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Memoir
From award-winning author John McGahern, a memoir of his childhood in the Irish countryside and the beginnings of his life as a writer.McGahern describes his early years as one of seven children growing up in rural County Leitrim, a childhood was marked by his father’s violent nature and the early death of his beloved mother. Tracing the memories of home through both people and place, McGahern details family life and the beginnings of a writing career that would take him far from home, and then back again. Haunting and illuminating, All Will Be Well is an unforgettable portrait of Ireland and one of its most beloved writers.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Hardcover
First published January 1, 2005
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1846 people want to read
About the author
John McGahern
51 books416 followersMcGahern 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.
He died from cancer in Dublin on March 30, 2006.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 88 reviews
December 19, 2018
Oh, how I loved this quiet, beautiful, sad, and (at times) enraging book: the story of Irish writer McGahern’s painful childhood, including the loss of his beloved mother to cancer and his policeman father’s brutal mistreatment of the boy and his younger siblings. The portraits of the figures who populated McGahern’s early life are rich and nuanced, and the evocation of the rural Irish landscape is extraordinary. Few books move me to tears; this one did. A treasure.
Read in February 2018
I have never felt I could do the book justice. Now, before year’s end, I’ve tried.
Read in February 2018
I have never felt I could do the book justice. Now, before year’s end, I’ve tried.
March 20, 2014
How do we deal with the hurt and sadness that, from the moment we are born, begins to accumulate in our hearts? There are, in essence, two ways to respond to the degree of suffering we experience. We can decide that since life has, in a multitude of ways, been damaging to us, we should share the damage around and inflict those closest to us with their share of the hurt. Do onto others as was done to you.
"Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.", as Philip Larkin wrote.
Alternatively you can make a resolute decision that since you have felt the weight of pain, you will do all you can to lighten, and enlighten, the lives of those you love. The mistakes of the past need not be repeated and can indeed be transcended, to the benefit of all.
John McGahern's father was a dedicated follower of the former strategy. Intriguingly little is said about the man's early life. This is the sum total of what we are told:
He had set out as a gifted, difficult only child, both over-protected and spoiled, while remaining exposed to his mother's violent corrections.
From that we can at least deduce that he knew what it was to have beatings inflicted on him and, perhaps, that he was exposed to too much attention, to a degree that would prove difficult to replicate in adult life except by instilling fear in those around him. In this, at least, he was successful, but in putting emphasis on one side of our character we often expose the side we wish to keep hidden and by his actions Sargent McGahern - a member of the Irish police force - revealed that above all, and to all, he was a coward and a bully.
Against the depiction of his father, and in a Manichean fashion, John McGahern offers us a portrait of kindness and stoical fortitude on the part of his mother. She was a teacher in a succession of tiny, rural schools and before he was old enough to be himself a pupil, she used to bring John along with her, instilling in him - as they walked the narrow roads and lanes - a knowledge and love of the flowers and trees they saw as they walked the mile or two to the school.
For much of the time his mother was, in effect, a single parent because his father preferred to remain at the Guards barracks - a mere twenty miles away - and visited only when it suited him. During these brief engagements with his family he did, however, impose himself as a figure of rigid authority, one who would not allow his son a 'soft' upbringing. So it was that he cut off all of the curls from the young Sean's hair (Sean is the Irish version of John).
The combined salaries of a teacher and a Garda Sargent would have been well above average in the economically deprived Ireland of the 40s and 50s, but the Sargent was a particularly pernicious miser and it is infuriating to read of his penny-pinching at the time when his wife was convalescing after an operation for cancer. In her letters she has to repeatedly reassure him that she is being thrifty and refraining from any hint of extravagance. That disease would eventually take Sean's beloved mother who never received a visit from her cowardly husband in the last month of her life. His only action was to have the home in which she lay cleared of all furniture so that it could be brought to the barracks. Her death lead to a catastrophically injurious situation for the then nine-year old boy and his younger siblings all of whom had to now live with a father who was utterly ill-suited to the task of raising children. His viciously violent outbursts and brutal beatings were, in his mind, justified by all he had endured and were fueled by paroxysms of self-pity:
'Of course I'm told nothing. I don't count', he began. 'I'm not consulted about anything that goes on. I don't exist. Pay no attention to me. This old fool has to carry the can for everyone so that they all can sit back. God, o God, O God, what did I do to deserve such a cross' .
Somehow the children survived and became, through force of will and nature, functioning adults who could live lives that were blighted but which could become fully their own.
