Reading Ireland Month – Louise O’Neill and Gerald Lynch

I planned to read two or more books for Reading Ireland Month, as ever hosted by Cathy, and have so far managed one really good read, plus a DNF – but which was which? Well, let me get the DNF out of the way first…

Troutstream by Gerald Lynch

Originally published in 1995, this is Lynch’s first novel. He was born in Co. Monaghan and moved to Canada as a youth. I bought this when first published, and thought I’d read it, but upon reflection and giving up at page 50, I don’t think I did!

Billed as a ‘most unusual and stylish murder mystery’, it ought to have been right up my street, but something about it jarred. Set in a manufactured town in Canada, the street plan is distinctly unusual with looping tree lined avenues entirely separate from the business side of things which are regimented.

There’s a serial killer at loose, murdering young girls, but that seems rather on the backburner. We read early on that one girl has gone missing, but the attention is on those running for mayor, and they are all awful and I couldn’t engage with them at all.

4th Estate paperback 1996, 256 pages (I read 50), BUY at Amazon UK via my affiliate link.

After the Silence by Louise O’Neill

I must apologise to the publicist at Quercus/riverrun for this novel who kindly sent me an ARC back in 2020, and it got buried on my shelves. I must doubly apologise because in between I read Kala by Colin Walsh, which has some similarities so I felt I’d already read it in a few parts. However, they are really quite different. This was my fourth read by Louise O’Neill, who began with two gritty YA novels that made great adult reading too; I loved both Only Ever Yours and Asking for It. After a YA retelling of The Little Mermaid which I’ve yet to read, she turned to adult fiction. Almost Love – a slow-burning drama, marked a change in style to one of complex relationships. After the Silence has those too, but adds in a murder to its dual timeframe. It begins:

There were three of them, in the beginning, and we called them the Crowley Girls..
They were born of this island, as we were; sister-children, brethren, kin. Soil and bone. A common blood running through our veins, for our ancestors had been family, once, if you went back far enough. We tell you this for you must understand the ways of Inisrún before we begin our story – we were all connected here. […]
… Death came to this land and we were never the same after that.
Which one of the girls, you might ask? Which one of the sisters lost her life on that terrible day?
Oh but the best one.
The best one of all.

The narrative proper begins ten years after the oldest Crowley Girl, Nessa, died at the Kinsella’s party on a dark and stormy night (sorry, couldn’t resist the cliché!) on Inisrún, one of the islands off the coast of Cork. It was cut off from the mainland, and it wasn’t until the storm broke that her body was found in the garden. So, the killer must have been on the island. Suspicion naturally fell on the Kinsellas, Henry and Keelin – but particularly Henry. The Kinsellas were monied incomers but Keelin was born on the island. No one was ever convicted of her murder. A documentary crew interested in cold cases has arrived, and they’re hoping to talk to everyone, and find evidence to name the killer.

First we meet Keelin as she is interviewed by the documentary maker Jake, an Australian, hoping to make a name for himself with this film. She’s naturally rather reserved. We’ll soon meet Keelin’s twentysomething son Alex, whom Henry adopted, Keelin’s best friend – one of her few remaining friends – Johanna, and finally Henry. In this conversation early in the book, he’s fussing over her.

…He looked down at her bare feet. ‘Keelin, you need to wear your slippers around the house. You’ll catch a dreadful cold. We’ve talked about this.’
‘Yes, sorry, you’re right,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember next time.’ She held her iPhone out to him. ‘There’s something wrong with my mobile.’ […]
‘It won’t let me . . . The passcode doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘How odd,’ Henry said, turning it over and peering at the screen. ‘Did you change the code?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Are you sure? You were home late last night, and you were rather tight. God knows I’ve done some stupid things in my time after a few drinks.’
‘I only had two glasses of wine. Surely I’ would remember if–‘
‘I don’t know. darling. I’m not an expert.’ He dropped the phone back on the table. ‘But you can use mine for the time being, if you’d like. Just ask when you need it.’

We instantly get the sense that Henry is gaslighting Keelin, controlling her. This feeling only becomes stronger the further we read. Surely, one of them must know what really happened? Of course the truth does eventually out itself, but not until a complex picture of relationships and family loyalties are built up and tested. And a question remains: why was Nessa, a student, at the grown-up party in the first place?

At 434 pages, there is space for O’Neill to develop all these tantalising threads, especially in the present – with glimpses back to that fateful night. Things move along slowly, the tension creeping up gently, not rushing things. The urban politics between the rich incomers and poorer old families is clearly delineated too, adding an extra dimension. You may or may not work out what actually happened, but the multilayered journey to get there is a gripping one. I very much enjoyed this novel, and will continue to read O’Neill. However, I think I preferred Kala more, which is mostly told from the friends’ of the dead girl’s perspective – or is that just because Henry and Keelin are less sympathetic characters, however well they are written?

Source: Review copy – a belated thank you! riverrun paperback, 439 pages, 2021. BUY at Blackwell’s via my affiliate link.