems to be interested in how the latter situation can come about in this play.
Their separation seems to start in Act 3 Scene 1, when Macbeth gets rid of Lady Macbeth so that he can talk to the murderers, then she returns to see why her husband is spending so much time alone and brooding. She seems happy to have achieved her goal – the crown, while Macbeth is obsessed by trying to prevent another’s offspring from succeeding him. Once their aims are different, they grow apart, which suggests theirs is a marriage based on shared political intrigue and desire, rather than love. As the play progresses, there are very few terms of endearment or fond words expressed (unlike the early scenes). In fact, Lady Macbeth only refers to Macbeth as her ‘husband’ once (just after the murder of Duncan) – perhaps since she is vulnerable and in need of support at that point. Also, Lady Macbeth’s constant jibes at her husband’s lack of manhood and inability (as she sees it) to follow through on his desires could refer to more than just his political manoeuvres – if you catch my drift!
POLITICS
As Macbeth establishes his dictatorship, and his enemies subsequently try to destroy it, political manoeuvres and cunning manipulation abound. A number of observations about how characters deal with each other are interesting to note:
- Note how Macbeth persuades the murderers to kill Banquo
- How Ross tries to find out how Macduff will respond after Duncan is murdered
- How Malcolm (when he is approached by Macduff in England) pretends not to have any interest in the throne (or, indeed, to be at all suited to it), in order to put Macduff’s loyalty to the test (showing just how paranoid and untrusting everyone has become during Macbeth’s reign of terror).
- How Ross does not tell Lady Macduff everything and then later seems to withhold information from Macduff about his family – possibly because he wants to enrage him so much to ensure that Macduff will fight against Macbeth? (In the Second Age Production we saw it was interesting that Ross was depicted as the third murderer who comes to help the witches’ prophesy be fulfilled, by helping Fleance to flee.)
In Macbeth, it is Duncan – the King – who seems most notably deceived by show (as, indeed, in many of his plays, Shakespeare is intrigued by appearances which hide reality). Duncan is a bad judge of character – he had placed great faith in the previous Thane of Cawdor –
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.
Then almost immediately he makes the very same mistake with Macbeth and his wife, not noticing the serpent under the ‘innocent flower’. He is oblivious to Macbeth’s potential for evil and unable to see below the surface or to realise Macbeth’s ability to hide with a ‘false face’ what ‘the false heart doth know’.
Banquo, on the other hand, becomes suspicious of his friend, as he starts to see through the façade Macbeth has tried to create for himself, and then realises Macbeth has ‘played most foully’ for his achievements.
HERO OR VILLAIN?
This is the great on-going debate. For Elizabethan audiences there was but one answer. For modern-day audiences things are not so clear-cut. However, in his defence, despite the fact that Macbeth does not seem to mind whom he destroys – surely the sign of a villain – he does have many (initial) crises of conscience which may just about redeem him and allow him the dignified status of ‘tragic hero’. His sense of regret and awareness of what he has lost can be seen in Act 5 Scene 3, when he has been abandoned by all but a handful of employees, and is without ‘honour, love, obedience, troops of friends’.
The Homesick Garden by Kate Cruise O’Brien
Reviewed by Mary Hanley
The Homesick Garden is a very unusual masterpiece. Antonia’s voice carries us through the novel and her unpretentiously clear way of looking at things evokes a complex mixture of admiration, despair and delight! The novel is a chronicle of life, charting Aunt Grace’s unexpected pregnancy and the way various members of Antonia’s family cope with this bombshell. At times Antonia’s view on life can be agonised but overall her no-nonsense approach is uplifting, “I liked the house silent and calm and bare without the angry little noises made by two people disliking each other.” This is Antonia’s critical view on her parent’s relationship!
The significance of the title in this novel is not by any means extremely relevant. The Homesick Garden is mentioned in the third chapter, “The second rule is ….. the second rule is my homesick garden.” More importantly however is the “homesick-garden-time” when Antonia’s “Mum went off for a week. She’d been doing a lot of crying around that time. ‘I can’t cope!’ she would shriek.” This time obviously affected Antonia greatly and the homesick garden was never used again ‘after that summer’.