In writing this memoir and, it would seem, in the life he lived, John McGahern showed how it is possible to take the alternative approach to one's early suffering. His was a conscious and determined decision that all of what he endured need not become the justification for adding to the suffering of others, although interestingly he never had any children of his own. One of the remarkable aspects of this book is the lack of sentimentality. Never once did I feel that he was striking a false note or overdoing the feelings he had towards his mother or indeed the negative feeling he had towards his father, strong and all as those feelings are. For me, he has achieved a remarkable feat by conveying to the reader an intimate understanding of the circumstances of his upbringing and the development of his emotional inner-life. I like the style of the writing too. There is a very appealing lyricism throughout. Even though so many awful things happen in the course of the book, he will remind us that there was always beauty there too if you looked and appreciated the glories of nature, as his mother had shown him on their walks to school, all those years before.
"Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.", as Philip Larkin wrote.
Alternatively you can make a resolute decision that since you have felt the weight of pain, you will do all you can to lighten, and enlighten, the lives of those you love. The mistakes of the past need not be repeated and can indeed be transcended, to the benefit of all.
John McGahern's father was a dedicated follower of the former strategy. Intriguingly little is said about the man's early life. This is the sum total of what we are told:
He had set out as a gifted, difficult only child, both over-protected and spoiled, while remaining exposed to his mother's violent corrections.
From that we can at least deduce that he knew what it was to have beatings inflicted on him and, perhaps, that he was exposed to too much attention, to a degree that would prove difficult to replicate in adult life except by instilling fear in those around him. In this, at least, he was successful, but in putting emphasis on one side of our character we often expose the side we wish to keep hidden and by his actions Sargent McGahern - a member of the Irish police force - revealed that above all, and to all, he was a coward and a bully.
Against the depiction of his father, and in a Manichean fashion, John McGahern offers us a portrait of kindness and stoical fortitude on the part of his mother. She was a teacher in a succession of tiny, rural schools and before he was old enough to be himself a pupil, she used to bring John along with her, instilling in him - as they walked the narrow roads and lanes - a knowledge and love of the flowers and trees they saw as they walked the mile or two to the school.
For much of the time his mother was, in effect, a single parent because his father preferred to remain at the Guards barracks - a mere twenty miles away - and visited only when it suited him. During these brief engagements with his family he did, however, impose himself as a figure of rigid authority, one who would not allow his son a 'soft' upbringing. So it was that he cut off all of the curls from the young Sean's hair (Sean is the Irish version of John).
The combined salaries of a teacher and a Garda Sargent would have been well above average in the economically deprived Ireland of the 40s and 50s, but the Sargent was a particularly pernicious miser and it is infuriating to read of his penny-pinching at the time when his wife was convalescing after an operation for cancer. In her letters she has to repeatedly reassure him that she is being thrifty and refraining from any hint of extravagance. That disease would eventually take Sean's beloved mother who never received a visit from her cowardly husband in the last month of her life. His only action was to have the home in which she lay cleared of all furniture so that it could be brought to the barracks. Her death lead to a catastrophically injurious situation for the then nine-year old boy and his younger siblings all of whom had to now live with a father who was utterly ill-suited to the task of raising children. His viciously violent outbursts and brutal beatings were, in his mind, justified by all he had endured and were fueled by paroxysms of self-pity:
'Of course I'm told nothing. I don't count', he began. 'I'm not consulted about anything that goes on. I don't exist. Pay no attention to me. This old fool has to carry the can for everyone so that they all can sit back. God, o God, O God, what did I do to deserve such a cross' .
Somehow the children survived and became, through force of will and nature, functioning adults who could live lives that were blighted but which could become fully their own.
In writing this memoir and, it would seem, in the life he lived, John McGahern showed how it is possible to take the alternative approach to one's early suffering. His was a conscious and determined decision that all of what he endured need not become the justification for adding to the suffering of others, although interestingly he never had any children of his own. One of the remarkable aspects of this book is the lack of sentimentality. Never once did I feel that he was striking a false note or overdoing the feelings he had towards his mother or indeed the negative feeling he had towards his father, strong and all as those feelings are. For me, he has achieved a remarkable feat by conveying to the reader an intimate understanding of the circumstances of his upbringing and the development of his emotional inner-life. I like the style of the writing too. There is a very appealing lyricism throughout. Even though so many awful things happen in the course of the book, he will remind us that there was always beauty there too if you looked and appreciated the glories of nature, as his mother had shown him on their walks to school, all those years before.
September 9, 2009
Before I try to rationalize my 5 star award for this book I must confess to a bias. John was my teacher at Belgrove National School (Scoil Eoin Báiste) in Dublin the late 50’. I recall only too well the brouhaha when he published his first novel and his subsequent dismissal from his post. His castigation by the local parish priest and Catholic hierarchy was something to behold "The Dark" was subsequently banned in Ireland and thereby joined an illustrious group of great Irish writers. So yes I am biased about John and his writings, in spite of having received a few doses of the cane from him during one year of schooling. I was much saddened by his passing in 2006 when I was reading this and “Amongst Women” (short-listed for the Booker Prize 1990).
