From a Low and Quiet Sea

by Donal Ryan

A new moving novel of three men, each searching for something they have lost, from the award-winning and Man Booker nominated author Donal Ryan.

For Farouk, family is all. He has protected his wife and daughter as best he can from the war and hatred that has torn Syria apart. If they stay, they will lose their freedom, will become lesser persons. If they flee, they will lose all they have known of home, for some intangible dream of refuge in some faraway land across the merciless sea.

Lampy is distracted; he has too much going on in his small town life in Ireland. He has the city girl for a bit of fun, but she's not Chloe, and Chloe took his heart away when she left him. There's the secret his mother will never tell him. His granddad's little sniping jokes are getting on his wick. And on top of all that, he has a bus to drive; those old folks from the home can't wait all day.

The game was always the lifeblood coursing through John's veins: manipulating people for his enjoyment, or his enrichment, or his spite. But it was never enough. The ghost of his beloved brother, and the bitter disappointment of his father, have shadowed him all his life. But now that lifeblood is slowing down, and he's not sure if God will listen to his pleas for forgiveness. Three men, searching for some version of home, their lives moving inexorably towards a reckoning that will draw them all together.

Genres: Fiction, Ireland, Irish Literature, Contemporary, Literary Fiction, Audiobook, Book Club

191 pages, Kindle Edition

First published March 22, 2018

About the author

Donal Ryan is the author of the novels The Spinning Heart, The Thing About December, the short-story collection A Slanting of the Sun, and the forthcoming novel All We Shall Know. He holds a degree in Law from the University of Limerick, and worked for the National Employment Rights Authority before the success of his first two novels allowed him to pursue writing as a full-time career.

Reviews

[Angela M · Rating 4 out of 5]

Though described as a novel, this felt like three separate stories of three different men, having only in common that each experiences loss and sadness. However, their lives touch in ways in the final part that I did not see coming.

The first narrative is heartbreaking, painful , sad - no other way for me to describe it. It will give me pause every time I read about or see images of families escaping cruel treatment, injustices and regimes where they may be killed at any time. Farouk and his family are escaping Syria, hoping to find a place to seek asylum. This section was the most beautifully written and affecting of the three.

Lampy is a young Irish man trying to get over the girl he loves who left him, trying to reconcile, trying to accept that he doesn’t know who his father is. John is seeking forgiveness for the awful things he’s done in his life, has always grieved the loss of a brother who he could never live up to. These stories in and of themselves contain a depth of their own, a sadness of their own, but it’s Farouk’s story that will stay with me.

It is the last part that holds some beautiful moments that reflect, in spite of how hard life can be, there are times when love eases the load. The only other book by Ryan that I have read is The Thing About December, which is also beautifully written. Having read this latest, I’m sure I want to read his others.


I received an advanced copy of this book from Penguin Books through Edelweiss.

[Hannah · Rating 4 out of 5]

Do you know these books that make you fall in love with an author’s writing in a way that makes you want to read everything they have ever written? This was a book like that; it blew me away. I adore Donal Ryan’s way with words and the obvious care he takes to construct perfect sentences.

This is more a collection of short stories but so much more than that in a way (and I say that as somebody who obviously loves short stories). Ryan tells the stories of three widely different men; the only thing they have in common is a deep unhappiness with their lives. All three of them are fully fleshed-out, flawed characters that were a joy to spend time with. This is even more impressive when considering how few pages Ryan uses for his portraits.

My favourite part of this book was the first: I adored everything about the way Ryan tells Farouk’s story. Here the language is the most whimsical and powerful, whereas later it becomes more understated (which works brilliantly as well, I might add, I just happened to adore beyond measure the beauty of the first part). Farouk is also the most sympathetic of the men and the one whose story seems most tragic. I do love how Ryan allows this story to be as tragic as it needs to while still offering glimpses of hope.

Beyond being a perfect snapshot of these men’s lives, this is also an ode to storytelling in its different incarnations. Be it the fairy tales Farouk and his wife tell their daughter or the stories of pub life in a small town that connects Lampy and his granddad, Donal Ryan shows how stories are the glue that keep us together. Which I obviously love.

First sentence: “Let me tell you something about trees.”

I received an arc of this book courtesy of NetGalley and Transworld Publishing in exchange for an honest review.

You can find this review and other thoughts on books on my blog.

