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The Deposition of Father McGreevy
In a London pub in the 1950s, editor William Maginn is intrigued by a reference to the reputedly shameful demise of a remote mountain village in Kerry, Ireland, where he was born. Maginn returns to Kerry and uncovers an astonishing tale: both the account of the destruction of a place and a way of life which once preserved Ireland’s ancient traditions, and the tragedy of an increasingly isolated village where the women mysteriously die – leaving the priest, Father McGreevy, to cope.
McGreevy struggles to preserve what remains of his parish, and against the rough mountain elements, the grief and superstitions of his people, and the growing distrust in the town below. Rich in the details of Irish lore and life, and a gripping exploration of both the locus of misfortune and the nature of evil, its narrative evokes both a time and a place with the accuracy of a keen unsentimental eye, and renders its characters with heartfelt depth.
A remarkable haunting and sometimes harrowing book that will leave you thinking long after the final pages have turned.
'Enthralling, chilling and memorable' - Sunday Telegraph
'So original that the text is illuminating' - The Times
'This priestly deposition develops into a grand examination of blind faith. The shiver at the end chills right down to the soul' - TLS
'Magical to the core. Read it and be smitten by this masterpiece as I was' - Walter Abish
McGreevy struggles to preserve what remains of his parish, and against the rough mountain elements, the grief and superstitions of his people, and the growing distrust in the town below. Rich in the details of Irish lore and life, and a gripping exploration of both the locus of misfortune and the nature of evil, its narrative evokes both a time and a place with the accuracy of a keen unsentimental eye, and renders its characters with heartfelt depth.
A remarkable haunting and sometimes harrowing book that will leave you thinking long after the final pages have turned.
'Enthralling, chilling and memorable' - Sunday Telegraph
'So original that the text is illuminating' - The Times
'This priestly deposition develops into a grand examination of blind faith. The shiver at the end chills right down to the soul' - TLS
'Magical to the core. Read it and be smitten by this masterpiece as I was' - Walter Abish
322 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1999
17 people are currently reading
514 people want to read
About the author
Brian O'Doherty
47 books12 followersBrian O'Doherty is an Irish art critic, writer, artist, and academic. He was born at Ballaghaderreen in County Roscommon in 1928, and grew up in Dublin. He studied medicine at University College Dublin, and did post-graduate work at Cambridge University and at the Harvard School of Public Health. He has lived in New York for more than 50 years.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 35 reviews
July 10, 2012
"Go on, go on"
"Stop prodding me. What's the point?"
"Just one more review, come on..."
"oh. Well... it's a long time since I read this, I can't remember. What's the point of reading books you can't remember and even more ridiculously then reviewing them years later...oh okay stop prodding... er well...there's this isolated village in the Irish mountains and all kinds of dark tales are swirling about the strange denizzzz..."
"Hey! HEY!"
"- uh what?"
"I think you dozed off there. In the middle of a word. "
" well, I.. I..."
"Just try, just a leetle review, come on... Hey - HEY! This is hopeless, he's asleep again. I know. I'll switch the tv on to the PERMANENTLY BLARING POP CHANNEL - tee hee! Oh look, it's a Katy Perry special. how charming"
Katy Perry : AND YOU'RE HOT AND YOU'RE COLD AND YOU'RE IN AND YOU'RE OUT
"Oh! what! what's that row? Oh god, turn that rubbish off. Why are you tormenting me?"
"Just one tiny review, just one leetle review, then you can drift off into the arms of Morpheus, I promise. "
"I already told you... isolation, Irish, bestiality, sheep, loneliness, frankly.... fff... frankly..."
"Frankly what?"
"It was much amoo about nothing. Now please..."
"Stop prodding me. What's the point?"
"Just one more review, come on..."
"oh. Well... it's a long time since I read this, I can't remember. What's the point of reading books you can't remember and even more ridiculously then reviewing them years later...oh okay stop prodding... er well...there's this isolated village in the Irish mountains and all kinds of dark tales are swirling about the strange denizzzz..."
"Hey! HEY!"
"- uh what?"
"I think you dozed off there. In the middle of a word. "
" well, I.. I..."
"Just try, just a leetle review, come on... Hey - HEY! This is hopeless, he's asleep again. I know. I'll switch the tv on to the PERMANENTLY BLARING POP CHANNEL - tee hee! Oh look, it's a Katy Perry special. how charming"
Katy Perry : AND YOU'RE HOT AND YOU'RE COLD AND YOU'RE IN AND YOU'RE OUT
"Oh! what! what's that row? Oh god, turn that rubbish off. Why are you tormenting me?"
"Just one tiny review, just one leetle review, then you can drift off into the arms of Morpheus, I promise. "
"I already told you... isolation, Irish, bestiality, sheep, loneliness, frankly.... fff... frankly..."
"Frankly what?"
"It was much amoo about nothing. Now please..."
February 12, 2008
I will be quite honest and up front by telling you that this book is weird. The subject matter is definitely most bizarre, and if you are uptight (how's that for the roots of my 70s upbringing?) about strange sexual practices don't bother to open the book.
"The Deposition of Father McGreevy" takes place in County Kerry. Although it opens in the present, with a writer who gets wind of this bizarre story, the flashback goes to the beginning of World War II. Overall, what we are examining in this particular story is symbolic; the village under study here, up in the hills is a symbol of other once peaceful, agricultural villages that meet their decline in the face of the importance of towns & cities. Sadly, along with the decline of the village went the loss of tradition, folklore, original native beliefs, etc.
