A beautiful, pitch-perfect novella.
Every character is beautifully sketched in, from Bill Furlong (oooh, love that name ...) himself, his wife Eileen and his five beautiful daughters, right down to the tiniest walk on parts, and even the ghosts at the fringes of the story-- Bill's mother, Mrs Wilson, his patroness and the protector of his unwed mother, Ned the handyman, who may be more to Bill than he has heretofore realized ... each and every one is a character.
Lovingly crafted, every word and phrase carrying deep narrative and thematic significance. I'm not sure that there are many authors who could make a walk through a small Irish town, in the darkness of early evening on Christmas Eve, resonate with the terrible weight of ethical choices that have to be made, that will change the rest of your life, and that of your family.
Sense of place? ohmygosh, welcome to small-town Ireland. It's 1985, but it could be 1935, or 1835. I heard, and saw, my own family and my own family's dilemmas, in every single character. (Welcome to small-town anywhere, actually -- the tragedy of the Magdalen Laundries is Ireland's unique shame -- but show me any country that doesn't have its own "Magdalen Laundry". None of us should sit smugly, and judge here.)
And it doesn't hurt that the situation of Bill Furlong's personal and ethical dilemma is enough to make anyone with a heart in their body react in a white-heat of rage.
Usually, I mark fine phrases with little stickers, but if I'd done that that with this book, it would have been bristling, and I would have run out of stickers: here's something, just completely at random ...
"With a fresh type of reluctance, he then changed into his Sunday clothes and walked with Eileen and the girls to the chapel, feeling the pavement steep and very slippery in places."
Oh, yes, indeed it is.
Every character is beautifully sketched in, from Bill Furlong (oooh, love that name ...) himself, his wife Eileen and his five beautiful daughters, right down to the tiniest walk on parts, and even the ghosts at the fringes of the story-- Bill's mother, Mrs Wilson, his patroness and the protector of his unwed mother, Ned the handyman, who may be more to Bill than he has heretofore realized ... each and every one is a character.
Lovingly crafted, every word and phrase carrying deep narrative and thematic significance. I'm not sure that there are many authors who could make a walk through a small Irish town, in the darkness of early evening on Christmas Eve, resonate with the terrible weight of ethical choices that have to be made, that will change the rest of your life, and that of your family.
Sense of place? ohmygosh, welcome to small-town Ireland. It's 1985, but it could be 1935, or 1835. I heard, and saw, my own family and my own family's dilemmas, in every single character. (Welcome to small-town anywhere, actually -- the tragedy of the Magdalen Laundries is Ireland's unique shame -- but show me any country that doesn't have its own "Magdalen Laundry". None of us should sit smugly, and judge here.)
And it doesn't hurt that the situation of Bill Furlong's personal and ethical dilemma is enough to make anyone with a heart in their body react in a white-heat of rage.
Usually, I mark fine phrases with little stickers, but if I'd done that that with this book, it would have been bristling, and I would have run out of stickers: here's something, just completely at random ...
"With a fresh type of reluctance, he then changed into his Sunday clothes and walked with Eileen and the girls to the chapel, feeling the pavement steep and very slippery in places."
Oh, yes, indeed it is.