[Meike · Rating 5 out of 5]

Longlisted for the Booker 2018,
Shortlisted for the Costa and the Irish Book Award 2018
According to Sebastian Barry, Ryan is "the king of the new wave of Irish writers", his award collection encompasses, e.g., four Irish Book Awards and the European Union Prize for Literature. While "From a Low and Quiet Sea" was the first book I read by this author, this text immediately made it clear to me why this guy rules: There is such a deep compassion and humanity in these vivid character studies, I couldn't help admiring how this author evokes such profound emotions with so few, but perfectly crafted sentences.

The short novel consists of four parts: The first one is about Farouk, a Syrian doctor who fled his war-torn country with his family; the second is about Lampy, a heartbroken college-dropout from a working class family who lives with his mother and grandfather and drives a bus for the elderly; the third one is about John, a terminally ill former lobbyist and accountant who, in the form of an almost-religious confession, looks back on his regrets, particuarly regarding a past affair with a much younger woman. Three greiving men, very different regarding age, class, nationality, with different roles within society, both chosen and ascribed, and the fourth and last part, crafted as a coda, brings all of these narrative threads together in the most unexpected ways.

I don't even want to spoil any more of the content, let me just say that Ryan, not unlike his fellow Booker nominee Ondaatje, writes about the way the past influences our present, and how we deal with our regrets. While I was pretty underwhelmed by Warlight, I really enjoyed this book - Ryan's prose is less pompous and more urgent, IMHO. On top of that, Ryan manages to write a novel that points way beyond the actual events portrayed - the decision to start the book by pondering the way trees communicate with each other will make a lot of sense by the end.

For me, the strength of this book was not the story as a whole, and not even the individual narrative strands; rather, I was smitten with all those little vignettes, the pristine sentences and the way Ryan captures human nature by describing particular sentiments and inner movements - those perceptions make for vivid, complex characters, and I don't even need a big story when I can look inside the heads and hearts of such deeply humane protagonists. Also, Ryan manages to convey the plight of Farouk, the refugee, without writing moralistic pain kitsch (hello, Go, Went, Gone), which makes for a much more moving and disturbing effect that resonates deeply.

[Peter · Rating 4 out of 5]

Diversity
From a Low and Quiet Sea presents a wealth of personality facets that are wonderfully captured and animated in Donal Ryan’s writing style. It deserves to be applauded. The mixed emotions of empathy, distaste and concern for the different characters, gives you a full-on emotional experience. There are three very different characters, Farouk, Lampy and John, each tainted by life’s obstacles while they tried to live their hopes and dreams. Farouk, is a refugee fleeing with his family from Syria, Lampy, is a young man struggling to come to terms with his life's plans, and John, is a man that has stooped to horrible depths of immorality and wickedness, but finally hopes for redemption. Nothing is black and white, and the shades of grey illustrate the multiple layers of characterisation as we observe why each man has made decisions and struggled with what fate had in store for him.

The insights into different family situations are very well captured and in a world where nothing is straightforward the narrative deals with a lot of psychological elements and how we can be kind yet hurtful, selfless and selfish, and always complicated. This is a real roller-coaster of a ride from moments of deep despair to situations of comedy and witty dialogue, especially with Lampy’s grandfather. The Irish dialogue and sense of humour are precious. :)

The rationale for the 3 storylines coming together at the end, is slightly tenuous, in terms of any plot or surprise event. It’s more to show the interaction between people, how close our lives can pass by others or connect causing an impact on the world around us, which is often a surprise and bewildering. As the book draws to a close it reminds the reader that the varying experiences of life and interactions are all part of living, regardless of our individual stories or status.

My only criticism is that I found it difficult to follow the narrative at times, as there would be instant jumps in time either because of memories or switching to other periods to provide background. I had to re-read various sections several times, so you do need to pay attention and focus, which can interrupt the flow.

So much more could be said here about each character as they are wonderfully portrayed, but I imagine and hope readers will take time to reflect on the characterisation and for reading clubs this will be a great book to discuss and dissect.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Random House UK, Transworld Publishers for an ARC version of the book in return for an honest review.

[Diane S ☔ · Rating 4 out of 5]

Although a novel, it tells the story of three very different men who have all suffered losses. The first is Farouk and takes place in Syria, where the war has caused him to flee with his wife and child. Told in a compassionate tone, and heartbreaking to read, it is a story that has been told before. The last two take place in Ireland, Lampy, a young man brokenhearted, with a great deal of anger. He transports people from a care center who have appointments in different places. His grandfather is rather amusing, his mother rather distant, and he hasn't a clue who or where his father is, having never met him. The third is John, who seems to be making his final confession, and he has much to confess.