Father McGreevy's story, and indeed that of the village, is told through his deposition to the courts at a trial of which have no information until the end of the story. What we know is that the priest has lived in this village and served the people for 30 years, and that the bishop of his area has decided it is time to close up the church in the village in the hills & for Father McGreevy to become an assistant to a canon down in the town. The townspeople have a dislike and distrust of the hill/village people; at the beginning of his story McGreevy describes an incredibly harsh winter that affected the village and afflicted the women with some bizarre type of disease that killed them all off. By all, I meant 5; that's how small the village was. Down below, in the town, no one cared enough to send up supplies or to even go up and ascertain the condition of the villagers; so it is not until late spring that the town gets wind of what happened. A) the townspeople feel guilty as this situation makes them look bad; B) the incident leaves the townspeople suspicious and even more so when Father McGreevy adamantly refuses to let the health officials do autopsies to find out how the women died.
During the deposition, the reader finds out about some pretty bizarre stuff that happens in the village during the 2nd harsh winter up on the mountain; I won't give it away in case anyone wants to read this. However, the incidents are related by a villager who has decided to marry above him and live in the town, turning his back on his history & people; he sets into motion events which highlight the suspicious nature of the town regarding the villagers & no one is spared.
At times the book tended to drag along, but the writing was good enough that I couldn't put it down.
"The Deposition of Father McGreevy" takes place in County Kerry. Although it opens in the present, with a writer who gets wind of this bizarre story, the flashback goes to the beginning of World War II. Overall, what we are examining in this particular story is symbolic; the village under study here, up in the hills is a symbol of other once peaceful, agricultural villages that meet their decline in the face of the importance of towns & cities. Sadly, along with the decline of the village went the loss of tradition, folklore, original native beliefs, etc.
Father McGreevy's story, and indeed that of the village, is told through his deposition to the courts at a trial of which have no information until the end of the story. What we know is that the priest has lived in this village and served the people for 30 years, and that the bishop of his area has decided it is time to close up the church in the village in the hills & for Father McGreevy to become an assistant to a canon down in the town. The townspeople have a dislike and distrust of the hill/village people; at the beginning of his story McGreevy describes an incredibly harsh winter that affected the village and afflicted the women with some bizarre type of disease that killed them all off. By all, I meant 5; that's how small the village was. Down below, in the town, no one cared enough to send up supplies or to even go up and ascertain the condition of the villagers; so it is not until late spring that the town gets wind of what happened. A) the townspeople feel guilty as this situation makes them look bad; B) the incident leaves the townspeople suspicious and even more so when Father McGreevy adamantly refuses to let the health officials do autopsies to find out how the women died.
During the deposition, the reader finds out about some pretty bizarre stuff that happens in the village during the 2nd harsh winter up on the mountain; I won't give it away in case anyone wants to read this. However, the incidents are related by a villager who has decided to marry above him and live in the town, turning his back on his history & people; he sets into motion events which highlight the suspicious nature of the town regarding the villagers & no one is spared.
At times the book tended to drag along, but the writing was good enough that I couldn't put it down.
February 20, 2014
In The Deposition of Father McGreevy Brian O’Doherty transports us into a world and culture that will be quite alien to most readers. By the book’s end, we may even be convinced that this might be a different universe.
But Brian O’Doherty’s book is set in Ireland, not some distant, fanciful galaxy. It’s the west of Ireland, County Kerry to be precise, where there is a remote community on a mountain side. A harsh winter has brought sickness and, in this small place, all the women have died. It’s a momentous calamity, rendered all the more devastating by the community’s inability to bury the corpses, because the earth is too frozen to break. The local priest, Father McGreevy, takes up his pen to describe the plight of his parishioners, as they struggle to come to terms with the fate that has befallen them.
Father McGreevy’s view of the world, of course, comes from a particular standpoint. He deals with sin, guilt and all the other trappings of Roman Catholicism. But he is also a man of the world, and understands much, though not all, of what makes men tick, even though women do seem to remain a tad beyond the pale. He is also aware of how the demon drink can enter a man’s soul and transform him into something he might never have wanted to be.
None of this would have come to light, however, if William McGinn, a journalist in the 1950s, had not come into the possession of Father McGreevy’s jottings. The old fellow was gone to earth himself by the time an envelope with his testimony passed into the hands of McGinn who, out of curiosity and a need to unearth a good story, tells us the priest’s tale. Footnoted to explain the more obscure allusions and references to Irish history, literature and folklore, Father McGreevy’s notes begin with the winter tragedy. What begins to unfold, however, is a decline to death of an entire community, itself a metaphor for a whole way of life.
Pestered by progress, battered by the elements and deserted by its masters, the peasant existence, that for so long had been life’s only option, was now being squeezed into the shape of an in-bred deformity. This village on a mountainside is frozen as much by time as by its winter frost. Perhaps McGreevy’s reliance on religion to seek an explanation for illness and misfortune, an approach that in the past might have united a community struck by adversity, was already itself part of the problem, part of the frostiness that hardened everything into an unyielding, unforgiving, inflexible and hostile environment.
But what we are not prepared for in this tale of degeneration and decline is how McGreevy’s tale develops. The priest bears witness to some deep sins, acts that he previously had never even imagined possible. The lad might have been a half-wit, but he had a complete body, that’s for sure. And, again for sure, the acts in question are not what you think they are. The Father’s deposition has it all, and it’s there for you and William McGinn to read. Let it be said that the local doctor, himself a metaphor for a more pragmatic and modern way of life, takes a remarkably casual, even ungodly line, when McGreevy bares his soul to describe these shocking practices.
