Oscar Wilde? Blah blah blah. W. B. Yeats? Blah away, O human child. Jim Bob Joyce? Blah, blah. Blah: blah. Ten million web pages devoted to each of those well-known bastards.
You'll find no hype here. No rehashed university essays. I'm highlighting Ireland's overlooked, equally noteworthy literary talent, and I'm doing it in my own words.
Readers may question if the author of these DFA Guide profiles and reviews knows what the hell he is talking about. Allow my recent, extensive correspondence with renowned Irish writer Dermot Bolger to reassure.
OK, OK. That correspondence was a PFO. So what? Two pages is extensive, for a PFO. Traditionally, they're only three words long. Bolger certainly wasn't obligated to offer detailed feedback and encouragement.
Still- the man did.
That's characteristic. Bolger is the hardest-working author in Ireland- somehow finding time to craft stunning novels, poems and plays when not leading workshops, founding publishing houses, compiling anthologies, editing madly, and emceeing local events. At one such, he told of a knock at the door of his house in Finglas. An awkward youth stood there, clutching poems and mumbling apologies in a County Down accent. Rather than employ the traditional Irish aphorism of "piss off!" Bolger invited the stranger in, gave him tea and read through his work. That Ulsterman turned out to be Eoin McNamee, who went on to create Resurrection Man and The Ultras.
Bolger's tales had his audience both laughing and thinking, that evening in the Blanchardstown library. Particularly memorable was how, at the age when most young Dubs set off to found their own rock band, he established a publishing house. Like those teenage garage bands, it went under, but not before making a little literary history.
Fast forward thirty years, to a point when hard work and talent have brought international recognition. Look elsewhere for that list. Let me focus on a sample of Bolger's work, which I believe speaks for itself.
The first of Dermot Bolger's works that I read. On a cheap-and-cheerful holiday over the rails of Eastern Europe, Father's Music transported me to the late-night streets of London, then dark alleys and mansions of Dublin, and down to the West's craggy coast. The plot follows a troubled young English woman named Tracey Evans who takes up with a mysterious Irish man. This dangerous Luke Duggan gradually admits to the criminal past that makes him such an interesting character- but is that life behind him, or not?
As tension steadily builds, Tracey explores the multifold conflicts that leave her unsettled. True, every possible negative thing in the Irish experience manages to happen to her. This chick's baggage would make venal Ryanair dance a psychotic jig of glee, €15 per kilo surcharge my bleeding ass.
Backing slowly away from the anti-O'Leary tirade, allow me to conclude that Tracey's character and experience reflect distinct truths. Readers close this novel, moved, with a deeper understanding of what forms Irish life today. I thought highly enough of Father's Music to pass it along to my beautiful travelling companion, and months later to my mate Alison Maxwell. Four stars. It's definitely one to keep in circulation.
Dublin has been portrayed dirty old times. But Navan, County Meath? The Valparaiso Voyage is the only novel that I know of which explores that gateway town. It also explores the realities of political corruption- a topic, sadly, only too Irish and too true. The news in recent years has been filled with tribunals, while homes have been planted and promptly flooded on unsuitable lands that Liam Lawler and company enriched themselves rezoning.
This examination of power in towns small and large was the novel's most interesting feature. Rather than the satisfying wish-fulfilment of revenge that most writers would offer, The Valparaiso Voyage explores what goes on within these men. What's their side of the story?
That theme is only one within The Valparaiso Voyage's breadth. It is a human story, aimed at the heart- family, love, immigration and racism, gambling, homosexuality, marriage. Like Father's Music, a mystery keeps the pages turning. I don't believe the pieces fuse so well, though. A boy living in a back-garden chicken coop? Like Augustus juggling skulls for relaxation in Carl Hiaasen's magnificent Stormy Weather, that's a great place for a character to start. Brendan Brogan did not convince me. His many issues, conflicts and passions felt like a coddle of random odds and ends. Irish pieces? Yes. I don't care how Dublin it is, though. I don't like coddle. Give me that perfect, natural blend seafood chowder from The Anglers' Rest, any day.
Two and a half stars.
I lied: my first exposure to Bolger's work was in the anthology of Irish artists he collected. Known as The Vintage Book of Contemporary Irish Fiction in the US and The Picrador Book... over here, these 518 pages provide a tasty sample. A few surprises hide between powerhouses like William Trevor, Brian Moore, Samuel Beckett and John McGahern. Sara Berkeley's "The Sky's Gone Out," David Park's "Oranges from Spain" and Leland Bardwell's "The Hairdresser" I immediately recollect, five years after reading.
To balance: many names and titles, skimming back, have made no impression. I do remember finding Neil Jordan's selection unmercifully tedious. Some other stinkers, too. Ah, well, can't the same be said for any anthology? This is an excellent tome for introducing readers to Irish lit, whatever their tastes.
If something within sparks interest, pay a visit to New Island books. As a New Island editor, Bolger has tackled talent and pinned it between two covers.
In addition to God only know how many other things, Bolger is currently the author-in-residence for the South Dublin County Council library. He has posted a few articles on the sdcc.ie website. Worth a look- they're surprisingly funny.
There! To come full circle, your question's answer is clear. Does Mick know what the hell he is talking about? Fuck no. But allow him to direct you to an author who does.
- Added to the DFA Guide, February 2005.
Guide Index. Red words? Check the Dub Glossary!