I see Brandon Books have put up on their webpage notification of Mary Morrissy's new novel, The Rising of Bella Casey. Apparently, Sean O'Casey, the great Irish playwright, killed off his sister Bella in his autobiography a good ten years before she actually died -- hmm. What was that about? Mary Morrissy wrote her new novel while she was fuelled by the same question. I've been reading drafts of this novel for some time, and I remember saying to myself at the very first, "This is going to be a good one!" I was right. Mary's novel is beautifully written and, almost accidentally, perfectly timed for the string of historical anniversaries Ireland is commemorating in this decade, including the 1913 lock-out, the 1916 Rising and the outcome in the 1920s. Brandon did well to pick this up. I'm almost sorry for those that didn't (not really!). The Rising of Bella Casey will be released mid-September.
I wrote an article for Griffith Review a few years ago (and before the wonderful Maeve Binchy died) where I explored the novelist's right to write about war and social unrest, even when she knows little or nothing about them. It also speaks of Northern Ireland politician David Ervine, one of those rare examples of someone who opens his heart to the fears and sense of injustice his 'enemy' feels. Ireland and Britain lost a hero when he died far too young. If only others could learn from him.
The essay is available in full on the Griffith Review site (see below), but here's an excerpt: The closest I have ever been to civil violence is about one kilometre. That is not very close, comparatively speaking. I happened to be in Dublin during the bombings of 1974, when three arteries out of the city were blown up during peak hour. Meanwhile, up the road in a country town just below the border with Northern Ireland, the same thing was happening at the same moment. Like most writers, I wasn't involved personally .... ... What about the creative writing teacher's maxim: Write What You Know. Like Jane Austen, for example. Maeve Binchy swears by it, and tells everybody else to swear by it, too. Having lived in Ireland for more than thirty years, I have all the time in the world for Maeve, one of the great characters in Dublin (there are a few). And I love her best books, as it happens. And actually I agree with her in principle. But still ... War creeps in. Creeps into the consciousness of the writer, prowls around, a dark, mesmerising presence. Calamity is recommended by Aristotle, not as a general rule for life maybe but more as a handy tool for the poet. Perhaps it's as simple as that. Writers are the ultimate users. I have used "the troubles" to trouble my conscience into working out the plot of a novel. Some years later, The Rhapsody of Sweeney was produced. Its writing caused me to bring into the light my own tribal prejudice, my quiet assurance that, though we liberal types didn't in any way condone all that dreadful killing and maiming, we were right in the first place, the only problem to convince the other crowd of their wrongness. I probably still believe it, truth be told. So much for catharsis. Yet now and then something happens and a little bell gongs, far away maybe, somewhere up in the hills while we're busy down in the valley, weeding or something, but we hear it dimly, pause for a moment as it sounds inside us. There was once a Loyalist terrorist picked up and tossed in jail for a rather serious offence. He was "the enemy". While in jail, he met a few people, one man in particular – another Loyalist – who spoke different words to him. And he came out with a question growing in his mind. It might be that he was a pretty spectacular type of a man, not your common or garden terrorist. He wanted to make peace. He read and he thought and he listened. He could see that life hadn't been rosy for "the other crowd". This understanding didn't turn him into one of them – no, not at all. He remained loyal to his Britishness, loyal to his own people, until the day he died. He died early this year, far too young. It occurred to me his heart might have broken. I can't say. The peace was hard, and a long time coming. He was John the Baptist crying in the wilderness for a long, long time. Many of his own side didn't like what he said, or disclaimed his terrorist past. David Ervine died before the final agreement came. But he was a bell that sounded. The voice of the true man, the genuine hero. A sound that has a way of echoing. He touched my consciousness many years ago, watching him move among the enemy, make forays into alien territory, speaking his piece to curious audiences in the Irish Republic. He got our respect. It would be too much to say I transferred anything of his fineness to my little oeuvre, but I can say he was one who taught me to hold back my pen from vitriol. ... SEE FULL ARTICLE HERE http://griffithreview.com/edition-17-staying-alive/the-unblooded-author My novel The Italian Romance is now available in ebook format. Click on link:http://www.amazon.com/Italian-Romance-Joanne-Carroll/dp/070223513X/ref=sr_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1371494164&sr=1-12&keywords=The+Italian+Romance
It was a best-seller when it was first published and I'm delighted at how it looks in the new format. If you are so inclined, I can’t help but include
here a video interview with an old Anglican priest, Rev Murray Rogers, who with his wife lived in India for many years and there met and befriended the great mystic Abhishiktanada (the Benedictine monk Henri Le Saux). While I decided to watch the video because of my interest in Abhishiktanada, I ended up being touched beyond measure by Murray’s final and extraordinary words. I have never seen anything like this. Press control and click to watch the video clip http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=shirley+du+boulay&view=detail&mid=D46505520B6133345257D46505520B6133345257&first=0 Swami Abhishiktananda: An Interview with Rev. Murray Rogers 19/11/2011. Swami Abhishiktananda: An interview with Rev. Murray Rogers. Swami Abhishiktananda (1910--73), originally Fr Henri Le Saux of St Anne’s Abbey, Kergonan in France. This interview was made possible by Shirley du Boulay, author of Cave of the Heart: The Life of Swami Abhishiktanada. |