But, as ever, as sin leads to more sin, grievous acts lead to more eve grievous consequences. And it’s only via locating some of the participants, still alive but incarcerated in mental hospitals in their decrepit old age, that McGinn forms his own version of what happened up there in the frost on that Kerry mountainside.
The Deposition of Father McGreevy is an extended poem. But it is also a deeply surprising, ever shocking tale of the desperation that almost inevitably rules a way of life. Strangely, we never really did establish what happened to all those women, the ones who died that winter. And we never really established why the ailment was so gender-specific. We do know, however, why the men might just have been the cause of the plague. Because, when left to their own devices, it may be sin and depravity that beckons, and this just might be their true nature. The Deposition of Father McGreevy is often funny, is always graphic and is continually evocative of a potentially endearing culture. But it’s not a reassuring vision of humanity.
But Brian O’Doherty’s book is set in Ireland, not some distant, fanciful galaxy. It’s the west of Ireland, County Kerry to be precise, where there is a remote community on a mountain side. A harsh winter has brought sickness and, in this small place, all the women have died. It’s a momentous calamity, rendered all the more devastating by the community’s inability to bury the corpses, because the earth is too frozen to break. The local priest, Father McGreevy, takes up his pen to describe the plight of his parishioners, as they struggle to come to terms with the fate that has befallen them.
Father McGreevy’s view of the world, of course, comes from a particular standpoint. He deals with sin, guilt and all the other trappings of Roman Catholicism. But he is also a man of the world, and understands much, though not all, of what makes men tick, even though women do seem to remain a tad beyond the pale. He is also aware of how the demon drink can enter a man’s soul and transform him into something he might never have wanted to be.
None of this would have come to light, however, if William McGinn, a journalist in the 1950s, had not come into the possession of Father McGreevy’s jottings. The old fellow was gone to earth himself by the time an envelope with his testimony passed into the hands of McGinn who, out of curiosity and a need to unearth a good story, tells us the priest’s tale. Footnoted to explain the more obscure allusions and references to Irish history, literature and folklore, Father McGreevy’s notes begin with the winter tragedy. What begins to unfold, however, is a decline to death of an entire community, itself a metaphor for a whole way of life.
Pestered by progress, battered by the elements and deserted by its masters, the peasant existence, that for so long had been life’s only option, was now being squeezed into the shape of an in-bred deformity. This village on a mountainside is frozen as much by time as by its winter frost. Perhaps McGreevy’s reliance on religion to seek an explanation for illness and misfortune, an approach that in the past might have united a community struck by adversity, was already itself part of the problem, part of the frostiness that hardened everything into an unyielding, unforgiving, inflexible and hostile environment.
But what we are not prepared for in this tale of degeneration and decline is how McGreevy’s tale develops. The priest bears witness to some deep sins, acts that he previously had never even imagined possible. The lad might have been a half-wit, but he had a complete body, that’s for sure. And, again for sure, the acts in question are not what you think they are. The Father’s deposition has it all, and it’s there for you and William McGinn to read. Let it be said that the local doctor, himself a metaphor for a more pragmatic and modern way of life, takes a remarkably casual, even ungodly line, when McGreevy bares his soul to describe these shocking practices.
But, as ever, as sin leads to more sin, grievous acts lead to more eve grievous consequences. And it’s only via locating some of the participants, still alive but incarcerated in mental hospitals in their decrepit old age, that McGinn forms his own version of what happened up there in the frost on that Kerry mountainside.
The Deposition of Father McGreevy is an extended poem. But it is also a deeply surprising, ever shocking tale of the desperation that almost inevitably rules a way of life. Strangely, we never really did establish what happened to all those women, the ones who died that winter. And we never really established why the ailment was so gender-specific. We do know, however, why the men might just have been the cause of the plague. Because, when left to their own devices, it may be sin and depravity that beckons, and this just might be their true nature. The Deposition of Father McGreevy is often funny, is always graphic and is continually evocative of a potentially endearing culture. But it’s not a reassuring vision of humanity.
February 10, 2011
This is an unusual and unique tale about an Irish village set in the mountains. Some readers have complained that the story is too long or rambling, but it's the Irish tale tradition. Also, there has been at least on reviewer who says the crazy woman did it, but it's not a tale of who did what really, but a tale told for the tale's sake. If you like Leon Uris or you're in the mood for a thinker's tale then this is for you.
June 17, 2010
Up to p.300 now. Another meandering Irish tale I've not been able to put down..reading till 5am when I should have been sleeping. It's written in a typical Irish fable style (in that) that goes on and on and on, with a plethora of details and sidetracks to waylay you and delay the point and can almost send you mad in frustration but for the regular appearances of black comedy occasioned by the peculiar Irish ironic turn of phrase. It's a storytelling style my old Irish born Uncle was good at and he could delay the point of a story for weeks rambling on and on although every thing he said was fascinating in itself, he had for instance at least a hundred stories about apples & could weave them together in the most astonishing ways with many different meanings. In any event I have more to say but will when I get to the end of it.
It is the story of the decline and demise of a little mountain village during WW2, Ireland, the priest who's powerless to stop it, and the magazine editor who finds himself digging into the village's secrets years later.It's an unrelenting story of the disintegration of an Irish way of life as institutional religion, nationalism and the darker forces of human nature conspire to destroy a people and a place that O'Doherty evokes with great pathos. Musing on the Father's deposition, Maginn ponders "I'm not sure what it tells us beyond the fact that there are some good people, some bad people, and a lot of people who are one or the other depending on the circumstances". It's another Irish lament of hard times but this time aside from the weather, it's really lamenting progress.