It is hard to imagine while reading these characters studies how they will all come together. Such talent though to write and form these three distinct characters, and make them seem so believable. It isn't until the final section when we see how these characters come together, and I was totally surprised, maybe shocked would be a better word, at the ending.

There are many issues explored within, the inadequacy of the care system in Ireland, but it also holds true in my own country, the US. Also exemplifies the six degree of separation theory, and reminds us that it is important to acknowledge each person as an individual. To see how we are in many ways the same, suffer the same difficulties and heartbreaks in life, and the only hope for a better world is to show we care. That's what I got out of this anyway.

ARC from Edelweiss

[Paula K · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 out of 5 stars

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 3 out of 5]

Now longlisted for the 2018 Booker Prize.

If a tree is starving, its neighbours will send it food. No one really knows how this can be, but it is. Nutrients will travel in the tunnel made of fungus from the roots of a healthy tree to its starving neighbour, even one of a different species. Trees live, like you and me, long lives, and they know things. They know the rule, the only one that’s real and must be kept …. Be Kind.

Donal Ryan’s novel starts with a short meditation on trees, one that perhaps might have been expected to have been taken from Richard Powers “The Overstory”, but one which sets out up front the underlying themes of this novel - empathy and kindness; as well as the key literary device employed - hidden connections.

The majority of the book is taken up with three story stories - each a character study of a man (or boy) scarred by loss.

First we read of Farouk, a Syrian doctor behind Islamic lines, torn between his medical and familial duties, he eventually uses his money and connection on an attempt to feel to the West, with his wife and young daughter, only to find that the trafficker he and others have paid is more of a trickster: the last part of the story is set as a refugee camp: Farouk’s refusing to accept the fate of his family and instead taking inner refuge in stories and urban myth.

In many ways this section is simultaneously the most striking and topical (and I understand a departure from the Irish characters who have populated the author’s previous novels, as well as the rest of this book) and also the least authentic - although of course part of the author’s attempt to stress (see the final quote) the “oneness of all people”. Interestingly the author has previously written a radio drama “I Seek Refuge” about a Syrian girl crossing the Mediterranean and a short story “Long Puck” set around an international game of hurling in Syria. Despite this he admits to being a “lazy researcher” and that Farouk’s story is lifted in detail from a news report with the character based on his own.

Ryan has found that when he over-researches books he “tends to write non-fiction, to explain to the reader what a thing is that they could easily know more about than me” and I find it fascinating that this is a common criticism of The Mars Room a book which was based on several year’s of immersive research by Rachel Kushner.

The second story was my favourite - Lampy lives with his grandfather and mother and works as a mini-bus driver and assistant at a care home. Lampy’s sense of loss is both recent - his past girlfriend Chloe drifting apart from him as she went to University and he stayed in their home town - and life-long - Lampy knows nothing of his father who seems to have disappeared to England after his mother became pregnant. Lampy’s Grandfather is a foul mouthed but quick witted pub wag “When he was in form, he could slice the world in two” and he and the quick tempered Lampy cannot find an escape from their adopted personas and chosen fronts to allow them any way to express their love for each other to the perpetual hurt of Lampy’s mother ( “That small thing that could ease all of their minds he couldn’t do it. What was wrong with him” ).

The third story is the most unusual - the detailed, end of life, confession (although to who - if anyone - is not clear at all until the next section) of John - a violent and unprincipled “lobbyist” (effectively a mover and fixer over local government contracts and planning permission) who builds up to a terrible confession via a difficult back story - a domineering father, a much admired Hurling-hero older brother who dies at the peak of his youth, a cruel older sister - and then via his own pathway into bullying and intimidation - starting at school where he punches a boy whose poem, about the English invasion gives this book its title. His loss and confession is centred around his only love - a younger barmaid and his own actions at the end of their relationship.

As could have been expected from the opening passage - the final section, drawing on some minor characters including Lampy’s grandfather and a care home resident reveals how the roots of each characters story were, and continue to be, interwoven.

Overall an enjoyable novel, admirably intentioned and from a clearly talented writer; but one which I felt lacked true depth and perhaps fell short of its potential. 3.5 stars.

But if you observe a man closely and properly you’ll eventually come to now the shade of his soul. No soul is brilliant white …. But there are men alive who will do evil without pause, who are without mercy, and there are men alive who would rather die than harm another, and all of the rest of us fall somewhere in between. Be wary of prescription and proscription … and he talked again about … the oneness of all people … And he said again to listen, to observe, to do your best to hear beyond the spoken, to see the quality of the light in another’s eyes

[Dem · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 Stars

From a Low and Quiet Sea is a short novel and actually reads more like a book of short stories as opposed to a novel but Ryan's prose and unique characters weave together beautifully to make this a fresh and moving read.

