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The Penguin Book of Irish Fiction - Reviews

Publishers Weekly

It's hard to keep up with Irish literature, and it's difficult to take stock of; the backlist, as it were, shifts constantly, being a cultural tradition subject to the winds of politics and whatever a nation's self-image is at the moment. The continuing productivity of the Irish-- and their diaspora--also contributes to the changing face of the overall accomplishment. So it is never redundant to refashion Irish literature-- in this case, Irish fiction--and T ib n is an excellent choice, being an expert novelist (The Heather Blazing), a superb travel writer and historian (Homage to Barcelona) and young enough to be hip to the newest writers. His take on the Irish tradition is complex and bracing: it is, he says, "strangeness" itself. An awareness of the proximity of England and France makes the Irish writer aware of what is missing; and the three subjects that dominate Irish fiction are fire, men killing women, and fathers and sons. In his invaluable introduction, T ib n provides readers with a handy survey of writing in Ireland from the time of Swift till the latest by Colum McCann. In between, he includes selections from the standard-bearers (what to chose from Ulysses? The demotic Irish speechifying of "Cyclops"), from the lesser known and the unknown: John Broderick, from his beautiful The Trials of Father Dillingham; the funny Benedict Kiely. This is an exhaustive volume, and one with much variety. And its very last lines are apt, drawn from "Going Back," by Emma Donahue (b. 1969): "They wandered down the street past the restaurant, past the pub, coming to no conclusion. Like tails of a cloud, their voices winding around and in and out." Readers who wander into this long, big book will find conclusions perhaps hard to come by, but the Irish air is unmistakable.