There are some excellent annotated notes throughout on historical sources for further Irish history/Gaelic language reading.
It is the story of the decline and demise of a little mountain village during WW2, Ireland, the priest who's powerless to stop it, and the magazine editor who finds himself digging into the village's secrets years later.It's an unrelenting story of the disintegration of an Irish way of life as institutional religion, nationalism and the darker forces of human nature conspire to destroy a people and a place that O'Doherty evokes with great pathos. Musing on the Father's deposition, Maginn ponders "I'm not sure what it tells us beyond the fact that there are some good people, some bad people, and a lot of people who are one or the other depending on the circumstances". It's another Irish lament of hard times but this time aside from the weather, it's really lamenting progress.
There are some excellent annotated notes throughout on historical sources for further Irish history/Gaelic language reading.
August 25, 2019
A beautifully observed account of life, and death, in a tiny Irish community 75 years ago, but it feels almost mediaeval. In fact, having just read Jim Crace's Harvest, the life styles are not that different but being Ireland there's a priest wherever you go and if you know anything about the country a couple of generations ago then there is a lot you will understand. As for the sheep-shagging, I thought it was more of a red herring and a joke on all those who don't understand folk out in the sticks, or in this case up a mountain. There will always be an excuse to make fun of those who are supposedly less sophisticated than town-dwellers and city-slickers........
June 11, 2008
The tale of a village that died out as told largely by its priest. This reads very much like a detective novel, although it is so much more than that. The landscapes and people of the Irish hills are beautifully described and depicted and this novel is a very rewarding read.
It is also a microcosm of a style of life that no longer really exists, even in the wilds of Ireland.
It is also a microcosm of a style of life that no longer really exists, even in the wilds of Ireland.
August 11, 2009
You know, I grew up on a farm and it never even crossed my mind to do to sheep what goes on up there in the hills of ireland. A moving book never the less - about time passing over Ireland and the fits and starts that modernization brings to an isolated agrarian community.
May 27, 2013
Sort-of-interesting tale set in rural Ireland around the time of the second world war (when Ireland was neutral). A bit padded and up in the air for me to be honest, I think would have been more powerful as short story or short novel (vs 300 pages).
May 12, 2024
It's a solid enough read with an engrossing story of desolation in the Irish countrysides. At the midway point of the story it felt like this was going to become a story of a priest battling the temptation to "fraternise" with the local farm animals, and I must confess I was slightly more interested in that angle than the angle it ended up going in. But still, solid.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 1, 2020
Magazine editor William Maginn is intrigued when he hears a strange story that five women had died inexplicably in a remote mountain village in Co. Kerry in 1939 and of a possibly unrelated trial that followed and put a community to shame.
‘They never got to the bottom of it,’ his informant tells him. Which is enough to set off his curiosity, which takes him to the long testimony to police by the local priest, Father McGreevy.
It’s a remarkable feat by O’Doherty to speak with the authentic voice of this narrow-minded and retributive witness, who bears unsympathetic testimony to what has gone one, including the deaths and acts of bestiality.
The priest is not without insights into his flock, acknowledging ‘that what is deep in the people’s minds is dangerous to displace’ while believing it ‘can be joined with the true teaching and adapted to God’s plan.’ And into himself: ‘There’s a darkness inside us from original sin, and you wouldn’t want to spend too much time looking at that aspect of yourself.’
His language reflects that of the untamed country in which he has been long immersed, as on waking after heavy overnight snow ‘gradually I saw the ghost of a glow on the ground as if the sky had fallen.’
But is is perhaps an unreliable narrative in that he seems unaware of country ways and of much that goes on around him; his disregard is exemplified when he fails to recognise the surname of the housekeeper who has worked for him for five years.
She, whom he dismissively always refers to Old Biddy, is a repository of old superstitions, that may or may not be shared by others. But while the story amounts to an allegory of a dying culture, previously visited by tourists for its curiosity value, it also shows the priest equally beholden to another form of unquestioning dogma. And it’s hardly a surprise when, despairing of the sins of the world, he confesses, ‘Sometimes you’d be thinking it’s a mild dictatorship we need, like Salazar in Portugal.’
If there is a dominant force here, it’s not the pixies or God, but the land itself, its history – recalled in footnotes to Fr. McGreevy’s poetic references - and the hardships it imposes. One particularly haunting image is of men and dogs standing like statues amid the dead, who cannot be buried because the ground is frozen hard, and whose coffins have meanwhile been disarranged by a storm.
It’s the account, however, of a bit of sheep-shagging by the brain-damaged local lad that takes over thereafter, a crime that mortifies the priest. The reader is invited to take a more understanding approach by the reaction of the doctor, who in McGreevy’s presence laughs off the incident, and indeed by Maginn who readily recalls youthful adventures with cattle.
Then another death, a fire, two people ending up in asylums. But what actually happened in the village of the damned remains unclear, even contradictory.
A review in the respected Publisher’s Weekly assumed that one of those inmates has been convicted of killing his ovine-oriented offspring, yet a conversation with the man’s nurse clearly suggests otherwise and that he has been – probably unjustly – done for the buggery actually committed by his son. As for McGreevy, we are told at the outset, that he was unfrocked, but told later that he continued his ministry to a religious order.