The Book in broken up into 4 parts and in the first 3 parts we are introduced to three very different and colourful characters and in the last part of the book we lean how these characters tales are intertwined.

Donal Ryan's prose and storytelling is flawless and I particulary enjoyed the story of Farouk a Syrian doctor who makes his home in Ireland and his Journey in life. While this is not an uplifting read by any means there is humor in this novel and I found myself smiling at a few passages in the book.

While I enjoyed the other two character's stories I did find that the constant stream of counsciousness a little much and took away from the power of the stories for me. However this might be an element of the book that others may relate to better.

I listened to this book on audio and what a terrific experience that was. One of the Narrators is Stephen Hogan who also narrated the audio on The Heart's Invisible Furies.

There is quite a lot of profanity in the Novel but its part of Irish character's personality and very realistic, however some readers may find it off putting.

[Esil · Rating 4 out of 5]

From a Low and Quiet Sea is short but potent. It is set up as three separate narratives that come together nicely in the last section. The first segment is told from Farouk’s perspective, a Syrian refugee who dwells on the tragic circumstances of his departure from Syria. The second segment is told from Lampy’s perspective, a young Irish man living with his mother and grandfather. The third segment is told from John’s perspective, an older Irish man trying to reckon with his life. It is not until the end that it becomes evident how the narratives fit together. The writing is beautiful — more stream of consciousness than linear. The characters’ emotions are palpable without being overwrought or simplistic. And the themes are simple but real — loss and the ability to find love and dignity in unexpected places. Thanks to the publisher and Edelweiss for an opportunity to read an advance copy.

[Hugh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Longlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2018

My respect for Donal Ryan's writing grows with every book I read. This one is a masterly piece of storytelling, a short novel in four parts which appear to have little in common until the final part draws the strings together to deliver a devastating conclusion.

The first part tells of Farouk, a Syrian doctor whose flight from his country with his wife and daughter is related brilliantly and humanely. For me this was everything that the much lauded Exit West was missing.

The second part is the story of Lampy, a somewhat marginalised young dreamer who earns his living driving the residents of a care home around in a bus, obsessed with a former girlfriend and living with his single mother and grandfather. This section is full of comic detail but ultimately rather sad.

Finally there is John, an old man expounding a grisly confession of a lifetime's misdeeds. This section is told in rather pompous quasi-Biblical language.

The final short section really made the book coalesce in unexpected ways, and I won't spoil it for anyone who has yet to read it.

My only doubt is that this seems a little too short and slight compared with some of the other longlisted books, and that was the only thing that stopped me giving five stars.

[Trudie · Rating 4 out of 5]

* 4.5 *

This book ! Oh, I really loved it.

This is a reaction which I found surprising as I had expected to enjoy it in some kind of low and quiet way, appreciatively admiring. But that first story, knocked me for a six emotionally, it was in fifty pages everything I had wanted to get from last years Booker nominated Exit West. It totally made this book a worthy entrant on the 2018 Booker longlist in my opinion.

However, that is only the first section of this novel. It would have been easy for Ryan to drop the ball at this point and while he does dramatically switch gears and moves back to a small town Irish setting, I was delighted to find I was just as engaged with the remaining two stories; that of the directionless adolescent - Lampy, and the elderly repentant, John. This is my first experience of Donal Ryan and I can say I think he is a master with characterisation. I really appreciate an author that so clearly puts you in the mind of a male protagonist and cultivates such empathy, especially when they are quite often behaving abominably. Its a great skill and one I liken in this case to Tim Winton's masterful The Shepherds Hut (which as an aside should have been on the longlist as well, but I digress).

This book is probably going to suffer from the "is this really a novel" debate but I really couldn't be less interested in that question, as it worked for me as a piece of literature about loss, and regret and the suppression of emotional pain. All the stories are linked very subtly at first and then, a little unfortunately, quite obviously connected towards the end. Unusually, I would have preferred more ambiguity here. The last section seemed rushed, and like an editor asked the author to link three short stories so it could be considered a novel. Perhaps I would view this differently upon a reread, armed with the knowledge of how things will link. But generally the parts of this novel that really stood out, were the aspects that made each man unique, their individual defining moments of heartbreak. So cleverly, stealthily revealed, it's done so well you don't even realise the author has suddenly pierced your cold heart.
An almost masterpiece.

So there is The Spinning Heart out there somewhere now and I need to track it down.

