John McGahern did not spread himself thinly as a writer. Nearly all of his creative energy went into what was central for the great novels and stories that are now part of the canon of Irish and world literature. Yet he spoke out when he felt he had something worth saying and his non-fiction writings are of great interest to anyone who loves his work, and to all those interested in the recent history of Ireland. This book brings together all of McGahern's surviving essays, reviews and speeches. In them his canon of great writers - Tolstoy, Chekhov, James, Proust and Joyce - is cited many times, with deep and subtle appreciation. His discussions of Irish writers who influenced him are generous and brilliant - among them Michael McLaverty, Ernie O'Malley and Forrest Reid. His interventions on issues he felt strongly about - sectarianism, women's rights, the power of the church in Ireland - are lucid and far-sighted.
McGahern began his career as a schoolteacher at Scoil Eoin Báiste (Belgrove) primary school in Clontarf, Ireland, where, for a period, he taught the eminent academic Declan Kiberd before turning to writing full-time. McGahern's second novel 'The Dark' was banned in Ireland for its alleged pornographic content and implied clerical sexual abuse. In the controversy over this he was forced to resign his teaching post. He subsequently moved to England where he worked in a variety of jobs before returning to Ireland to live and work on a small farm in Fenagh in County Leitrim, located halfway between Ballinamore and Mohill. His third novel 'Amongst Women' was shortlisted for the 1990 Man Booker Prize. He died from cancer in Dublin on March 30, 2006.
The wider world For the fan of John McGahern who has grown used to his constant focus on a specific time and place, it is refreshing to read his thoughts on the wider world, if only London or Newcastle, Paris or Morocco. But it is his thoughts on writing that are the most satisfying here, and his reviews of other writers work from Flaubert to Geopge Mackay Brown, from Proust to Alastair MacLeod. The writerly qualities that McGahern prizes most are deep feeling, clear thinking and efficient expression.
The thickness of Love of the World, McGahern's collected non-fiction, seems surprising. McGahern published his books infrequently, sometimes leaving gaps of up to a decade between novels. As Clive James said of Larkin, it wasn't a torrent of creativity - just the best. McGahern never published a line between hard covers that wasn't meant to last; Few would have guessed, though, just how many of them the master left behind.
Unsurprisingly, the best pieces deal with subjects close to the author's heart, such as the letters of John Butler Yeats, his admiration for the fiction of F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Williams, Alistair MacLeod. Through his personal essays and short, insightful reviews, we see the tiles of McGahern's low-key aesthetic becoming an inspiring mosaic. No other writer since Edwin Muir has left his readers with an impression of gentleness and wisdom as deeply as McGahern.
A mystery however is why the editor ignores McGahern's own warning. It merits quoting in full:
'The small quantity of true work is buried in such a mausolem of tired, indifferent prose. Literature in our time is far more endangered by a surfeit of material and commentary than by neglect.'
Next to the true work here are mere finger-exercises - the Beckett imitation, the count-the-money-and-run travel articles. The less said about Professor Kiberd's muddled, rather arrogant introduction, the better. Trying to cram in everything, even out of reverence, is neither wise nor sensible. To return to Clive James, we do better to assume that when authors subtract something, they are adding to the arrangement. Watching an editor undo this careful work is not pleasant.
A selection, surely, would have been better, and a greater tribute to the memory of John McGahern, our late master of the unsaid.
Powerful writing on books, society and place - definitely of Ireland but not limited to it. McGahern is the perfect guide to the period of huge social change in Ireland that he lived through: the betrayal of the spirit of the Easter Rising from the 1930s onwards, the Church's consolidation of power over all areas of Irish life (in particular education), the exodus of Ireland's young people either for work or to escape its repressive and sectarian atmosphere, the deagrarianisation of the economy, and the liberalisation of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. His affection for the healthy suspicion in which mid-century Irish people held both the state and the Church is matched by his stern disapproval of how they co-opted the regressive moralism of the era for their own self-interest. The back half of the collection is made up of book reviews, which are largely great reading, though his exacting standards terrify me.
I find McGahern's style kind of irresistible. In general he is restrained; conservative in his approach to understanding things even as his politics are progressive and his nature by default compassionate. No conclusions are ever arrived at in a rush, and he resists overextending himself on topic that he does not know so well, such as Northern Ireland. He has the aura of a mildly wizened granddad who probably wants what's best for you, and whose occasional unsparingness is always motivated by love.
His reflections are all strictly observational and broad-brush; you won't find a single poll or national statistic cited here, so empiricists' mileage will vary big time. And it sometimes shows that these essays were not written to be read together - McGahern is not afraid of re-covering old ground, returning time and again to the same quotes and the same pet phrases, which can add to the granddad effect. But as he more or less says, if something is true once, it is true multiple times.