John’s novels, considered in the context of this memoir, take on a whole new life. “All Will be Well” is not easy reading, his childhood memories of a difficult father and a devoted mother (typical Irish family fermentation) is depressing and a challenge to the reader to continue. One must wonder in reading this book if all or anything will EVER be well! The pivotal point in his story is the heart-aching description of his beloved mother’s illness and passing and the seemingly uncaring father becoming his guardian, a role hitherto unknown to John and his family. This is not an Angela’s Ashes, its much more subtle and the deprivation is not physical but much more subtle and psychologically scarring. I know it can be said that all fiction writers are simply relaying to words their childhood and upbringing however reading this memoir makes it abundantly clear John didn’t have any choice but to tell his story in a myriad of ways through his excellent writing. This is John's final work before passing away, to my knowledge, and one feels he needed to write this to fill in a few blanks where his novels didn’t adequately explain his complex background, views and upbringing.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam!
John’s novels, considered in the context of this memoir, take on a whole new life. “All Will be Well” is not easy reading, his childhood memories of a difficult father and a devoted mother (typical Irish family fermentation) is depressing and a challenge to the reader to continue. One must wonder in reading this book if all or anything will EVER be well! The pivotal point in his story is the heart-aching description of his beloved mother’s illness and passing and the seemingly uncaring father becoming his guardian, a role hitherto unknown to John and his family. This is not an Angela’s Ashes, its much more subtle and the deprivation is not physical but much more subtle and psychologically scarring. I know it can be said that all fiction writers are simply relaying to words their childhood and upbringing however reading this memoir makes it abundantly clear John didn’t have any choice but to tell his story in a myriad of ways through his excellent writing. This is John's final work before passing away, to my knowledge, and one feels he needed to write this to fill in a few blanks where his novels didn’t adequately explain his complex background, views and upbringing.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam!
September 30, 2014
This book is about the author John McGahern's childhood, growing up in rural County Leitrim at the northern edge of The Republic of Ireland. He was the oldest of seven children. His father was physically abusive, but his mother he adored. Yes, he was tied to her apron strings. He loses her at a young age and he never really gets over this. He hates his father. He is incapable of forgiving his father. This is a book about family relationships. You hear only one side of the story. One rarely gets to hear his father's point of view. Even if I in no way doubt the truth of what we are told, it just felt wrong to never hear the other side of the argument, his father's views. Is this really something to write a book about?
While you do get a picture of Irish country life in the middle of the century, Irish culture or historical events do NOT constitute the core of the book. You do clearly see the all-encompassing power of the Catholic Church in every aspect of people's lives.
The narration by John Cormack captures the Irish dialect well.
Look at that title: All Will Be Well: A Memoir. Really? When?
While you do get a picture of Irish country life in the middle of the century, Irish culture or historical events do NOT constitute the core of the book. You do clearly see the all-encompassing power of the Catholic Church in every aspect of people's lives.
The narration by John Cormack captures the Irish dialect well.
Look at that title: All Will Be Well: A Memoir. Really? When?
August 19, 2017
“An author in his book must be like God in the universe, present everywhere and visible nowhere.”-Gustave Flaubert
I’ve recently found myself drawn to several wonderful books such as “My Struggle” by Karl Ove Knausgaard and “Ways of Going Home” by Alejandro Zambra which examine how their life experiences influence their fiction.
I thought about this again as I was reading John McGahern’s memoir of his childhood growing up in rural Ireland. For those unfamiliar with McGahern’s work, (and if so by all means remedy this as soon as possible) his novels are often populated with kind female characters doing the best they can with bad situations, children doing the same, and tyrannical, often violent fathers who rule their homes with emotional distance and iron fists. Reading his fiction, I am often struck by the authenticity of these men and women he writes about and marvel at his ability to bring the compassion, brutality, and range of human emotion to the page.
Reading this memoir, it’s clear the author did not have far to travel for his inspiration.
Here is the kind mother who tries to protect her children as best she can until death takes her away in her early 40’s. McGahern’s love for his mother is all encompassing and unconditional and is best described by this beautiful exchange between them:
"When she asked me, as she often did, "Who do you love most of all?" I would answer readily and truthfully, "You, Mother," and despite her pleasure, she would correct me.
"You know that's not right, though it makes me glad."
"I love God most of all."
"And after God?"