Nor do we learn any more about the deaths of those five women, even though a post-mortem was conducted. Did the herbal potions of Biddy McGurk, now also in an asylum, have anything to do with them, or with the absence of Mr McGurk? I was left in something of an Irish fog. Any offers?
‘They never got to the bottom of it,’ his informant tells him. Which is enough to set off his curiosity, which takes him to the long testimony to police by the local priest, Father McGreevy.
It’s a remarkable feat by O’Doherty to speak with the authentic voice of this narrow-minded and retributive witness, who bears unsympathetic testimony to what has gone one, including the deaths and acts of bestiality.
The priest is not without insights into his flock, acknowledging ‘that what is deep in the people’s minds is dangerous to displace’ while believing it ‘can be joined with the true teaching and adapted to God’s plan.’ And into himself: ‘There’s a darkness inside us from original sin, and you wouldn’t want to spend too much time looking at that aspect of yourself.’
His language reflects that of the untamed country in which he has been long immersed, as on waking after heavy overnight snow ‘gradually I saw the ghost of a glow on the ground as if the sky had fallen.’
But is is perhaps an unreliable narrative in that he seems unaware of country ways and of much that goes on around him; his disregard is exemplified when he fails to recognise the surname of the housekeeper who has worked for him for five years.
She, whom he dismissively always refers to Old Biddy, is a repository of old superstitions, that may or may not be shared by others. But while the story amounts to an allegory of a dying culture, previously visited by tourists for its curiosity value, it also shows the priest equally beholden to another form of unquestioning dogma. And it’s hardly a surprise when, despairing of the sins of the world, he confesses, ‘Sometimes you’d be thinking it’s a mild dictatorship we need, like Salazar in Portugal.’
If there is a dominant force here, it’s not the pixies or God, but the land itself, its history – recalled in footnotes to Fr. McGreevy’s poetic references - and the hardships it imposes. One particularly haunting image is of men and dogs standing like statues amid the dead, who cannot be buried because the ground is frozen hard, and whose coffins have meanwhile been disarranged by a storm.
It’s the account, however, of a bit of sheep-shagging by the brain-damaged local lad that takes over thereafter, a crime that mortifies the priest. The reader is invited to take a more understanding approach by the reaction of the doctor, who in McGreevy’s presence laughs off the incident, and indeed by Maginn who readily recalls youthful adventures with cattle.
Then another death, a fire, two people ending up in asylums. But what actually happened in the village of the damned remains unclear, even contradictory.
A review in the respected Publisher’s Weekly assumed that one of those inmates has been convicted of killing his ovine-oriented offspring, yet a conversation with the man’s nurse clearly suggests otherwise and that he has been – probably unjustly – done for the buggery actually committed by his son. As for McGreevy, we are told at the outset, that he was unfrocked, but told later that he continued his ministry to a religious order.
Nor do we learn any more about the deaths of those five women, even though a post-mortem was conducted. Did the herbal potions of Biddy McGurk, now also in an asylum, have anything to do with them, or with the absence of Mr McGurk? I was left in something of an Irish fog. Any offers?
December 27, 2010
Ve výpovědi otce McGreevyho se stáváme na dva roky, resp. na dvě kruté zimy svědky života a životních situací obyvatel malé horské vesničky na západě Irska (hrabství Kerry). Autor však vykonstruoval příběh příliš fantaskní na to, aby mu bylo lze uvěřit. Výpověď obsahuje mnoho drobných zápletek, jejichž vykonstruovanost místy bije do očí.
Kniha ani není typickým představitelem irské literatury, byť se o to snaží. Bohužel až příliš okatě a na úkor příběhu. Postava otce Greevyho je poměrně směšná na to, aby se dalo mluvit o typickém irském duchovním, navíc nemá na lidi kolem sebe až takový vliv, jaký církev v té době mívala. Také dramatičnost, o kterou se autor snaží, nutí místy k pousmání.
Existuje bohužel jediný důvod, proč si knihu nějaký čas ponechám v knihovně. Tím je mnoho odkazů na irské dějiny, irskou mytologii, lidovou tvorbu a postavy, které v irské historii měly význam. Bohužel tyto informace lze z 90 % posbírat z poznámek na konci knihy. Zbytek je v textu, často poblíž odkazů na tyto poznámky. Pokud se zajímáte o irštinu, přidejte si plus k hodnocení.
Má tedy vůbec smysl se touto knihou, nominovanou v roce 2000 na Bookerovu cenu, zabývat? Záleží na tom, co o ní očekáváte. Jestliže se chcete seznámit s irskou literaturou, „výpovědí“ rozhodně nezačínejte. Pokud chcete jinou formou získat pár informací, o kterých mluvím v předchozím odstavci, klidně si ji přečtěte.
