Published this month are the debut novels of two promising Irish writers, both looking back to that country’s history, through the changes wrought by time on a family home. In the first it’s a humble farmhouse and overnight refuge for freedom fighters in the War of Independence, barely inhabitable when an exile considers buying it a hundred years later. In the second it’s the grand house of the local gentry when the narrator first crosses the threshold as a ten-year-old servant, and latterly the hotel where he reviews the eighty-plus decades of his life. And if you’re wondering about the coincidence of the blue covers, why not look back on this post?
 |  |
A River in the Trees by Jacqueline O’Mahony
Ellen has travelled from her home in London to Lisarna, a small town in Ireland, to view the dilapidated farmhouse that has recently come on the property market. Driving down from Dublin alone, she’s weighed down by obesity, self-loathing and the ghost of her still-born daughter. But she has money or, at least, her husband has, and she’s determined to buy the house, the childhood home of her great-grandmother. Even though she hasn’t lived in Ireland since she left at eighteen two decades ago and has little contact currently with her family.
A century earlier, in 1919, the house is home to nineteen-year-old Hannah, her parents, her three younger brothers and a sister. It’s also, one particular night, a refuge for a band of Irish freedom fighters on the run from the British. When soldiers raid the house the following morning, Hannah is doubly anxious. If they discover the men hiding in the attic they’ll show the family no mercy. But that’s not all: strongly attracted to the rebel leader, Hannah would hate to see him come to harm.
The two strands interact as Ellen visits the house and speaks to locals, learning more about her family’s secrets. But even without that connection, these would be entertaining stories. The prose is lovely, elegant and yet seemingly effortless, and the two main characters, with their contrasting personalities, appealing on the page. Although her life has been restricted, Hannah is brave and determined; Ellen, with more apparent opportunity, is caught in a self-destructive spiral. Who wouldn’t be curious to discover what becomes of them?
Although reading this less for plot than for character, the writing and the situation, a pleasing – subtle and satisfying – twist to the ending convinced me to award this book my second five-star rating of the year. Thanks to Ana McLaughlin of Riverrun for my review copy.
A century earlier, in 1919, the house is home to nineteen-year-old Hannah, her parents, her three younger brothers and a sister. It’s also, one particular night, a refuge for a band of Irish freedom fighters on the run from the British. When soldiers raid the house the following morning, Hannah is doubly anxious. If they discover the men hiding in the attic they’ll show the family no mercy. But that’s not all: strongly attracted to the rebel leader, Hannah would hate to see him come to harm.
The two strands interact as Ellen visits the house and speaks to locals, learning more about her family’s secrets. But even without that connection, these would be entertaining stories. The prose is lovely, elegant and yet seemingly effortless, and the two main characters, with their contrasting personalities, appealing on the page. Although her life has been restricted, Hannah is brave and determined; Ellen, with more apparent opportunity, is caught in a self-destructive spiral. Who wouldn’t be curious to discover what becomes of them?
Although reading this less for plot than for character, the writing and the situation, a pleasing – subtle and satisfying – twist to the ending convinced me to award this book my second five-star rating of the year. Thanks to Ana McLaughlin of Riverrun for my review copy.
When All Is Said by Anne Griffin
At the bar of a grand hotel in small Irish town, eighty-four-year-old widower Maurice raises a glass to the five most significant figures in his life. The elder brother who propped him up on the way to school where there was no name or understanding for his dyslexia. His wife, her mentally-disabled sister, the daughter who never was and the son who made a name for himself in faraway America. He’s loved them all, but lacked the capacity to show it.
Although life has treated him well and, despite his reading difficulties, his business decisions have brought material riches. But he’s never properly recovered from his childhood poverty and resentment of the Dollard family who lived in the manor house and whose lands adjoined his father’s. Not even seeing their fortunes fade as his rose – the house now a hotel and most of the fields bought up by Maurice – enables him to forgive how they bullied their staff, including his mother and Maurice himself. Will discovering their secret tragedy diminish his grudge?
When All Is Said is one of those novels that, by name-checking “issues” (as well as dyslexia, learning disability, social justice, bereavement, buttoned-up masculinity, there’s a nod to LGBT rights), implies a certain depth but stays in the shallow end where the water comes only as far as your knees. Which is exactly what gets readers parting with their cash – witness the popularity of Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine – so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that the press release – thank you Sceptre – refers to a four-way UK publisher auction and a six-figure sum in the US. An inoffensive and undemanding read, I liked it, but not one that merits the hype.
Although life has treated him well and, despite his reading difficulties, his business decisions have brought material riches. But he’s never properly recovered from his childhood poverty and resentment of the Dollard family who lived in the manor house and whose lands adjoined his father’s. Not even seeing their fortunes fade as his rose – the house now a hotel and most of the fields bought up by Maurice – enables him to forgive how they bullied their staff, including his mother and Maurice himself. Will discovering their secret tragedy diminish his grudge?
When All Is Said is one of those novels that, by name-checking “issues” (as well as dyslexia, learning disability, social justice, bereavement, buttoned-up masculinity, there’s a nod to LGBT rights), implies a certain depth but stays in the shallow end where the water comes only as far as your knees. Which is exactly what gets readers parting with their cash – witness the popularity of Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine – so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that the press release – thank you Sceptre – refers to a four-way UK publisher auction and a six-figure sum in the US. An inoffensive and undemanding read, I liked it, but not one that merits the hype.
 |  |
A final word on the covers: are you convinced by the comfort of blue? It might be right for the second of these novels, and for some of these stories in my bluey-green collection, but certainly not all.
 | I struggled with how to navigate from here to colonnades, the latest flash fiction prompt. So I borrowed an idea from one of these novels, I’m sure you can guess which. the latest flash fiction prompt. So I borrowed an idea from one of these novels, I’m sure you can guess which. |
In the orchard
In the orchard, I kissed him. Between the colonnades of conference, comice and Cox’s Orange Pippin, tasted nectar on his tongue. Amid the scent of ripened fruit, I smelled the sweat of weeks on the run. We made a bed of fallen leaves, the drone of drunken wasps mingled with our moans.
I knew I had no future with a freedom fighter. Right then, I didn’t care. But when the soldiers stood in line and raised their rifles, the shot sent swallows screaming from their roosts. They left me his bloodied body, and his child blossoming in my womb.
In the orchard, I kissed him. Between the colonnades of conference, comice and Cox’s Orange Pippin, tasted nectar on his tongue. Amid the scent of ripened fruit, I smelled the sweat of weeks on the run. We made a bed of fallen leaves, the drone of drunken wasps mingled with our moans.
I knew I had no future with a freedom fighter. Right then, I didn’t care. But when the soldiers stood in line and raised their rifles, the shot sent swallows screaming from their roosts. They left me his bloodied body, and his child blossoming in my womb.
RSS Feed