"Mary, my mother in heaven."
"And after Mary?”
"You, Mother."
"You know that's not right either."
"I love my earthly father and mother equally."
The part of the dream that did not include my father must have been mine alone."
There is however, also his father. Prone to sudden and violent mood swings who shifted from easy smiles to vicious beatings at any moment. Like most of the people in McGahern’s life, his father was complicated. After the passing of his wife, he was left to care for 7 children on his own. He did this in large part with emotional distance (he spent a remarkable time away from his family while his wife was alive and no time with as she was dying during the last month of her life) and violence, and yet perhaps even McGahern wouldn’t dispute that he sincerely wanted to keep the family together as best he could.
Finally there is the child in so many of McGahern’s novels, which we see is the author himself trying to comes to terms with the loss of a nurturing mother while navigating the landmines of living with an abusive father.
It’s all here. Stripped of the veneer of fiction that allows the reader to view painful things behind a wall that assures us that at least it isn’t real, never acknowledging that it is in fact far more real than we may be comfortable with.
I don’t think after finishing this memoir I will be able to ever read a McGahern novel the same way again. I am not convinced that this is necessarily a bad thing. I can now enter into his worlds in sense, together in a kind of solidarity with him. Wince when he winces, raise my arms to deflect a blow from his father when he does, bask in the occasional glory or moment of peace that he does. Be it fiction or memoir, McGahern was an extraordinarily talented writer who had Flaubert’s gift of being present everywhere, visible nowhere.
I’ve recently found myself drawn to several wonderful books such as “My Struggle” by Karl Ove Knausgaard and “Ways of Going Home” by Alejandro Zambra which examine how their life experiences influence their fiction.
I thought about this again as I was reading John McGahern’s memoir of his childhood growing up in rural Ireland. For those unfamiliar with McGahern’s work, (and if so by all means remedy this as soon as possible) his novels are often populated with kind female characters doing the best they can with bad situations, children doing the same, and tyrannical, often violent fathers who rule their homes with emotional distance and iron fists. Reading his fiction, I am often struck by the authenticity of these men and women he writes about and marvel at his ability to bring the compassion, brutality, and range of human emotion to the page.
Reading this memoir, it’s clear the author did not have far to travel for his inspiration.
Here is the kind mother who tries to protect her children as best she can until death takes her away in her early 40’s. McGahern’s love for his mother is all encompassing and unconditional and is best described by this beautiful exchange between them:
"When she asked me, as she often did, "Who do you love most of all?" I would answer readily and truthfully, "You, Mother," and despite her pleasure, she would correct me.
"You know that's not right, though it makes me glad."
"I love God most of all."
"And after God?"
"Mary, my mother in heaven."
"And after Mary?”
"You, Mother."
"You know that's not right either."
"I love my earthly father and mother equally."
The part of the dream that did not include my father must have been mine alone."
There is however, also his father. Prone to sudden and violent mood swings who shifted from easy smiles to vicious beatings at any moment. Like most of the people in McGahern’s life, his father was complicated. After the passing of his wife, he was left to care for 7 children on his own. He did this in large part with emotional distance (he spent a remarkable time away from his family while his wife was alive and no time with as she was dying during the last month of her life) and violence, and yet perhaps even McGahern wouldn’t dispute that he sincerely wanted to keep the family together as best he could.
Finally there is the child in so many of McGahern’s novels, which we see is the author himself trying to comes to terms with the loss of a nurturing mother while navigating the landmines of living with an abusive father.
It’s all here. Stripped of the veneer of fiction that allows the reader to view painful things behind a wall that assures us that at least it isn’t real, never acknowledging that it is in fact far more real than we may be comfortable with.
I don’t think after finishing this memoir I will be able to ever read a McGahern novel the same way again. I am not convinced that this is necessarily a bad thing. I can now enter into his worlds in sense, together in a kind of solidarity with him. Wince when he winces, raise my arms to deflect a blow from his father when he does, bask in the occasional glory or moment of peace that he does. Be it fiction or memoir, McGahern was an extraordinarily talented writer who had Flaubert’s gift of being present everywhere, visible nowhere.
January 31, 2024
Absolute aanrader. Stoor je niet aan de eindeloze rij namen, zoals ik af en toe wel deed 😉
July 13, 2025
There's a Yeats poem called A Coat where he talks about how he used to write in an embroidered style (not that he ever *really* stopped tbh) and lauds the idea of being (stylistically) naked . I suppose it's easier to do in prose than in lyric poetry, but it feels to me that McGahern was always there.
Everything about this is simple, something like literary impressionism. Just layers and layers of simple meaning that sum, even in description of something terrible, to a kind of sensitive beauty.