Brian O'Doherty: Výpověď otce McGreevyho. Volvox Globator, 2003 (orig. 1993), 224 stran, ISBN: 80-7207-519-5
Hodnocení: 65 %
Pár citátů, které jsem si poznamenal:
„Když jsem se na hory díval ‚v angličtině‘ – jestli mi rozumíte – nezdály se tak pusté a děsivé. Jak že to myslím? Jestli je snad rozdíl mezi horou a sliabh? Ano, je. V angličtině se sníh a ty obrovské skály nezdály tak hrozivé, jako by všechno mělo nakonec dobře dopadnout a ta chvíle jako by už nebyla daleko. Hora byla hora a sníh byl sníh a všechno bylo zkrátka jen to, co to bylo, a nic víc. Když jsem ale přemýšlel v irštině, všechno kolem bylo najednou divočejší a plné napjatého očekávání, jako když čekáte, až kámen dopadne na dno studny. Člověk měl pocit, že sníh bude padat bez přestání až do posledního ticha světa, kdy na zemi nezůstane jediná živá duše. Představoval jsem si, že se potom krajina otřepe jako mokrý pes – a že kdybych od ní odvrátil oči, možná by to opravdu udělala. Něco takového ve vás angličtina nikdy nevyvolá.“
„Na sklonku léta se člověku někdy zdá, jako by se země otáčela stále pomaleji, až se nakonec zastaví, rozvité květy sytí vzduch vůní, obilí stojí nehybně ani nezašumí, jen tvář vám možná pohladí lehký vánek. Máte pocit, že v tom tichu a nehybnosti slyšíte doznívat táhlý tón. Obklopení hřejivým vzduchem cítíte klid a mír, jako by se světem bylo vše v pořádku.“
„Má babička byla tehdy děcko a to, co jí o hladomoru vyprávěl její otec, mám dodnes v živé paměti – jak člověk podél cest potkával lidi s ústy zelenými od spásání trávy. Jak měli pro všechny jen jedinou rakev, rakev bez víka, jen s odklápěcím dnem. Mrtvého uložili do rakve a muži z vesnice, ač slabí jako mouchy, pak rakev převezli ke hrobu na voze tažené oslíkem, který byl sám polomrtvý. Tenhle oslík měl pořád co dělat, znovu a znovu jezdil k tomu velikému hrobu, který vždycky jen trochu rozšířili, aby se vešlo další tělo, protože nikdo, vyprávěla babička, už neměl sílu kopat do hloubky. A k tomu ani neměli kněze. Položili pokaždé rakev na dva dřevěné sloupky, odklopili dno a nebožákovo tělo vypadlo do hrobu. Pak šli pro další. Hlad je hrozná věc, říkávala babička. Zpočátku rve útroby jako divá šelma, až se to ve vás nakonec utiší, a to pak začne dlouhé umírání.“
„Když nad tím tak člověk přemýšlí, v minulosti je obsaženo tolik útrap, že by to jednomu vzalo odvahu čelit budoucnosti.“
„Britové vždycky potřebovali na vyhrávání válek Iry.“
Kniha ani není typickým představitelem irské literatury, byť se o to snaží. Bohužel až příliš okatě a na úkor příběhu. Postava otce Greevyho je poměrně směšná na to, aby se dalo mluvit o typickém irském duchovním, navíc nemá na lidi kolem sebe až takový vliv, jaký církev v té době mívala. Také dramatičnost, o kterou se autor snaží, nutí místy k pousmání.
Existuje bohužel jediný důvod, proč si knihu nějaký čas ponechám v knihovně. Tím je mnoho odkazů na irské dějiny, irskou mytologii, lidovou tvorbu a postavy, které v irské historii měly význam. Bohužel tyto informace lze z 90 % posbírat z poznámek na konci knihy. Zbytek je v textu, často poblíž odkazů na tyto poznámky. Pokud se zajímáte o irštinu, přidejte si plus k hodnocení.
Má tedy vůbec smysl se touto knihou, nominovanou v roce 2000 na Bookerovu cenu, zabývat? Záleží na tom, co o ní očekáváte. Jestliže se chcete seznámit s irskou literaturou, „výpovědí“ rozhodně nezačínejte. Pokud chcete jinou formou získat pár informací, o kterých mluvím v předchozím odstavci, klidně si ji přečtěte.
Brian O'Doherty: Výpověď otce McGreevyho. Volvox Globator, 2003 (orig. 1993), 224 stran, ISBN: 80-7207-519-5
Hodnocení: 65 %
Pár citátů, které jsem si poznamenal:
„Když jsem se na hory díval ‚v angličtině‘ – jestli mi rozumíte – nezdály se tak pusté a děsivé. Jak že to myslím? Jestli je snad rozdíl mezi horou a sliabh? Ano, je. V angličtině se sníh a ty obrovské skály nezdály tak hrozivé, jako by všechno mělo nakonec dobře dopadnout a ta chvíle jako by už nebyla daleko. Hora byla hora a sníh byl sníh a všechno bylo zkrátka jen to, co to bylo, a nic víc. Když jsem ale přemýšlel v irštině, všechno kolem bylo najednou divočejší a plné napjatého očekávání, jako když čekáte, až kámen dopadne na dno studny. Člověk měl pocit, že sníh bude padat bez přestání až do posledního ticha světa, kdy na zemi nezůstane jediná živá duše. Představoval jsem si, že se potom krajina otřepe jako mokrý pes – a že kdybych od ní odvrátil oči, možná by to opravdu udělala. Něco takového ve vás angličtina nikdy nevyvolá.“
„Na sklonku léta se člověku někdy zdá, jako by se země otáčela stále pomaleji, až se nakonec zastaví, rozvité květy sytí vzduch vůní, obilí stojí nehybně ani nezašumí, jen tvář vám možná pohladí lehký vánek. Máte pocit, že v tom tichu a nehybnosti slyšíte doznívat táhlý tón. Obklopení hřejivým vzduchem cítíte klid a mír, jako by se světem bylo vše v pořádku.“
„Má babička byla tehdy děcko a to, co jí o hladomoru vyprávěl její otec, mám dodnes v živé paměti – jak člověk podél cest potkával lidi s ústy zelenými od spásání trávy. Jak měli pro všechny jen jedinou rakev, rakev bez víka, jen s odklápěcím dnem. Mrtvého uložili do rakve a muži z vesnice, ač slabí jako mouchy, pak rakev převezli ke hrobu na voze tažené oslíkem, který byl sám polomrtvý. Tenhle oslík měl pořád co dělat, znovu a znovu jezdil k tomu velikému hrobu, který vždycky jen trochu rozšířili, aby se vešlo další tělo, protože nikdo, vyprávěla babička, už neměl sílu kopat do hloubky. A k tomu ani neměli kněze. Položili pokaždé rakev na dva dřevěné sloupky, odklopili dno a nebožákovo tělo vypadlo do hrobu. Pak šli pro další. Hlad je hrozná věc, říkávala babička. Zpočátku rve útroby jako divá šelma, až se to ve vás nakonec utiší, a to pak začne dlouhé umírání.“
„Když nad tím tak člověk přemýšlí, v minulosti je obsaženo tolik útrap, že by to jednomu vzalo odvahu čelit budoucnosti.“
„Britové vždycky potřebovali na vyhrávání válek Iry.“
April 17, 2013
The setting: a small Irish village in the middle of nowhere: a stark, dreadful winter in which all the younger women die, leaving their menfolk and children to battle on. Their priest narrates much of the story. He's an unlikeable, inflexible man. He tells a tale of poverty and hardship, old-fashioned faith, superstition, suspicion. There's the village idiot and sheepshagger. This is the story of the death of a village and a way of life, and of lives transformed and ruined in two dreadful years.