[Cheri · Rating 4 out of 5]

’What’s in the past can’t be changed and what’s to come can’t be known and you can’t give your life to worrying. Sure you can’t. All you have to do is be kind and you’ll have lived a good life.’

The story of three lives, one man from Syria - Farouk, a doctor who is dealing with the loss of those he loved, and his country, and all he left behind. Lampy, in Ireland, who is suffering from the loss of love. John, who suffers from unrequited love.

For a story that is shared in under 200 pages, this is filled with beauty in the telling, lovely lyrical prose of love and loss, and the agony of choices that must be made.

I listened to this while I was driving to and from getting my vaccine, which helped me focus on all that we have to be grateful for, as well as all that others have lost. A lovely, heartfelt story that serves as a reminder that no matter where we were born, our language differences, or the colour of our skin, we all love, suffer, deserve compassion, and have dreams.

’Trees live, like you and me, long lives, and they know things. They know the rule, the only one that's real and must be kept. What's the rule? You know. I've told you lots of times before. Be kind.’

[Ingrid · Rating 5 out of 5]

Extraordinary!
There are three short and intense stories about three different people. Then the fourth story binds them all together and you feel as if you're suddenly hit on your head when you realise what has happened and what their connection is.

[Peter Boyle · Rating 3 out of 5]

The opening section of From a Low and Quiet Sea is quite a departure for Donal Ryan. Over the last few years he has earned a reputation as one the most eminent chroniclers of rural Ireland, yet this book begins in war-torn Syria. We are introduced to Farouk, a doctor, who fears for the safety of his wife and young daughter. He learns of a way to escape the country, which seems risky to him, but he eventually acknowledges that it's a better prospect than staying put. We follow the family's nervous journey to the boat that will take them away and hope that things will work out for them.

The rest of the novel see Ryan return to more accustomed territory. The second part is narrated by Lampy, a teenager who lives at home with his mother and grandfather. Lampy has problems of his own - he never met his father, and matters of the heart have made him irritable, leading him to lash out at his family. In the third section we meet John, a conniving lobbyist who looks back on his life with much regret. Years ago he had an affair with a much younger woman, and he has been consumed by remorse since the relationship ended.

In the fourth and final section of the book, the three previous stories come together in surprising and heartbreaking ways. We learn that Farouk, Lampy and John have more in common than we thought, and Ryan intertwines their narratives with considerable skill. The tales of Lampy and John felt very familiar, I feel like the author has told their stories before. But Farouk's plight was something new, the urgency and terror of his account left a real impression on me. I would like to see Donal Ryan continue this successful endeavour of looking further afield - it can only increase his flourishing talents as a novelist and add more strings to his bow.

[Faith · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book consists of three stories that don't link up until the end of the book. I found the first story more compelling than the other two. Those stories had more of a stream of consciousness style, and I wasn't interested in the protagonists. The first, moving story was about a doctor desperately trying to escape from Syria with his wife and young daughter. However, all three stories held my interest, and the first one was so good that I gave the entire book 4 stars. I'd read more by this author.

[Marchpane · Rating 4 out of 5]

And he talked on about the universe, and the oneness of all people and all things, how man was Nature’s way of seeing itself, of feeling what it’s like to be. And he said again to listen, to observe, to do your best to hear beyond the spoken, to see the quality of the light in another’s eyes.

Three short character studies connect to form From a Low and Quiet Sea, a restrained and impressive novel that seeks ‘the quality of light in another’s eyes’.

What I most appreciated about From a Low and Quiet Sea was its economy. It’s a short book, less than 200 pages; each of the sections has only a brief time to make its mark, to capture that quality of light. It’s like one of those line drawings that manages to capture a person’s likeness in only a few pencil strokes. Donal Ryan trusts the reader to fill in the finer detail and so these characters – Farouk, Lampy and John – have as much depth and are as fully realised as if they’d each got an entire novel to inhabit.

The fourth and final section is where the three stories collide. I don’t want to give too much away but it does tie things together. I have my own theory about the ending (which may or may not be what the author intended).

Ryan uses a simple, unadorned prose style that works so well. It’s straight-forward and allows the stories to stand on their own strength. I’m definitely keen to check out more of this author’s work.

[Britta Böhler · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had the same experience with this book as with previous books by Ryan: absolutely loved the writing, the characters and their characterization. But I wasn't too crazy about the plot. Ryan is a fantastic storyteller but not a very good 'plotter' (if that makes sense to anybody else but me).

