Irish March: a round-up

#4: Musings on Hibernophilia

I know, I know. I’ve already failed. ‘Monthly newsletters’ she said in January, yet here she is, head hanging in shame, almost three months later. Anyway, it was more of a loose intention than a rigid resolution, so I don’t feel too bad about it. That’s a lie, I don’t feel bad at all – and why should I? The fact of the matter is that for a long time, I simply had nothing to say, so I said nothing. Buckle in, though, this turned out to be a longer newsletter than I expected: creative blocks are temporary, the yapping soul is eternal.

Note: the time between the conception and delivery of this newsletter is vast but life got in the way, extenuating circumstances and all. Ergo, the bulk of the next section is outdated, e.g. it’s no longer Ramadhan, we’re more than halfway through April etc. Everything was relevant at the time of writing, though, so for archival purposes, I won’t be cutting anything out.

January and February were extremely busy (relatively speaking, for my tendency during winter is to shut down entirely) and I was just trying to stay afloat while good ol’ seasonal depression had me in a chokehold. Of course, that’s now morphed into regular depression, exacerbated by the capricious nature of British weather – why am I having to wear a puffer jacket and carry an umbrella at the end of March? Abominable. Anyway, I digress. It’s Ramadhan now which I always knew was going to force me to slow down – not necessarily a good thing, I should add – but my goodness do I now have an abundance of ideas and things to say. So much so that I feel like I’m bursting at the seams. Since the end of last year, I’ve also been unable to shake this petulant desire to start exploring other creative mediums; my writing is a fickle affair at best, case in point here, and my love for bookstagram is waning (more on that to follow), but since reconnecting with my creative side after graduating, I’m not willing to let it go. There’s also the whole content creating in Spanish that I created a space for but have yet to actually commit to – the goal is to be a solid C1 by the end of the year rather than teetering on the edge with B2. So much to do, so little time.

Back to those ideas of mine, I thought I’d start off with an easy one, which is also a sort of trial run for this newsletter. Reviews are supposedly now a dying art on bookstagram – which irritates the absolute life out of me, because as a community of readers, should that not be the sort of content that’s at the forefront? Now it’s all a numbers game and jumping on trends and having a niche and presenting yourself as a marketable product – all traps I’ve fallen into in the past, and thankfully escaped from, but my goodness it’s exhausting. Perhaps inevitable when a hobby converges with the somewhat sinister sphere of social media? Anyway, this isn’t a discourse piece and that’s an entirely different conversation.

Now, onto the good stuff. If you are here from my bookstagram, you’ll know that I decided to read exclusively Irish books for March in honour of St. Patrick’s Day (finally mentioning the title, 500 words in). Coming to think of it, I did also post about it on my personal account because I was feeling the disillusionment with all of the above on booksta, but boy do I feel like a pretentious little shit posting about books there, despite having culled it to a very small following. ‘Look at me, I’m literate, pick me, choose me, love me!’ feels like the proclamation, but why shouldn’t I be vocal about the things that make me happy?

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It’s difficult to know where my love for Ireland and the Irish stems from – I’ve never been and I have no tangible ties to it – all I know is that it’s unwavering and I wish my grandparents had stayed on the plane a little longer and crossed one more body of water when they migrated to the UK.

Did it develop in infancy because the only parent in primary school who could pronounce my name correctly was a gorgeous Irish mum? Love you Linda, thank you for validating my five-year-old self. Side note, having your name mispronounced by 95% of the people you encounter up to the age of 18 is truly damaging to the psyche – hearing my name mispronounced with a Z now (I am not an Al-Jazeera spin-off) gives me genuine war flashbacks. The most jarring part is that it’s pronounced phonetically (see: the word ‘see’ as the middle syllable), but once again, I digress. This isn’t about the illiteracy of the British and the micro-aggressions that ensue as a result. Back to Ireland.

