Finn from Ballyhaunis; Cairistiona of Dunshee: a love story for the bards.
This quiet book dedicated to the author's beloved Honora Flynn from Ballyhounis, near Knock in the heart of Connaught, tells an important story about Ireland, one we tend to forget when we wax romantic about the wee people and the Guinness and the Blarney Stone. It hangs out Ireland's dirty laundry for all to see in the context of a powerful story of two people, inseparable in spirit, obsessed with each other, truly destined for each other: Finn and Kirsty.
It tells the story of dislocation, what happens to those left behind, the effect of the Magdalene Laundries on real people and the horrid schools run by the Christian Brothers. I admire their New Irish Grammar and my copy is worn ragged, but what they did to those children in their keep was unforgiveable.
All of the characters are captivating and well-developed - they are all people I have known in some form. That is a tribute to the author - the characters are so well-wrought as to merge with real people in my memory. There are Max, India, Flora, Alasdair, Nicolas, Father Kevin, Aunty Beatie from the present but also Mary, Grania, and Francis reaching for Finn from the past. And the integral indescribably beautiful fiddle music of Ireland and Scotland takes center stage too, but all are overshadowed by Finn and Kirsty, everpresent.
The "iron age hill fort" becomes the lodestar for the two "so closely intertwined it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began" against the backdrop of the sea, the whins and the blue blue sky. It becomes the anchor for their aspirations and the place where their spirits return to commune.
Kirsty's daughter says: ‘I hope to God I never fall in love like that.’ ‘Most people go through life looking for that kind of passion. Reading about it. Hankering after it.’ ‘Then they’re crazy. And isn’t it lucky that most of us never find it? It destroys you.’
"At the funeral service, India played the fiddle, her great grandad’s old fiddle, to which she had fallen heir, filling the kirk with the most glorious, heartrending sound. She played a lament, her grief stricken and gravely beautiful face bent over the instrument. The music would have wrung tears from a stone. That was what everyone said afterwards, curiously comforted by the perception that they were in the presence of an uncommon talent "
When someone asks me "what is this book about?" I will say: it is about "imposing shape and meaning on the chaos" of life and death; but more particularly about life and death in Ireland and the Hebrides; it is about self-denial and about self-indulgence; it is about comfort and discomfort; it is about tea and sympathy; it is about the corncrake and it is about music. I will say it is the story of Finn and Kirsty, who "danced in the morning when the world was begun and danced in the moon and the stars and the sun."