The way the three stories came together felt too neat and rather forced, esp. John's role in it (the 'wheelchair'-scene was just too much). I also found the ending quite arbitrary, in the sense that the book might have ended at almost any point after the wheelchair-scene and it wouldnt have made a difference. And if there had been an additional chapter after the last one, I wouldnt have been surprised either.

And finally, the overall message, hinted at in the intro that we are all connected, like the trees - or at least we should be - was a bit too sappy for my taste.

3.5*

[Barbara · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love Donal Ryan, and he continues to grow with each novel. I was struck in reading the section about the Syrian refugee doctor that opens the novel, that it reminded me of dystopian novels such as The Handmaid's Tale. Farouk, a doctor who lived a middle class life in Syria, escapes via a terrible boat journey, and ends up in a tent in a refugee camp. His current situation is nearly impossible for him to comprehend, and he recalls his life in Syria. While most dystopian fiction is set in the future (sometimes near future), I was struck how much the deterioration of life in Syria fit the dystopian "mold". This may not be in any way a profound observation. Stories of war are the ultimate dystopian stories.

There will be many in-depth reviews and at this time I need time to cogitate (yes, that is a word). Ryan ties together disparate stories deftly. Nothing feels forced, and that is his gift.

[Elyse Walters · Rating 4 out of 5]

From a Low and Quiet Sea
Donal Ryan

ebook…..synced Audiobook…..read by a full cast of narrators.
….5 hours and 42 minutes

This is my second time reading Donal Ryan. I hope to read all his work. His writing
is gorgeous, lyrical, disturbing, empathetic, and thought-provoking absorbing.

The characters in these three stories experience the full range of emotions -
challenges - difficulties- sorrow - loss - grief - guilt - acceptance - reconciliation - love — as well as a little humorous drama-comedy

The three male protagonists have nothing in common other than they are all gloomy…sad…and joyless….
Their independent/retribution life & death stories are stitched together by the end.

We meet Farouk, a refugee doctor from Syria — who brought his wife and daughter with him but is essentially fleeing his fundamentalist family in a war torn country. This first story was my favorite.

Lampy, from Ireland, is a young Irish man whose girlfriend recently chucked him. His love for his grandfather’s love for him was very touching.

John also from Ireland, who has a final confession to make: not totally evil - but he wasn’t squeaky clean, either.

By the end….
I was left with the reality of just how fragile life really is.

Donal Ryan is a new favorite author for me — between the depths of his characters, his raw human stories, his rhythmic writing and making it look effortless…
Donal Ryan has ‘staying’ (read more) power!

[Doug · Rating 4 out of 5]

I thoroughly enjoyed Ryan's previous Booker nominee (The Spinning Heart), and though I bought this upon its initial publication early in the year, I hadn't gotten around to reading it until its own Booker nomination. It's a quick read, taking only a few hours, but a lot is packed into the pages. Ryan's lush prose and deft characterization are once again in evidence, and his development of the interconnections between his three seemingly disparate story lines are worked out with some nice surprises, if a bit abruptly. I wouldn't be at all surprised if it makes the shortlist, and should that happen, I have a feeling I will reread it then.

[Ace · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book of linked shortish stories has some very impressive writing with a very strong start in the fleeing of Farouk and family from their mother country, Syria I think, on a boat across to god know where. They are full of hope and feel lucky to be 'the ones that got away' that they could stay together and build a new life having just left everything they 'were' behind. From there, while the writing was quite brilliant, I wasn't so captivated by the stories of Lampy and John, but I did like the ending chapter. I needed this closing sequence in fact because I am not a short story lover and this chapter, whilst it didn't work for some readers and was a bit in your face with the linkages, was necessary to me to feel that I had read an actual novel.

3 stars

[Roman Clodia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ryan writes gorgeous, resonant prose full of lyrical cadences but somehow I can never quite love his books in the way I want to. Here he creates 3 mini character studies of men bowed beneath what life throws at them: one is maimed by the extraordinary losses of war and flight, the others by more mundane events, but all 3 are damaged in their different ways. The final section brings them all together in an unexpected way.

This is a short book, under 200 pages, but the depth of emotion conjured belies the length. All the same, I can't help feeling I'm in the presence of a wonderful writer who hasn't quite found his story yet.

[Roger Brunyate · Rating 5 out of 5]

 
From Over the Water

Armoured they came from the east,
From a low and quiet sea.
We were a naked rabble, throwing stones;
They laughed, and slaughtered us.

