Irish Lit and a Graphic Novel | Mini Reviews

The Forester’s Daughter by Claire Keegan
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This tale of secrets and wilful ignorance simmers with a quietly menacing tension. Set in rural Ireland, it chronicles the unravelling of long-guarded lies within a family, and the unique brand of loneliness that comes with sacrificing desire in favour of keeping up appearances. The climax feels tragically inevitable, and though the whole thing is full of supressed pathos, the ending delivers an unexpected sliver of hope that comes with new beginnings. Couple this with the straight-forward yet assured prose, and the story takes on a fable-esque quality that I really enjoyed.

You can read The Forester’s Daughter as part of a full collection of stories by clicking here.

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A Keeper by Graham Norton
Published by Coronet, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

When her mother dies, Elizabeth returns to her home in rural Ireland to sort out her belongings. Uncovering a box of hidden love letters, she delves into a past she knew nothing about, finally coming to understand her own origins, and the woman her mother truly was. Using a dual narrative structure, Norton explores the depth of parental love, the pressure to adhere to societal norms, the pain of keeping secrets, and the cyclical nature of family drama across different generations. Twists are eked out at a good pace, and I remained intrigued throughout. The separate time periods and the general tone of pathos are evoked well, but I felt things became a little convoluted towards the end. Still, Norton can weave a good yarn, and I would be open to trying more of his fiction.

You can pick up a copy of A Keeper from Book Depository by clicking here.

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The Ghost, The Owl by Franco, illustrated by Sara Richard
Published by Diamond Book Distributors, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I picked this graphic novel up on a whim after seeing some of the art online a while ago and thinking it looked gorgeous. Very fable-esque in tone, it centres around an owl helping a ghost to make peace with her life and death, and struggling with the rule that forbids animals from interfering with human lives. Story-wise, it was fine. Things felt a bit rushed and there were a couple of plot holes (even within the context of such a whimsical story), but I did like the allegorical message about overcoming difference so we can stand together against injustice. The highlight was definitely Sara Richard’s art, however. She forgoes traditional panels entirely, the whole thing blending together into one continuously flowing visual narrative. The attention to detail is stunning, and I would certainly seek out more of her work.

You can pick up a copy of The Ghost, The Owl from Book Depository by clicking here.

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A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride | Book Review

A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride
Published by Faber & Faber, 2014 (first published by Galley Beggar Press, 2013)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I’ve seen this book described as being light on plot. I respectfully disagree. On the contrary, our unnamed narrator’s narrative journey is one of consistent physical and emotional turmoil, as she attempts to process her brother’s ailing health, her mother’s emotional abuse, and her complex attitude towards sexuality – triggered by sexual assault. In that sense, this is not a book to be entered lightly; McBride’s raw portrayal of such harrowing subject matter making for an intense and draining reading experience.

The author plays with language and structure in a way I’ve never seen before. Sentences go unfinished, verbs are often omitted, words trip over each other, and thoughts bleed together in a style that can only be compared to stream of consciousness. This can be disorientating at first – and is sure to alienate some readers – but once you find the rhythm of McBride’s singular prose, it is a wonder to witness language and emotion in their most distilled form.

This fragmented approach is representative of our heroine’s mindset, and ties in beautifully with the book’s title. In her scatter-brained, erratic voice, we see the insecurities of a young woman desperate to find meaning and comfort through an elusive sense of self. Emotionally unmoored by her experiences, and chasing physical pain in an attempt to match and make sense of her inner suffering, McBride shows us what can happen to those who have not been equipped to deal with the cruelties of the real world.

For much of the book, the narrator (whose unwillingness to divulge her name is another nod to her unformed identity) uses direct address aimed at her terminally ill brother. Her love for him is the one thing anchoring her to reality, and in many ways, his decline is mirrored in her own; only where his scars are physical, hers are mental. In moments of distress and panic, the prose is at its most kaleidoscopic, leading us to a climax that feels as inevitable as it is devastating.

Linguistically challenging and emotionally exhausting, it’s a book I would hesitate to recommend casually. That said, I have an immense amount of respect for the uniquely rewarding literary feat that McBride has managed to pull off.

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If you’d like to read A Girl is a Half-formed Thing, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Jim Crumley & Julia O’Faolain | Two Mini Reviews

The Company of Swans by Jim Crumley
Published by Harvill Secker, 2017 (first published in 1997)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Reading this lovely little offering was proof that it’s worth browsing displays in bookshops every now and then, and taking a punt on something that catches your eye. Nature writer, Jim Crumley, observed the same pair of mute swans in rural Scotland for more than two decades, growing a particular attachment to the gentle pen. In this slim book, he offers us a snapshot of the creatures’ ethereal beauty, as well as the many hardships they face in an effort to fend off predators, survive the changing seasons, and raise their young. More so, he has crafted a surprisingly moving tribute to the pen, who is presented as both emblematic of her species and its place within the cycle of life, and yet, singular in her tragic determination to defy the odds.

With his prose, Crumley paints vivid pictures of the landscape he so obviously admires. His lyrical approach brings an air of quiet magic that suits the majesty of his subject matter perfectly. My middling rating is reflective of the book’s brevity, rather than its quality, and I will certainly be checking out more of Crumley’s work.