We meet various zany characters during the course of the novel. Antonia is the watchful young narrator. The novel is literally smattered with theories on life. These theories are brought to the reader through Antonia. I felt that when I reached the end of the novel the trivial pieces of information faded into oblivion while Antonia’s ‘theories’ will certainly stay etched in my memory. This, I feel, is the legacy Antonia leaves us with.
“Schools do label people because they’re brisk, convenient places and labels are brisk, convenient things. Once you’ve got a label, it sticks. So I was Clever Antonia and Stephen was Odd. If I had won Miss Ireland and Stephen had been declared All-Rounder of the Year, I don’t suppose it would have made much difference at school.”
Antonia grows during the course of the novel. An example of this is her contrasting views on relationships at both the start and end of the novel, “At my worst, well at my worst I know that I can’t go out with boys”. While, in the concluding paragraph of the novel, Antonia woefully declares that, “As for Stephen, I think I’ll be an old, old woman before he does more than hold my hand in public and he’ll be an older man before I reach out and touch him”!!! I enjoyed Antonia as a character throughout the novel and even though she didn’t add as she said herself “oomph” to the novel, I believe, she added a whole lot more.
Elizabeth and Grace are the other main characters and they add an extra dimension to The Homesick Garden. They are interesting in the different methods they use in coping with the same situation. Elizabeth is the classic victim, “Mum has a pretty good figure when she sits up straight but something about Grandma’s biscuity voice makes her round her shoulders and cringe her arms over her front, defending herself again, poor Mum.” She also has a tendency to brush things under the carpet. Firstly, she treats Grace as if “her pregnancy had never been”. She deals with her problems through the therapeutic method of cleaning with the dastardly Mini Maids and frail window cleaners in tow! “Cleaning is”, after all, ”better than any other exercise.”
Grace, on the other hand, aired everything out in the open and when she caused as much uproar in everyone’s life as she possibly could, she just vanished and hibernated for nine months. Grace is a very frank and earthy person and “she just loses her shape in her draperies” and, of course, “She was passionate about privacy”. She literally let everything go to hell and buried her head in the sand while Elizabeth had to be there to pick up the pieces.
The major themes running through this novel include the issue of maturation, the problem of abuse is also highlighted, while cleanliness is, yet another theme. The theme of relationships is intricately woven throughout the novel. At the end of the novel we discover the reason for Elizabeth’s lack of self-confidence in relation to Grandma and the poor relationship she has with Antonia’s father. She had been physically abused by Quentin- a pompous young teenager whose family, the Thompson’s “hob-nobbed” with Grandma. Through Elizabeth, we receive a heart-rending and unsettling account of something that happened over thirty years ago but was still affecting her everyday life, “I was so frightened of it that I kept on forgetting about it. Until the next time.” “Did you get over it? ”, Antonia asked. ” Maybe I’d have got over it, if I hadn’t trivialised it, made some sort of wrong sense of it, if I’d tried to remember it more often. But I sliced it off, put it in a separate compartment in my mind.” This voice of experience is coming from the Elizabeth who used to “shake and tremble whenever anyone is cross with her”. Ironically, this is a ‘coming to terms with’ novel for Elizabeth, while it is a ‘coming of age’ novel for Antonia.
Cleanliness, is a strange but relevant theme throughout the novel. Antonia’s father plays an important role in this area. Unfortunately, this poor individual is not given a name! ”Dad is always pompous when he’s nervous”. He is a very prim and proper man who, “doesn’t even answer the door in an emergency unless he’s shaved and has his socks on, armed to meet the world”! Well, we all have our problems in life!!! Cleaning can have very peculiar effects on people’s personalities. For Antonia’s father, he just could not stand the Mini Maids working for him, even though he is, “never very clear about why he can’t put up with them”. For Antonia, ”the kitchen transformed me from Florence Nightingale into Pioneering Woman”!