This is the beginning of a poem written in school by a very minor character in Donal Ryan's new novel. A schoolmate, the class bully, asks him who is the "we": the Irish resisting the Norsemen, the Anglo-Saxons invaded by Normans, or the victims of some other invasion? The moment somebody uses that plural pronoun, he lays himself open to challenge: by what right does he identify with that group? The questions of group identity, suspicion of those outside the group, and the search for connections that can bridge these differences run though Ryan's book in a subtle, understated way. But I am not even sure that this is his main theme. For instead of a normal novel, Ryan has given us a puzzle, in which the reader must do as much work as the writer. The first part consists of three long stories of about 50 pages each; the last 30 pages seek to link them together. But not in a neat signed, sealed, and delivered sort of way. Questions remain even after the cover has been closed.

Farouk. The title character of the first section is a doctor working in some African country taken over by an Islamic fundamentalist group. He is warned that he, his wife, and daughter are too Westernized, placing the whole family in danger. He pays money to a trafficker to get them over to Europe. The story that follows is brilliantly written. Tense and terrifying, it gave me a new understanding of the almost daily news of refugees being fished from the Mediterranean. Against that, there is a persistent poetic quality to the writing, starting with the advice Farouk got from his own father:

Be wary of prescription and proscription, of unyielding belief. All of it is dangerous; even something so lovely as this can turn to madness. And he talked on about the universe, and the oneness of all people and all things, how man was Nature's way of seeing itself, of feeling what it's like to be. And he said again to listen, to observe, to do your best to hear beyond the spoken, to see the quality of the light in another's eyes.

Lampy. With the second character, we are in a totally different world: the farm country in the middle of Ireland. Lampy (short apparently for Laurence) is a young man in his twenties, living with his unmarried mother and grandfather, and working as a driver and attendant at an old people's home. His concerns are simple: mourning the loss of his old girlfriend, wondering if he can get it on with the new one, and trying to steer a battered old bus on the icy roads as he takes his assorted charges to their physiotherapy appointments. It is hard to see any connection at all between this and the first story, except that even Lampy's prosaic life has touches of poetry, at least in dreams:

He remembers a dream he's had. About standing on Thomond Bridge, watching the water flowing black and fast and high, up from the city towards Thomondgate, the wrong way. He was looking at it, marvelling at the speed of it, the height of it, touching the ramparts of the bridge almost, and he was telling someone whom he couldn't see that this was normal, that the river was tidal as far as Curragower, that it was just a fast tide coming in, not to worry, and the bridge groaned and shook and collapsed into the water and the water was warm around him, and it carried him upstream past King's Island and over the salmon weirs. and the river rushed inland against itself, away from the sea, and he was laughing when he woke, and as the dream faded he thought how easy it would be to let himself be carried to his end. To close his eyes and fall.

John. The third story is at least set in the same part of Ireland, but otherwise it also seems unconnected. The title character is an old man making his last confession, after a career of much prosperity and success; only gradually do we see the devil's bargain he has made to attain it. It is a life marked by coercion, violence, adultery, and perhaps even murder. When somebody uses a then-unfamiliar word, "lobbyist," to describe him, the mind flashes quickly to all the unsavory examples in America at the moment, and presumably in Ireland too. But because of the confessional format, John's voice has its poetry also, as when he is trying his lobbyist label on for size:

Anyway, there was nothing, it seemed, that I couldn't get done. No plans I couldn't have brought to fruition, no White Papers I couldn't have transformed into law, no land I couldn't see bought or sold or parcelled or changed from green to red on council maps: whole towns rose up from the soil with the energy of my whispered words, my unbreakable promises, the grip of my enveloping hand. This was a new kind of a thing in people's minds, but discredited nearly before its birth, like the child of a prostitute. I was among the first, anyway, if not the first, to be given the title. I wasn't the first one, though. Wasn't Jesus Christ Himself petitioned as He starved and thirsted in the desert? The envelope He was offered contained the world.

Lake Islands. Rather than the name of a person, the short final section is named for a piece of local geography. It is a good title, for it takes the three separate entities and, if not actually bridging them, at least places them side by side in the same body of water. I won't say how, but all three title characters are shown to be connected. But those factual connections are not the key that will lock this entire novel into a single matrix. That is still left to each reader to figure out. The connections that matter are not linear and causal, but poetic, a subtle rhyming of morality of theme. If such a loose association will not work for you, then the book will seem little more than three stories, and as those of Farouk and John at least are very good, that may be enough for four stars. But I go further, sensing the underlying wholeness, but also that it would be wrong to put it into words. It takes courage to write a novel with such risky faith in your readers, but Donal Ryan has never been one to choose the easy route. Hats off to him!