I don't think I could have appreciated this properly when I was younger, and I suspect that sentiment will hold when I inevitably reread it over the years. The same is true of the short stories, though I'll try and hold off reading those again for a year.
He talks about all stories ultimately being variations of fundamental themes of human experience. In recognising that I'll get more from his, the more experience I have, I think that's the best compliment I can give him.
I'm in the process of convincing Mari to go on a trip to the Leitrim/Roscommon borderlands to Aughawillan and Cootehall as a kind of pilgrimage, god help her.
Everything about this is simple, something like literary impressionism. Just layers and layers of simple meaning that sum, even in description of something terrible, to a kind of sensitive beauty.
I don't think I could have appreciated this properly when I was younger, and I suspect that sentiment will hold when I inevitably reread it over the years. The same is true of the short stories, though I'll try and hold off reading those again for a year.
He talks about all stories ultimately being variations of fundamental themes of human experience. In recognising that I'll get more from his, the more experience I have, I think that's the best compliment I can give him.
I'm in the process of convincing Mari to go on a trip to the Leitrim/Roscommon borderlands to Aughawillan and Cootehall as a kind of pilgrimage, god help her.
November 13, 2022
I have to admit that I've never heard before of John McGahern, which feels embarrassing after learning he is one of the most important writers of the latter half of the 20th century.
This book is brilliant, a story of resilience, courage and survival inspired from his personal life experience, some of his other books were banned in Ireland back in the 60's looking forward to read more from him.
This book is brilliant, a story of resilience, courage and survival inspired from his personal life experience, some of his other books were banned in Ireland back in the 60's looking forward to read more from him.
March 18, 2019
Finished: 18.03.2019
Genre: non-fiction
Rating: B+
#ReadingIrelandMonth19
Conclusion:
The Observer hailed John McGahern as
“the greatest living Irish novelist” before his death in 2006.
My Thoughts
Genre: non-fiction
Rating: B+
#ReadingIrelandMonth19
Conclusion:
The Observer hailed John McGahern as
“the greatest living Irish novelist” before his death in 2006.
My Thoughts
March 19, 2022
From a background of trauma and repression grows a writer of quiet power whose depictions of parental brutality and emotional neglect are juxtaposed with beautiful natural descriptions of the wild unkempt landscape of the West of Ireland . McGahern is a writer of true emotional intelligence
March 18, 2025
A beautiful and well written memoir that focuses mainly on McGahern's childhood - definitely a difficult read at times, due to how abusive his father was toward him and the whole family. Overall though, reading this made me want to pick up other McGahern books
Read
April 10, 2023I read about sixty pages before giving up. Too slow and plodding for me. DNF.
August 16, 2023
Made it halfway through. Loved his “Amongst Women”, but this memoir was just deadly dull.
August 17, 2023
Beautifully written story of the authors childhood and the complexities of his relationship with and the nature of his father. It conveys the essence of a simpler but harder life in Ireland in the 40s and 50s and beyond. It feels like you're peeking at his most intimate and difficult memories from behind the curtains.
August 28, 2018
I wanted to love this book based on what the book store folks advised, and as someone with Irish blood, I am always eager to lap up another tale of horrible childhood.
His was a very challenging life, moving schools repeatedly - often for no good reason - growing up with an absentee father (but not without caring, wise male role models), and enduring physical, emotional, psychological abuse at the hands of his policeman father.
His father was a real bastard, a cold emotional fish, with suppressed sexuality of one kind or another. But Sean and his siblings survive partly out of ignorance (some were so young they were unaware of what was happening) and the others, through the unconditional love of their mother, who even after her death, continues to walk with them through her memory and through prayer.
The author tells the story in one chapter - still thinking about this stylistic decision - and refers to a little boat in which he could escape the barracks where his father could be so abusive. The boat is also an escape for others whom Sean knows. Is the river his route away from the violence? Not sure. I am weak on this kind of analysis.
But the author brings you right into his home, tasting the food, feeling the animals, smelling the peat fires, and cringing at the violence.
A good read but not five for what seemed to me to be numerous repetitive phrases, and I am not sure of the reason.
One last point, this is the first book I have read by McGahern, and in the memoir he recounts how his first two books were banned in Ireland. Given his childhood, I am not surprised that his writing carried some punch, but I would have been interested in what, exactly, prompted the censoring?
Maybe a strategy by the author to get you to read his earlier works? : )
His was a very challenging life, moving schools repeatedly - often for no good reason - growing up with an absentee father (but not without caring, wise male role models), and enduring physical, emotional, psychological abuse at the hands of his policeman father.