Did my fixation start because of my Economics teacher of three years, with whom everyone was slightly in love? Is it the accent, which my friend used to spoil me with in the form of Snapchat videos (this was pre-voice note emergence) when we were teenagers? I’m an avid user of Siri, which my friends laugh at me for, but for as long as I’ve had an iPhone, it’s taken the form of an Irish man. Is it the sense of (post)colonial camaraderie, as somebody whose roots are on the Indian subcontinent, albeit different countries thanks to the good old partition? Was it Louise Kennedy’s Trespasses, which I’ve mentioned was the first book I loved for its Irishness? Is it Irish literature in general? I must confess I’ve only read one Oscar Wilde play, and no Joyce or Yeats, but the contemporaries are phenomenal – God save the Arts Council of Ireland.

All that to say I had a gorgeous reading month in March because I was reading books from a country that I’m entirely enamoured with for no discernible reason, though said books are reason enough.

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Okay, now truly onto the good stuff. After only managing to finish one book in February, I wasn’t too optimistic about my prospects for March, but I managed to get through nine (!!!) books by Irish authors. Quick disclaimer: there was also one that was off-brand at the start of the month, Greta and Valdin, but in my defence I’d started and read the bulk of it in February, and my NetGalley license was about to expire, so I *had* to finish it in the first couple of days of March.

So, in chronological order, here are the Irish books I read last month, with some maybe-but-not-always-quickfire reviews for each of them:

-       Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan

This was my first Keegan and most certainly won’t be my last – absolutely phenomenal, I was awe-struck by how much she does with so little. You could feel the intention behind each word and I have no doubt this would be a literature student/graduate’s wet dream (I am but a humble social science graduate, so my literary analysis skills are subpar at best). What starts off as a seemingly mundane tale about a mundane man and his mundane life – something I realised I have an affinity for after reading Stoner – slowly unravels, revealing critical commentary on the sinister side of omnipresent institutions that dictate how societies and communities function.

I only learnt about Magdalene Laundries after watching The Woman in the Wall last autumn – went down a research rabbit hole, as I often do with media that touches on historical events. Said research was a series of news articles and documentaries interviewing people who’d either given birth or been born in Mother and Baby Homes, but Small Things Like These was my first encounter with the topic in literature. Though the Laundry only existed on the periphery, it perfectly demonstrated how harmful religious dogmatism in society can be, and the power of the individual in breaking the ties that bind (I love a moral dilemma). Also, while doing my research for this review, I found out that it’s been adapted with Cillian Murphy playing the lead? I need it yesterday.

-       Snowflake by Louise Nealon

I could write an entire think-piece on my lack of a ‘proper’ university experience, thanks at first to my social anxiety, followed by Miss Rona, but I’ll spare you, it’s probably time I get over it (I won’t, though). What it does mean is that I get weak in the knees for books that feature a protagonist bumbling through the entirely new world of academia that’s accented with the freedom afforded by adulthood. They’ve got a dysfunctional family and a boatload of generational trauma? My type on paper. A poignant and tender exploration of the growing pains of early adulthood, heavy at times but not at all emotionally taxing.

-       Juno Loves Legs by Karl Geary

My goodness, this broke my heart into a thousand tiny pieces in the best way. A devastating portrait of class, friendship and trauma through the lens of two absolutely formidable characters. Karl Geary’s writing pulls you right in – Juno and Legs (calling him Seán just doesn’t feel right) felt so vivid and lifelike, and he creates such a stifling atmosphere which I’m sure is accurate for the 1980s Dublin that it’s set in. Was very much giving Shuggie Bain, minus the ethnic slurs, gut-wrenching but oh so beautiful.

-       Bodies by Christine Anne Foley (gifted – available July 4^th)

My initial Goodreads review of this was simply ‘Did I devour this book or did it devour me?’ and in all fairness, I think that’s comprehensive enough. I’ll post my full review of it on booksta in due course but, in a nutshell, get your preorders in!!!