I liked this novel. Even though it appeared to be ‘a light read’ it dealt with some important issues. Although The Homesick Garden is Kate’s first novel she already has a renowned track record as the author of many collections of short stories. Kate, I believe, has a natural story telling ability and a knack of engaging the reader with the issues she chooses to explore, “I wish I could say that everything changed, changed utterly, after Mum’s revelation’s and that a terrible beauty was born”. Nothing mind shattering occurred during the course of this novel, yet it was a pleasure to get to know Antonia and her family. I came across a definition for reading today- ‘the intimate act of opening a book and getting lost within the covers’. I feel I accomplished that while reading this enchanting novel.
About the author….
Kate Cruise O’Brien was born in Dublin in 1948. She was the youngest daughter of the politician, historian and diplomat Conor Cruise O’Brien and his first wife, Derry born Christine Foster.
Kate studied English in Trinity. Her first short story, Henry Died, was published in New Irish Writing and won the Hennessy Award in 1971 when she was only 22. The same year she married Joseph Kearney and they had one son, Alexander.
Her first book, A Gift Horse and Other Stories was published in 1979. It won the Rooney Prize for Irish Literature. She worked as a columnist with The Irish Independent during the ’80’s and her second book, The Homesick Garden was published in 1991.
Kate Cruise O’Brien died suddenly in March 1998 and she is buried in Glasnevin Cemetery.
2014 in Review
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 450 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 8 trips to carry that many people.
Christmas in Maiden Street – ‘in the good old days’!
This piece of incisive and insightful social commentary, describing life in Newcastle West in the 1950’s, first appeared in Magill magazine in December 1977 and later in the Journal of the Newcastle West Historical Society, The Annual Observer, in July 1979. Hartnett,the poet, was back in town and the dam burst of memory and nostalgia was beginning, culminating with the bitter sweet Maiden Street Ballad, written as a Christmas present for his father, Denis Hartnett, in December 1980.
Christmas in Maiden Street
By Michael Hartnett

A shouting farmer with a shotgun, a few patch-trousered urchins, soaked, snotty and unrepentant, running across wet fields, arms full of holly. The long walk on the railway tracks, the sleepers treacherous and slimy, the dark station, the lamp posts with their glittering circular rainbows. We stopped at the shops’ red windows to admire toys we could never have. A few drunks waltzed by, happy…
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Christmas in Maiden Street – ‘in the good old days’!
This piece of incisive and insightful social commentary, describing life in Newcastle West in the 1950’s, first appeared in Magill magazine in December 1977 and later in the Journal of the Newcastle West Historical Society, The Annual Observer, in July 1979. Hartnett,the poet, was back in town and the dam burst of memory and nostalgia was beginning, culminating with the bitter sweet Maiden Street Ballad, written as a Christmas present for his father, Denis Hartnett, in December 1980.
Christmas in Maiden Street
By Michael Hartnett

A shouting farmer with a shotgun, a few patch-trousered urchins, soaked, snotty and unrepentant, running across wet fields, arms full of holly. The long walk on the railway tracks, the sleepers treacherous and slimy, the dark station, the lamp posts with their glittering circular rainbows. We stopped at the shops’ red windows to admire toys we could never have. A few drunks waltzed by, happy and moronic. An open lorry went by to jeers and obscenities; the pluckers, shawled and snuff-nosed, on their way to a flea-filled poultry store to pluck turkeys at nine pence a head.
Candles and paraffin-lamps did not brighten the darkness in kitchens in Maiden Street – they only made the gloom amber. The purloined holly hung on holy pictures. There were no balloons, no paper chains, no Christmas trees. Coal was bought by the half-stone, butter by the quarter-pound, and tea by the half-ounce. The country people trotted by on donkey and cart or pony and trap with ‘The Christmas’ stones of sugar, pounds of tea. Women in shawls and second-hand coats from America stood at half-doors, their credit exhausted, while the spectre of Santa Claus loomed malevolently over the slates and thatch.
Members of Charitable Institutions distributed turf and boots, God Blessing the meagre kitchens, as hated as the rent-man. They stood well-dressed on the stone floors, were sirred and doffed at. They paid their workers slave wages. They looked without pity at the nailed together chairs, the worn oilcloth-topped tables, the dead fires.
Outside, the rain fell and blew along the street. The tinkers fought. Bonfires died out in the drizzle. We were washed and put to bed, happy and under-nourished. The oldest went to Midnight Mass. The Latin was magic, the organ, the big choir. It always seemed like a romantic time to die.