His father was a real bastard, a cold emotional fish, with suppressed sexuality of one kind or another. But Sean and his siblings survive partly out of ignorance (some were so young they were unaware of what was happening) and the others, through the unconditional love of their mother, who even after her death, continues to walk with them through her memory and through prayer.
The author tells the story in one chapter - still thinking about this stylistic decision - and refers to a little boat in which he could escape the barracks where his father could be so abusive. The boat is also an escape for others whom Sean knows. Is the river his route away from the violence? Not sure. I am weak on this kind of analysis.
But the author brings you right into his home, tasting the food, feeling the animals, smelling the peat fires, and cringing at the violence.
A good read but not five for what seemed to me to be numerous repetitive phrases, and I am not sure of the reason.
One last point, this is the first book I have read by McGahern, and in the memoir he recounts how his first two books were banned in Ireland. Given his childhood, I am not surprised that his writing carried some punch, but I would have been interested in what, exactly, prompted the censoring?
Maybe a strategy by the author to get you to read his earlier works? : )
August 24, 2012
All Will Be Well is a particularly odd title; he died around the time it was published. But title choice aside, this clearly childhood- focused memoir of rural Ireland in the 50's is beautifully rendered. (I felt the influence of Laurie Lee.) McGahern's Ireland has its familiar characters--the priests, the aunts, grandparents, siblings and of course the parents. There is the (good) mother who died when he was 10 and then we are stuck with the (bad, really bad) father who makes him miserable in new and creative ways throughout his life. The only criticism is that the book had no chapter breaks; the plus is that I want to read his novels as I understand that they are based on the characters in this memoir.
May 7, 2021
I absolutely devoured this memoir. It's a beautifully sad, nuanced, enveloping narration of McGahern's youth, and a deeply personal look into the characters that make up his family. His beloved mother, terrorizing father, flock of sisters, and many others all exist within a backdrop of rural Irish countryside; a microcosm into a different time. So well does McGahern write these individuals that they almost take on a mythic quality, feeling real and vital and knowable, and not just words on a page. This book has stuck with me long after finishing it, carrying an air of whimsy and magic, contentment and nostalgia, but equally strain and heartbreak, that ensure it won't be long before I read it once again.
October 16, 2012
When John McGaheren lost his mother to breast cancer, he was the oldest of five, just ten years old. It felt like the walls of his tentative life were coming down, with the pain of losing her, the war, the poverty in Ireland. Now, there was no buffer between him and his harsh father, who didn't seem to care much that his wife was gone. The older siblings formed strong bonds to stand against this brute. This memoir mirrors McGahern's childhood and beyond.
December 28, 2024
Really enjoyed reading this book, it was really interesting to learn about rural Ireland after the forming of the Free State and the chokehold that the Catholic church had on it.
There are some lovely moments in the boys childhood with his mother as well as a lot of dark moments of violence given by a domineering father.
First thing I've ever read my John McGahern but I will definitely check out some more
There are some lovely moments in the boys childhood with his mother as well as a lot of dark moments of violence given by a domineering father.
First thing I've ever read my John McGahern but I will definitely check out some more
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 9, 2022
I now feel that I need to reread The Barracks and other books by John. His memoir is full of kindness, hope and even love in the face of such brutality and spite. It makes one appreciate life and be thankful not to have been a child of his father. But then again John and his sisters are a joy. Highly recommended.
July 2, 2023
Un livre très émouvant où John McGahern nous livre le matériau de sa vie, utilisé, transformé dans ses romans. L’amour de sa mère lui a donné la force de résister à la colère permanente de son père si violent.
May 26, 2018
An absorbing fusion of McGahern's personal memory with that of Irish nation. A vivid and fluent picture of rural Ireland in 1940s-50s. The book also presents almost all the evils which a father may inflict upon his son. The following quote reveals puritanical people's ignorance and religious bigotry, which most nations suffer from even today:
"A young man replaced Father Glynn for a few months when the old priest fell ill. His sermons were short and delivered quietly in plain language. They related Christianity to the lives of people and stated that reflection on the mystery of life was itself a form of prayer, superior to the mouthing of empty formulas: he touched on character assassination, backbiting, marital violence, child beating, dishonesty, hypocrisy; he claimed a primary place for personal humility and love of others and charity of mind. Many were furious. My father in the front seat was incensed. He lifted up the heavy kneeler, letting it down with a crash on the flagstones to show his disapproval. He did this three times. The young priest refused to be intimidated; he paused and looked directly at him before continuing. My father did not lack support. The criticism took the form of a deep and 203- troubled censoriousness at what the modern church was coming to. They rejoiced when Father Glynn returned. What they wanted was hell and damnation, which they could apply, like death, to other people. I suspect it is no accident that funerals remain our most frequent and important carnivals" (McGahern, Memoir).