-       Kala by Colin Walsh

Okay not to be crude but this felt like being edged for 350 pages then refused a climax. I think the easiest way to review this would be listing the pros and cons so here goes.
Pros:
-Characterisation: each of the friends had such a distinct personality and voice, though Mush was the only one I really vibed with.
-Atmosphere: the setting was so well-written and the suffocating small-town aspect was palpable, especially through the adolescent lens.
-The mystery: well-executed for the most part, very spooky.
-General prose: punchy and addictive, I felt genuine disappointment when I had to live my actual life and couldn’t just carry on reading.
-The observations: an overt portrayal of the tumultuous nature of adolescence.
-The timeline: flawless weaving between past and present.
Cons:
-Dragged on a little too much for my liking, and the ending felt very rushed.
-Characters on the periphery felt extremely two-dimensional, despite the often pivotal roles they played in major plot points.

All in all, still worth the read – just don’t expect too much from the ending. Walsh is clearly a talented writer and I’m hoping his sophomore (if there is one) will be a little more refined.

-       Boys Don’t Cry by Fíona Scarlett

When I tell you I was fighting for my life reading this, my goodness. Boys may not cry but I most certainly do (as Siobhan commented on one of my many Goodreads ‘sobbing’ updates). A heartfelt portrait of brotherhood, poverty, grief, class disparities, platonic love and the struggle to forge one’s own path when everything seems pre-determined. Finn’s innocence and grit in the face of his illness were definitely my highlight, though Joe’s conviction and loyalty were also incredibly moving, even if some of his decision-making was questionable. The ‘All out, surrounded by love’ line is one I’ll never recover from and these characters will forever have a piece of my heart.

-       Soldier Sailor by Claire Kilroy

If you’ve seen my Goodreads review, that’s pretty much all I have to say. The first 70% was literary birth control (very well done, in literary terms). Evocative and lyrical and suffocating, yet tinged with a ferocious sort of softness. At times repetitive and seemingly extreme but I think that’s just a watered-down portrayal of baby brain and postpartum rage and/or depression? There’s a slight emotional barrier as somebody with a gaping mother wound, but all in all a heartfelt and emotive exploration of the early days of motherhood, in all its ugliness as well as glory – the ending made the trouble seem somewhat worth it.

-       Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín

Please don’t come at me for this because it’s so, so regrettable. This was my first Tóibín, and I had such high hopes; I desperately wanted to love it – and I know many do. I didn’t, though, thought it was mid at best. Character-driven novels are a weakness of mine, which I understand Brooklyn was supposed to be, but I felt so removed from Eilis as a protagonist; bland is the only word I can think of to describe her. Her romantic entanglements were the only time my interest piqued, which feels so icky to say. Also, the ending had me stewing! I feel like just when it was getting interesting, that’s it show’s over. I’m glad I read it shortly before its sequel is released and I will be picking up Long Island, in the hope that Eilis’ mid-life might prove more appreciable. Thank God for Spotify’s free audiobooks – I’m not sure I’d have made it through without switching between reading and listening. SORRY!

-       How to Build a Boat by Elaine Feeney

Such a loveable cast of characters whom you can’t help but root for, they all felt so authentic and lifelike. At an event late last year, an Irish literary club with Annie Mac, Elaine Feeney and Louise Kennedy (Ross, you will forever have my heart for taking me), Elaine spoke about her creative process, and how she speaks to her characters as if they’re real people. At the time I didn’t think too deeply about it but now, having read a book of hers, I get it. Jamie, Tess, Tadhg and even Eoin had such distinct voices, and even when perspectives shifted mid-paragraph, it was easy to tell which protagonist was the focus without any loss of cohesion.

This truly put my heart through the wringer. Each character’s distinct traumas were handled so delicately, and thematically so many nails were hit on their respective heads. It’s always the books that I love the most that I have a hard time articulating my thoughts on, but this was a poignant, heartwarming love letter to community, demonstrating its importance in the face of adversity.

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Finally shutting up now. I’m not sure how often I’ll be posting reviews here, but it felt appropriate for the occasion, and I do enjoy freedom from the constraints of Instagram’s character limit.

Until next time x