For all he's a nasty, small-minded old man, Father McGreevy is sympathetically portrayed. The picture of small town life, spiteful and unforgiving, is eloquently drawn. It's a chilling narrative, and an engrossing one
For all he's a nasty, small-minded old man, Father McGreevy is sympathetically portrayed. The picture of small town life, spiteful and unforgiving, is eloquently drawn. It's a chilling narrative, and an engrossing one
December 1, 2014
Not a very cheery tale (no pun intended). I couldn't wrap my head around the geography/distance between the mountain and the town at the bottom of the hill, nor the vast separation both in culture and in personalities that were just a wee bit apart. The dying Irish culture....the rise of urban Ireland, all this conflict and just maybe a mile or two apart.
August 2, 2011
Coffins, and blood and death and madness...and harsh winters! Too, too bleak for me. I didn't really enjoy this book. Nothing wrong with the writing style. Perhaps I just wasn't in the right frame of mind to appreciate this.
May 29, 2008
You know those marvelous, long-range views of the mountains of Ireland that are a part of any decent picture book with the word "Ireland" in the title?
This is what happens in those mountains.
This is what happens in those mountains.
June 10, 2009
Juicy and thinky, the best combination
November 11, 2009
The dark, hardscrabble, un-funny Ireland....a mystery soaked in peasant Irish life.
March 21, 2020
This cheerless tale is set in a settlement situated somewhere in the mountains of the Dingle Peninsula in Ireland's County Kerry. To call it a village is to overstate, as it basically consists of a half-dozen families or so, their animals (mostly sheep), and their priest and his housekeeper. Separated by geography, weather, and their own preferences from the larger, more developed villages far below, the bucolic inhabitants of this area (the settlement is never given a name) are besieged by horrific winter snows and an illness that kills off five of the women, married mothers all, essentially dooming their way of life to extinction much as had happened to the inhabitants of the nearby Blasket Islands. Over 90% of the narrative is told in the form of a deposition given by the priest of the settlement after the final collapse of the community. The action is set during World War II, a conflict in which the Irish Free State was officially (and notoriously) neutral. There are scenes of bestiality, but also of great grace and kindness. The theme of haplessness runs through the action in ways that reminded me of some of Faulkner's and Erksine Caldwell's writings about the American depression-era South, but the tale told here of the uneasy truce between traditional superstitions and mores, on the one hand, and the expectations of the Catholic faith and modern society, on the other, is distinctively Irish.
January 11, 2019
A spooky winter tale that gets weird. Ended up reading 271 pages one night after work when I picked it up just to see what it was about. You just want to know how the village got abandoned, & what it had to do with a disgraced priest (before the age of disgraced priests). Then it just gets weirder and weirder and - what - TMI but by now you know the characters and you’re worried what’s going to become of them. The story takes the scenic route, but it does its job.
It has gloomy settings around a way of life that reminds us we have it good. It has lots of Irish Catholic dysfunction, the regulation dose of Celtic history footnotes, death rituals, some animal control issues, a little witchery, and great use of language. I’ve been to the mountains in County Kerry as a visitor and the descriptions transported me back. Not every question I have was answered but maybe I didn’t read close enough.
It has gloomy settings around a way of life that reminds us we have it good. It has lots of Irish Catholic dysfunction, the regulation dose of Celtic history footnotes, death rituals, some animal control issues, a little witchery, and great use of language. I’ve been to the mountains in County Kerry as a visitor and the descriptions transported me back. Not every question I have was answered but maybe I didn’t read close enough.
December 31, 2022
Father McGreevy tells the tale of the demise of his small mountain village. The village has been declining as the young leave for opportunity elsewhere. Then a horrible winter, a killing epidemic, and a disgraceful accusation contribute to its sad finale. I don’t know what to make of this book. I really liked the writing style and there are interesting things to be learned about old Irish culture included. It was just a bit stomach churning that the story mostly revolved around a young brain damaged man who has sex with sheep. There were other aspects of the story that could have had more presence.
August 24, 2017
About half way through the book, I realized I’d read it before. Probably even owned it, given it away or sold it, and forgotten about it. In re-reading it, it became clear why I no longer owned it…the novel didn’t make an impact on me initially and similarly failed on a second reading.