"A young man replaced Father Glynn for a few months when the old priest fell ill. His sermons were short and delivered quietly in plain language. They related Christianity to the lives of people and stated that reflection on the mystery of life was itself a form of prayer, superior to the mouthing of empty formulas: he touched on character assassination, backbiting, marital violence, child beating, dishonesty, hypocrisy; he claimed a primary place for personal humility and love of others and charity of mind. Many were furious. My father in the front seat was incensed. He lifted up the heavy kneeler, letting it down with a crash on the flagstones to show his disapproval. He did this three times. The young priest refused to be intimidated; he paused and looked directly at him before continuing. My father did not lack support. The criticism took the form of a deep and 203- troubled censoriousness at what the modern church was coming to. They rejoiced when Father Glynn returned. What they wanted was hell and damnation, which they could apply, like death, to other people. I suspect it is no accident that funerals remain our most frequent and important carnivals" (McGahern, Memoir).
July 24, 2023
Not quite a 5 star, as I did have to "will" myself through parts of it. I think eventually the aspect of McGahern's story that makes this book a page-turner is how McGahern's relationship with his father ends. It ended with his father's death, but if there was ever a case for a healthy estrangement between a parent and his children, this is it.
McGahern's father was terribly abusive to John and all of his siblings. I think as a reader of mostly modern fiction, I've been conditioned to expect a more satisfying conclusion. Namely, I was hoping that John or his brother or some other responsible adult would beat the shit out of the guy and say good bye forever.
Real life doens't work like that for most of us, of course. Even in McGahern's fiction, where his father's bad character traits are often seen, there is no comeuppance. (Sorry if that's a spoiler.)
McGahern does share one satisfying exchange, though, near the very end of the book. He is at the point in his career where he is an established success in the "literary" world, but not in the wider commercial fiction sense. One night over dinner McGahern's father decides to needle him about the relative scale of his accomplishments, as compared to other writers:
"They seem to be doing much better than yourself."
"That wouldn't be hard."
"You don't mind being left behind, then?"
"I don't feel left behind. You do your own work and take what comes."
"You could be forgotten about."
"We'll all be forgotten, some sooner, some later. Anyway, success is not our aim."
"What is your aim?" he asked slowly, sensing he had the advantage, as if conducting a cross-examination in court.
By this time I had enough. "To write well, to write truly and well about fellows like yourself," I said.
McGahern's father was terribly abusive to John and all of his siblings. I think as a reader of mostly modern fiction, I've been conditioned to expect a more satisfying conclusion. Namely, I was hoping that John or his brother or some other responsible adult would beat the shit out of the guy and say good bye forever.
Real life doens't work like that for most of us, of course. Even in McGahern's fiction, where his father's bad character traits are often seen, there is no comeuppance. (Sorry if that's a spoiler.)
McGahern does share one satisfying exchange, though, near the very end of the book. He is at the point in his career where he is an established success in the "literary" world, but not in the wider commercial fiction sense. One night over dinner McGahern's father decides to needle him about the relative scale of his accomplishments, as compared to other writers:
"They seem to be doing much better than yourself."
"That wouldn't be hard."
"You don't mind being left behind, then?"
"I don't feel left behind. You do your own work and take what comes."
"You could be forgotten about."
"We'll all be forgotten, some sooner, some later. Anyway, success is not our aim."
"What is your aim?" he asked slowly, sensing he had the advantage, as if conducting a cross-examination in court.
By this time I had enough. "To write well, to write truly and well about fellows like yourself," I said.
April 25, 2020
"I had come to separate morals and religion, to see morals as simply our relationship with other people and the creatures of the earth and air, and religion as our relationship with our total environment."
There is one bad sentence in this entire book. That's pretty impressive. McGahern manages to write about his rather dark childhood in a way that is not only full of light and life, but is actually quite soothing to read. The letters from his bullying, abusive father (all of which end "Love Daddy") are posited as humorous rather than sad, and McGahern expunges any kind of bitterness (which he would be completely entitled to feel) from the book. The only true flaw in the book is that as it moves from childhood to adulthood, the pace quickens, and we see everyone whiz by in a dizzying blur; people die, but we are rarely given any sense of impact. I suppose this could be considered representative of life, a kind of Woolfian technique of conveying relativity, but it feels off, it strips the book somewhat of the generosity that characterises it. The conclusion, however, in which he describes one last walk with his mother, is deeply moving. Having read quite a few books in the past few weeks that won't shut up, it is nice to read one that relishes silence.