It was a Christmas of tin soldiers, tin aeroplanes and cardboard gimcracks. We were Cisco, Batman, Johnny McBrown all that day. Our presents – ‘purties’ we called them – seldom lasted longer than that day. It never snowed. There was no turkey, no plum-pudding, no mince-pies. The Victorian Christmas was not yet compulsory. The very poor managed roast meat, usually mutton. We often rose to two cocks. The goose was common. There was a fruit-cake, jelly and custard; the dinner of the year. I never remember drink being in the house. There were never visitors, nor were we encouraged to visit anyone. If the day had been anyway fine, we were to be found on the footpath or in the puddles, knuckles blue.
The Wren’s Day always brought frost. Small warm heads came from under rough blankets to the sound of flutes and banjos and bodhrans far up the street. We donned boot polish and lipstick and old dresses and went out to follow the Wren, tuneless chancers. We sang and giggled our way to a few bob and a glass of lemonade. The back kitchens of the pubs filled up with musicians, the musicians filled up with porter and their wives filled up with apprehension. In a few hours, winter took over again.
There will never be Christmasses like those again, I hope to God.
A History of Loneliness by John Boyne – Review by Vincent Hanley
John Boyne’s central character in A History of Loneliness is very wishy washy – he is, in effect, the embodiment of a blasphemous blessed trinity of monkeys – he sees no evil, he hears no evil, he speaks no evil. He is completely overshadowed in the novel by the monstrous presence of the notorious Tom Cardle, who bestrides the novel like a venomous, predatory, fiendish and malignant Brendan Smyth. Over the course of the novel Odran Yates shows himself to be, naïve, innocent and clueless. It cannot be claimed, as Tom Cardle accuses him towards the end of the novel, that Odran Yates has been complicit in the events that effected his family and his Church – if anything, the only accusation we can make is that he has been like the proverbial ostrich with his head in the sand for most of his priestly life.
The blurb at the beginning of the novel suggests that, ‘Fr. Odran Yates is a good man’ – not so. As the novel unfolds he is depicted as weak and insipid, he lacks passion, a real calling; he allows evil to flourish by his silence. I find very little to admire in Fr. Yates and this is obviously the author’s main aim. Fr. Yates’ narrative voice is akin to Heaney’s phrase in “Harvest Bow”, ‘gleaning the unsaid off the palpable’. We are forced to continuously read between the lines – his greatest sins are sins of omission. This is a deliberate ploy by the author. In Odran Yates we are presented with the embodiment of the unquestioning functionary who never questions authority. Are we therefore to presume that this is John Boyne’s thesis: that this insidious and widespread abuse continued on a vast scale because ‘good men’ like Fr. Yates stayed quiet – like good children of the 50’s they were seen but never heard?
This new and ambitious novel is set in Ireland, mainly in Dublin and Wexford, also in Rome and Lillehammer, Norway. The first thing that struck me, despite the mainly Irish setting, was that many of the family names are English – Yates, Cooper, Cordington, Camwell, Cardle, etc.
The relevance of the title of the novel, A History of Loneliness, is never nailed down. Loneliness is first mentioned on p442 and then again at the very end when Tom Cardle uses the phrase, ‘But then I have a history of loneliness. Don’t you?’, to Odran after his release from prison. This, I presume, suggests that the priestly vocation is a lonely road to undertake and that this loneliness has led us to the present impasse. To me, this is a very narrow and stereotypical and simplistic explanation for the horrors which have been revealed over the past number of years and is also based on a faulty understanding of priestly celibacy.
Boyne decides not to tell his story chronologically and this leads to some confusion, tooing and froing, backwards and forwards. The novel begins in 2001, then moves to 2006, 1964, 1980, 1972, 2010, 1973, 2011, 1978, 1990, 2007, 1994, 1978, 2008, 2012, and ends in 2013. Boyne is at his best in the 2000’s and his depiction of Ireland and its society is very realistic – as are his descriptions of events in Rome and Norway. However, his depiction of Ireland in the 60’s and 70’s, 80’s is less assured and this reader fumed at much of the lazy stereotypes used by the author. This material grated heavily on my nerves and, to me, was very exaggerated, stereotyped and, quite honestly, lacked credibility. Remember most of his readers will have lived through the years from the mid-fifties and many, like this reader, expected more. To me, it became obvious that the writer, far from trying to depict a sad and despicable period in the history of the Catholic Church in Ireland, has his own axe to grind.