You can pick up a copy of The Company of Swans from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Daughters of Passion by Julia O’Faolain
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐

I should preface this review by saying Daughters of Passion was one of my most anticipated reads from the Faber Stories range. It’s very possible my high expectations contributed to my lukewarm response. The premise is fantastic: A young Irish woman languishes in prison, delirious from a self-imposed hunger strike. As reality begins to blur, she reflects on a friendship that led to her involvement with the IRA, and the criminal act that put her behind bars.

Perhaps because I love this setup so much, I wish it had been a full-length novel, rather than a short story. Whatever the case, I felt it lacked an emotional core. Interesting themes and brief flashes of brilliance in the prose are given no time to take root; the friendship so pivotal to the narrative feeling too lightly drawn to provide satisfying development or lasting impact.

You can pick up a copy of Daughters of Passion from Book Depository by clicking here.

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Edna O’Brien & Danielle McLaughlin | Two Mini Reviews

Here are brief reviews for a couple of recent reads. Both are Irish lit, #readingirelandmonth19 having been the perfect excuse to finally pick them off my shelves!

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Paradise by Edna O’Brien
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This short and engaging story follows a young woman as she sets off on vacation with her wealthy, much older partner. Upon learning that she is unable to swim, he hires an instructor to teach her, with the understanding that she will display her newly learned skill for him and his friends at the holiday’s end.

This was my first experience of O’Brien’s fiction, and though brief, it has certainly piqued my interest. She successfully creates a quietly off-kilter tone; the simmering threat that we are building towards something uncanny. This, coupled with her evocative prose and strong imagery made for a great little taster of her work.

There’s definitely some allegory at play, but O’Brien doesn’t deign to hand us all the answers, which leaves the latent meaning open to interpretation. To me, it spoke about how mentally destructive it is to try and change yourself to appease others, as well as the self-serving, toxic brand of pride that can arise when the wealthy try to ‘help’ those beneath them on the social ladder.

You can pick up a copy of Paradise by clicking here.

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Dinosaurs on Other Planets by Danielle McLaughlin
Published by John Murray, 2017 (first published by Stinging Fly Press, 2015)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This was a solid and competently constructed collection of contemporary short stories. Nearly all of the eleven offerings are united by a general tone of melancholy; captured in a kind of quiet, everyday loneliness, and the theme of yearning for a sense of connection or escape. As an overarching concept, I thought this worked very effectively, and made the collection feel cohesive.

On the flipside, however, it also meant the stories began to blend together somewhat, with few standout moments to help differentiate individual tales. As a result, it’s the kind of collection that I will remember for its feel, rather than its plot or character arcs. I think, therefore, that it would have benefitted from a greater sense of variety; some light and shade to add definition and impact. Still, McLaughlin clearly has a knack for crafting a specific mood, and I’d certainly check out more of her work in the future.

You can pick up a copy of Dinosaurs on Other Planets by clicking here.

Milkman by Anna Burns | Book Review

Milkman by Anna Burns
Published by Faber & Faber, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

My main takeaway from Milkman is renewed interest in the line between appreciation and enjoyment when it comes to reading. Well-conceived and skilfully constructed, Anna Burns’ Booker winning novel is undoubtedly a perceptive and valuable piece of literature, but I can’t pretend that always made for a particularly pleasant reading experience.

The plot is thin at best, but what we do get concerns a young woman attempting to navigate the traps of daily life during the Troubles. Attracting the attention and harassment of an undesirable man known only as ‘Milkman’, she too becomes undesirable by association; the focus of rumour and vilification within her community. The story itself takes a backseat, however, the book propelled far more by its singular narrative voice, and its evocation of a society ruled by institutionalised oppression, violence, and division.

I greatly admired Milkman for its themes and overall tone, and was impressed by its contemplative, intersectional look at how toxic hearsay can be within a community, with Burns taking into account wider societal issues including gender, class, religion, and sexuality; all with a tinge of absurdist black humour, and a backdrop of looming danger.

Stylistically, I really liked the omission of character names. Sometimes, this can feel like an unnecessary gimmick, but in this instance, it was used to great effect. Characters repeatedly have their sense of identity taken from them, their truth warped by lies and scandal. Our names are the biggest markers of our individuality, and so, to me, stripping them away reflected the notion of a stolen sense of control over your own life. On another level, it establishes the idea that these characters are every-people; interchangeable with those in many communities across Ireland at this time, when experiences of violence were the norm. It also draws a parallel with the level of suppression the characters are subject to. When association with virtually anything could get you into trouble with ‘the other side’, thoughts, words, hopes, feelings, and opinions had to be omitted or hidden. Burns riffs on this idea of self-censorship, her characters living under such a strict regime, and so afraid of standing out, that even the potential connotations of a name have become hazardous.

For all that, the stream-of-consciousness style can be very frustrating. With little plot to grasp onto in the first place, its circular narrative and repeated tangents can make the book feel overly long, and needlessly verbose. For me, its merits made the effort worthwhile. It’s the kind of book I’m glad to have read, but which I’d be hesitant to recommend widely. In the hands of the right reader (those with an interest in Irish history, and voice-driven studies of an insular community), it offers an intelligent, shrewdly observant, and original reading experience that captures the atmosphere of a society simmering with tension, and tearing itself apart from the inside out.

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If you fancy giving Milkman a go, you can pick up a copy by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!