May 28, 2019
This memoir of John McGahern's early life recounts the loss of his mother to breast cancer when he was nine and the subsequent life he and his six younger siblings endured living with their domineering and abusive father in a rural police barracks in the west of Ireland, where the older McGahern presided as sergeant. But for the love and memory of his mother, he might not have broken free from his father's grasp and more than likely would never have become a writer. Since almost all life in Ireland at the time was connected in some way to the Catholic Church, McGahern, in the depiction of his parents, inevitably draws a contrast between his father's devout Catholicism and that of his mother's. Each would say the Rosary daily, each would attend Mass, each would fast at times, and attend special devotions and religious observances. But one was a petty, cruel person, and the other an unassuming, loving one. Beyond the nuanced portrayal of McGahern's family, I also enjoyed the descriptions of rural Irish life in the 1940s and 50s, which at times seemed to interlock with images from the works of Joyce, Yeats, Heaney and other writers and poets from the Emerald Isle.
July 7, 2024
Another gem, although perhaps more in the 4.25-4.5 region. The reason for this is pretty understandable - if, to paraphrase JMcG, your fictional mission is to reproduce the self-contained world of your childhood, what kind of technique to you use to render this already familiar world in memoir form? To anyone who has read The Dark, The Barracks and The Leavetaking, it feels like a lot of material is being reproduced without much of a tonal shift in the first half of the novel, and while the scrupulous use of letters subtly illustrates the balance of power between JMcG’s parents, it is only when he talks about the end of his adolescence that he is able to remove himself from the intensity of his childhood world and provide additional details that fell by the wayside within his fiction more readily. Particularly fascinating is the role of his sisters and his youngest brother and the character of his mother’s side of the family, although it is a shame that he is never too forthcoming about his influences as a writer. Still, one of the best to wield a typewriter it must be said
July 25, 2020
Absolutely entranced by this and have read it the whole day. I do not know any writing about childhood that is more beautiful yet restrained, more lyrical and tender and as a tribute to his mother it is unequalled in its love and beauty. The irish landscape which she loved is described wonderfully and the symmetrical poetry of the beginning and ending so satisfying. The elegiac and reflective tone Present even when dealing with the violence of his father, is lost when he reaches adulthood particularly when he is first published, so that i wish the book just ended there and he dealt with these years separately. But to sustain such a poetic gentle mood for so long is amazing and only in the brevity of Seamus Heaney,s poem about the closeness of his mother and him as a child peeling potatoes can i think of a similar intensity and tenderness.
August 16, 2018
I can’t figure this out. These memoirs followed his masterful novels “Amongst Women” and “That They May Face The Rising Sun” by a few years and set out all the details of his exceptional mother, his ghastly father, the loss and the loathing, the land and times and people...that were so obviously in the former books. Characters, events, attitudes are all peeled back to reveal reality so closely that Some of the writer’s mystique is weakened. My head tells me we really didn’t need both and that there is a chance the fact undermines the fiction - but then from an academic angle it is a parallel resource beyond imagining with most authors.
Just be sure to read the novels first.
Just be sure to read the novels first.
October 18, 2020
The saying that the past is a foreign country is very true when the past is 1940s-1950s rural Ireland where McGahern was raised by a loving and kind mother, who died of cancer when he was 10, and a brutal, abusive father. While this is his specific story, the pervasive authority of the Catholic Church of which he writes, was probably a universal experience. His first novel was banned when it was published. In spite of that McGahern clearly loved the people and landscape of Ireland, and lived most of adult his life with his English wife in the countryside of County Lethrim. This love shows in his writing, which is never sensationalized, and which I suppose is the reason for the title.
January 22, 2024
Superb.
McGahern writes his life with his novelist’s skill and his unerring eye for detail and capturing nuance.
His harsh life offers rich material and his frank and honest telling of it makes for really rewarding reading.
So much of this material has been used in the fiction he gave us, and it is a wonder why he chose to write a memoir and go over this high ground again.
Presumably he felt compelled to tell it as truth and fact, to set the record straight and to document the wrongs he witnessed and suffered.
Whatever the motivation, the book is stunningly beautiful and haunting; a reminder of what we lost when he died.
McGahern writes his life with his novelist’s skill and his unerring eye for detail and capturing nuance.
His harsh life offers rich material and his frank and honest telling of it makes for really rewarding reading.
So much of this material has been used in the fiction he gave us, and it is a wonder why he chose to write a memoir and go over this high ground again.
Presumably he felt compelled to tell it as truth and fact, to set the record straight and to document the wrongs he witnessed and suffered.
Whatever the motivation, the book is stunningly beautiful and haunting; a reminder of what we lost when he died.
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