The ‘Irish Mammy’, for example, is depicted in a very stereotypical fashion – ‘Our mammies had set us down one day and told us that we had vocations and so there we were, ready to dedicate our lives to God’. His own mother, ‘..had an epiphany one night while she was watching the Late Late Show’ to the effect that Odran was blessed with a calling from God. In general he suggests that all women in the 50’s lived rather sad lives – ‘.. and after all, that is what women did in those days: they went to school. They got a job, they found a husband, and they left the job and retired to the home to look after the family.’
His exaggerated strereotyping of women, priests, guards and politicians leaves a sour taste. On p.428 we are again presented with a less than credible scenario when he is leaving Pearse Street Garda station and the duty sergeant behind the desk hisses the word ‘Paedo’ as Odran leaves the station! Is this realistic or am I the naïve one? Politicians too are ridiculed as they come under the microscope, ‘Charles Haughey’s terrible crooked head grinning out from the front page with an expression that said that while he had not quite emptied the pockets of the Irish people just yet, he soon would.’
However, in my view, there is a noticeable improvement in the novel beginning with Chapter Six: 2010. There is less clichéd characterisation, less lazy stereotyping. Unfortunately, at this stage, we’re on p. 257 (iPad edition). Many readers will have by this point given up in frustration or disappointment.
However, Boyne has a number of ‘purple patches’ in the novel when the writing is superb; the Rome episodes, the episode when his parishioner, Ann Sullivan, brings her son to the priest, and nearly all the events depicted in the 2000’s are very credible, particularly the radio interview between Cardinal Cordington and Liam Scott and later his eventual journey to Lillehammer and his moving reconciliation with his nephew Aidan.
The episode where Ann Sullivan brings her son who has announced to her that he is gay is an excellent piece of writing. This shows John Boyne and his central character, at their best. Ann brings her son to the priest and during the conversation he mentions that he has a nephew who is gay and he recounts to the mother discussions he has had with Jonas concerning his awakening sexuality. Odran asks his nephew how he knew he was gay and Jonas replies, ‘that he had known since he was nine years old, that the video of a song called ‘Pray’ by Take That had set off the alarm bells.’ This is excellent, this is the John Boyne I remember – the writer who has the uncanny ability to make me feel compassion, even for a Nazi, once upon a time!
As well as Tom Cardle and Cardinal Cordington, Boyne’s other bête noir in the novel is John Paul II. There are numerous unflattering references to the Polish Pope – there is a very vehement and sustained attack on him – presumably because ‘he knew everything and did nothing’. He refers to him as ‘that Polish prick’. There are numerous examples of this vitriol, but I will recount just one: it occurs shortly after Odran’s ordination in Rome, which was performed by John Paul II. His sister, Hannah, was wearing a pale green shawl at the ordination and it slipped slightly as she came forward to be presented to the Pope, ‘and the Holy Father reached out immediately, an expression of near disgust on his face’. He is later described as being ‘a hater of women’.
Indeed, it would seem that Boyne is very harsh on the modern Church and its efforts to come to terms with the scandals that have befallen it. His depiction of lay involvement in the Church, for example, is very inaccurate – ‘the men helped to write the parish newsletter, but the women delivered it; the men organised the church social evenings, but the women cleaned up when they were over….etc.’
For me, the ending of the novel is disappointing and does not follow logically from what goes before. Odran now realises that he has wasted his life, that he, ‘had known everything, right from the start, and never acted on any of it’, that he, ‘was just as guilty as the rest of them’. I find this ending highly disconnected from what has gone before, it is a disappointing conclusion to an otherwise excellent read. Therefore, for me, the novel is somewhat of a curate’s egg of a novel – good in parts!However, the definitive narrative of Ireland’s disgrace remains to be captured in an honest and realistic way – maybe the film version of A History of Loneliness will hopefully better achieve this balance?