In a remote mountain village in Ireland, people suffer terrible misfortune which leads to more bad things. The main narrator of the tale, told by the parish priest (hence the title) to a local law enforcement agent, is unreliable as it comes through his very selective and bias lens. This disposition makes up most of the novel, and is at times rambling and unfocused. I understand that it may have been written this way to stay true to the character of Fr. McGreevy who came of as a bit of defensive twit, but I found myself bored at times with the meandering narrative.
Only two short chapters at the end allow alternate views of what happened, and those stories do little to provide a solid “truth” to the mysteries.
In this manner, I suppose the book accurately reflects the reality of many “true crime” cases (which this is not). It’s hard to know what truly happened, particularly if given only one version. However, I don’t know that I’d want to read a true crime story that was so unbalanced, and I certainly don’t think it makes for a very interesting novel.
Two stars, mainly for the vivid descriptions of the landscape and for making me curious about Irish folk-tales.
In a remote mountain village in Ireland, people suffer terrible misfortune which leads to more bad things. The main narrator of the tale, told by the parish priest (hence the title) to a local law enforcement agent, is unreliable as it comes through his very selective and bias lens. This disposition makes up most of the novel, and is at times rambling and unfocused. I understand that it may have been written this way to stay true to the character of Fr. McGreevy who came of as a bit of defensive twit, but I found myself bored at times with the meandering narrative.
Only two short chapters at the end allow alternate views of what happened, and those stories do little to provide a solid “truth” to the mysteries.
In this manner, I suppose the book accurately reflects the reality of many “true crime” cases (which this is not). It’s hard to know what truly happened, particularly if given only one version. However, I don’t know that I’d want to read a true crime story that was so unbalanced, and I certainly don’t think it makes for a very interesting novel.
Two stars, mainly for the vivid descriptions of the landscape and for making me curious about Irish folk-tales.
March 17, 2017
Liked the writing but it was ultimately a long book with not a ton of story. More a slice of life, I guess. When we find out what the big scandal is that brings the town down it felt a little naive, backward and not big enough for the terrible result. Interesting more in hindsight than while reading it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
February 8, 2018
I have just finished this book and need to let it percolate for a few days. I should never be surprised at how dark Irish literature can be. Think of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri or anything by Martin McDonagh.
April 5, 2019
Father mc Greevy lived in a small village in Ireland. One winter the women in the village died. And nothing improved after that.
March 4, 2020
Yuck
December 1, 2024
Shocking in places, dark humour, memorable.
November 8, 2025
Yet another Booker-shortlisted entry centred on Ireland, which tend to raise a sigh from me, as I expect more gloomy beer-swilling, sectarian tales. Important though these are - and central to the story of the British Isles in the twentieth century - I have ploughed through some fairly leaden and joyless examples on the way. Grim through sections of this book were, this one walks a middle course.
With all that said, the one book it reminded me (by reputation only, as I have yet to read it) was Daniel James Brown's book on the Donner party, with its isolation and cannibalism. O'Doherty stops well short of such human sacrifices, but does capture a feeling of mountain-locked pariahs forced to endure on their own terms, losing members, and then facing the reckoning of their lowlander countrymen in the town below.
Not a book I'd revisit but strong on its evocation of how communities act (coalesce and disperse) under external pressures, which make this a more timeless and placeless story that it's immediate setting might presuppose.
With all that said, the one book it reminded me (by reputation only, as I have yet to read it) was Daniel James Brown's book on the Donner party, with its isolation and cannibalism. O'Doherty stops well short of such human sacrifices, but does capture a feeling of mountain-locked pariahs forced to endure on their own terms, losing members, and then facing the reckoning of their lowlander countrymen in the town below.
Not a book I'd revisit but strong on its evocation of how communities act (coalesce and disperse) under external pressures, which make this a more timeless and placeless story that it's immediate setting might presuppose.
April 22, 2016
What is it with these highly acclaimed literary works? After seeing that this book was shortlisted for the Booker Prize and after reading some of the recommendations I had such high hopes - which were left dashed against the lonely mountainside where this work was set.
Brian O'Doherty can certainly write. His description of Ireland and the towns where this novel is set is wonderful. I loved his style for much of the book and his development of deep and complex characters was excellent. But much of the book seemed to build to a premise that something disastrous was about to happen, even cataclysmic. Although on one level this is the case, the climax or tension that build toward the end of the novel simply petered out.
Without spoiling the plot, I found that this book slowed to a pedestrian pace and instead of having some gripping culmination it just fizzled.
For me another disappointing Booker nomination.
Brian O'Doherty can certainly write. His description of Ireland and the towns where this novel is set is wonderful. I loved his style for much of the book and his development of deep and complex characters was excellent. But much of the book seemed to build to a premise that something disastrous was about to happen, even cataclysmic. Although on one level this is the case, the climax or tension that build toward the end of the novel simply petered out.
Without spoiling the plot, I found that this book slowed to a pedestrian pace and instead of having some gripping culmination it just fizzled.
For me another disappointing Booker nomination.
February 26, 2009
This novel, which won the Man Booker Prize some years back, paints an elaborate picture of life in rural Ireland during World War II. Although the story initially focuses on the mysterious deaths of all the women in a small Irish village, it shifts to examine rural life that is offset by a larger city (albeit rural) and how one affects the other. The author's description allows you to really visualize the landscape and feel the desolation and, more literally, the dampness that engulfs these Irish towns and their people.
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