What we humans do to one another….
“If there’s peace, if it’s really over, then what use are we?” asks a fellow prisoner of Gerry Fegan, an IRA foot soldier, serving his time in the Maze prison. Both Fegan and the other man know that when all of the political parties agree to a peace process, they will be released, and with that, they’ll have to create new selves and to dissolve whatever their past was.
But how do you “un-become” what you had been: a terrorist, a freedom fighter, a murderer, a foot soldier-- a pawn? For Gerry Fegan, his release brings more punishment than his imprisonment ever did. He’s haunted by the twelve he killed; they follow him wherever he goes, wordlessly motioning what he should do, or watching him in full view of him but not visible to others. He talks to them in front of other people. His former acquaintances and neighbors aren’t sure if he’s just turned into a blind drunk or if he’s crazy. For me, as a reader, I was never quite sure if he was being haunted by ghosts or experiencing some sort of psychosis. It doesn’t really matter, though. He drinks himself into stupors every night; he lives alone, choosing isolation but not the pity with which others see him. He’s become an embarrassment to the politicians who used to direct the IRA and him. Those same former IRA leaders have maintained all of their power by transforming into high-ranking politicians, ready to benefit even more from the peace process, and Fegan threatens their potential profits.
In a case of pretzel logic, Fegan decides (or is compelled by his ghosts) to avenge the murders of the twelve innocents by murdering, one by one, those he believes are truly responsible for the killings. Fegan killed all twelve; there’s no doubt about that. But every time he’s sober enough to remember the past, he remembers his orders and the circumstances of those deaths. And he remembers how lies told to him by his superiors made him believe some he killed, like two young Royal Ulster Constabulary, had been involved in executions of IRA members—when they never were. In his most grievous moments, he remembers a young mother, her baby, and a butcher all killed when a bomb he dropped at a butcher shop exploded before it should have. Not one of them, Gerry realizes, should have died, and not one of his superiors cares.
The book is constructed into twelve chapters, and Neville uses that structure to his advantage. While Fegan considers how he’ll avenge each death, Neville fills in the back story of each person’s murder. For me, that combination of past and present evoked such horror, sadness, and tension that I had to put the book down and pick it up after a day or so. The intensity and violence were unabating, and as difficult as this book was to read at times, I never felt as though the violence was unwarranted. It fit.
One of the things I admire about this book is Neville’s ability to make me care about Gerry Fegan, to evoke sympathy for him. The man barely speaks, and we’re given only the slightest glimpses into his interior life, but nevertheless, I felt sympathy for him. To write more about how Neville does that would spoil the book, so I won’t include more about that.
I know this is classified as a “crime novel,” and while that is accurate, to limit it to that genre would be a disservice to the novel. In some ways it reminded me of The Heart of Darkness and the “horrors” of believing in a process or cause corrupted from the beginning. The novel is about human frailty,cruelty and loss; it’s about the manipulation of those young enough, naïve enough, and lonely enough to want to belong and believe, and it’s about—even if ever so slight—the possibility of redemption.