Errata:
- Chapter Three:1964, his mother pays a specialist 40 pence – surely it should have been 3 shillings and 4 pence – he even confuses himself by flipping backwards and forwards across the decades!!!
- ‘he enrolled as a novitiate in St. Patrick’s College’ – should read he enrolled as a novice in the novitiate in St. Patrick’s College….!
- On p.502 Tom Cardle (in 1990!) takes £6 from the collection box….
ENLIGHTENED, Ciaran O’Sullivan’s new Art Exhibition, Red Door Gallery, Newcastle West.
OPENING ADDRESS
By Vincent Hanley
I have known Ciaran since he came to teach Art in SMI nearly seven years ago now. As time has passed we have come to treasure him as a teacher and as the distinguished artist that he has become. He has that rare quality of being both an artist and a teacher who inspires his students. Not only can he talk the talk but, as we see here tonight, he can also walk the walk! I have also witnessed the quiet, serene way he uses Art as therapy – he has the ability to reach out to the most troubled and difficult student.
This is a red letter day for The Red Door Gallery. This exhibition, I’m sure you’ll agree, would grace any gallery with its depth and quality. This beautiful space is indeed a fitting addition to the cultural life of our town and is indeed a tribute to David and Clare Geary and their visionary project here at The Red Door.
The title of the exhibition is Enlightened and it is a fitting title for the weekend of celebrations here in NCW as we honour and celebrate the life and work of Michael Hartnett. The title was chosen for a number of reasons but chiefly as a compliment to Hartnett by his fellow artist, Ciaran. Both men fit the bill as enlightened artists – open minded, imaginative, questioning, insightful, philosophical.
Just a few words about Ciaran’s artistic process. It is ironic, in this day and age, when many say that photography will eventually replace painting as an art form, that many of these paintings are derived from photographs. From simple photographs taken in his back garden in Co. Louth or at other family occasions, these works of art have developed and taken on a life of their own.
Like Heaney, Ciaran adds layer after layer of emotion, of colour, tone and texture to create something unique and intimate and personal. He, like Heaney, “digs down and down for the good turf”. In another of Heaney’s poems, The Forge, he describes the creative process as “the unpredictable fantail of sparks”. It is obvious that in Ciaran’s lonely, artistic attic/forge the sparks have been flying in recent times!
This exhibition follows on seamlessly from Ciaran’s earlier work. I’m sure you have been amazed and mesmerised with the richness of colour, texture and tone in these paintings – and then we do a double take and we begin to notice the people, the images within. The paintings evoke a mood and here tonight the artist finally, nervously hands his work over to us the viewer.
Like Hartnett, Ciaran’s work immortalises ordinary people, people close to him, family members. Sometimes there is realism, sometimes we’re shown things as through a glass darkly. I’m reminded here again of Hartnett’s description of childhood in Maiden Street during the bad old days of the Fifties and despite the poverty he was still able to say of his childhood that – “We were such golden children never to be dust, singing in the street alive and loud…”
There have been two great seismic changes in Ciaran’s life since his last exhibition – marriage and fatherhood. Setting up home with Carol and the arrival of Paddy have taken precedence but now, as you can see, we are surrounded here this evening with the results of his labours – in particular, the beautiful family portrait behind you. His paintings, I feel, have been enriched and exhibit a new vibrancy because of these life changing events.
We need artists like Ciaran and Hartnett in our lives and we shouldn’t wait until they’re dead to celebrate their genius. Mark Patrick Hederman, Abbot of Glenstal and great friend to this Eigse Festival, uses a lovely analogy to describe artists – he says that artists are like the dove that Noah released from the Ark after 40 days to check if the waters were receding. Eventually the third dove brought back an olive branch – we need trailblazers and scouts like that to go before us, to take the risks, and help us explore our unchartered waters.
I hope that tonight and over the coming days hordes of people will come and in quietness and silence be uplifted by this exhibition. In his poem ‘Secular Prayers’, Hartnett longs to be able “to look at lovely things and not be dumb”. It is the same with us this evening. Go from here and spread the word. The exhibition will remain open until the 26th of April here in The Red Door Gallery, Newcastle West.











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