======

There is one feature of the book that puzzles me. The last seven pages each have a single paragraph per page, however short. Fine; their rhythm, given a certain deliberate repetition of form, is very effective. But I notice there are no page numbers on these pages either, which is something I have never seen before. I can only think that it is to slow the pace of narration, counteracting the natural race to the finish. Does anybody have any other theories?

[Maxwell · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is probably my favorite of Donal Ryan's books that I've read. I think he does get better with each release. The ending was a bit lackluster but overall I enjoyed the storytelling most of his novels and the writing, as always, was beautiful.

[Jonathan Pool · Rating 4 out of 5]

An enjoyable read of an author previously unfamiliar to me thought  I found the structure of the book a strange one.
The quality of prose, and in particular the Irish vernacular, and the streams of consciousness in both the "John" and "Lampy" sections, was spectacular.
I can certainly understand why In a Low and Quiet Sea is Booker 2018 long listed.

The opening story”Farouk” stands apart from a book about the Irish psyche, a book whose portrayal of the Irish is mostly uncomplimentary. Dixie (Pop) and John, in particular, are both verbally and physically crude.

Why Farouk appears, I’m not sure; it’s gently written, its well written, it’s an all too familiar story of middle eastern migrant displacement. The Farouk section is only fifty pages in length and the book would not have been any less striking without it, I felt. Exit West while itself a concise book, still had enough content to allow this reader to feel a more immersive sense of personal loss and grief against the hideously inevitable and familiar background of civil war.
The overriding philosophy of the Farouk section  is unfortunately not heeded by our narrator.
“Hear beyond the spoken, see the quality of the light in another’s eyes”(13)

The two Irish stories are also largely stand-alones. Laurence Stanley (Lampy) is an unremarkable young man. His life is one of suppressed/ repressed sexual longing- women of all ages are sized up for their sexual allure.

If you like literature to have a degree of ambiguity, the John section is the one that makes you think about the book after reading it, and it’s the section which makes this a dark, brooding, read at times.
John is a man who bears “false witness” and who describes himself as a “lobbyist”. Both expressions are euphemisms for a man who manipulates and bullies his way in life. The supposition is that life in the shadow, forever, of a nicer, kinder, better, sibling, might result in a bitter, violent, person emerging.
The John section throws up the majority of (unresolved) questions about this book.
• The title of the book From a Low and Quiet Sea is a line from a poem penned by a teenage schoolboy, Jonathan Sanders(122)
- Why is this the chosen book title?
- The poem is about the English (Norman) invasion of the Irish. Why this theme? It doesn’t seem to link to the familial messages of the book, whose only brief reference to England is some time spent in London by  a man who lost his child (134/5)

• John’s dream about a quayside, and a lost child (the second lost child in the book). What is the meaning?

• An airplane journey hit by extreme turbulence, and a silent male, fellow passenger. How does this tie in?

The final section “ Lake Islands” throws in a few  more conundrums. Not least, again Donal Ryan’s titles: 
• Why  “Lake Islands”?
The title of the book, the child at the quayside, Lake Islands, Farouk’s tragedy- it would seem that water plays a big part here?

So, I finish the book with a number of neat tie-ups in the final section, but I’m left with various unknowns. That seems to me to be an excellent return on a book that I would be very happy to see shortlisted on what promises to be a strong Booker year in 2018.

[Sarah · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 rounded down

Three separate (but ultimately linked) stories about three very different men in present day Ireland.

I found the first story - Farouk's - the most moving and engaging, however the other two stories are memorable in their own ways. I also preferred the writing style in the first story, which was less stream of consciousness-y than the other two - which contained a lot of suuuuper long sentences, think like two or three sentences on an entire page. This style was more akin to the writing in All We Shall Know, so if you enjoyed that I think you'd enjoy this too.

All in all not a bad read at all, I just wish the second and third parts lived up to the brilliance of Farouk’s narrative - if I was just rating that part this would get 5 stars, as it was incredibly poignant and moving and has stayed with me long after finishing the book.

[Kasa Cotugno · Rating 5 out of 5]

Once again the Booker longlist provides me with a gem I probably wouldn't have found on my own, despite having read and liked previous works by Donal Ryan. The structure here is puzzling, are there three short disparate character studies, but it is described as a novel. But it does become clear with a twist I did not see coming.

[Rachel · Rating 4 out of 5]

From a Low and Quiet Sea is my second Donal Ryan novel after All We Shall Know, and so far he's two for two if we're grading for emotional devastation and positively stunning prose. Ryan's style is everything I love about contemporary Irish literature incarnate - the lyrical, almost breathless writing which deftly balances black humor with an aching sadness, the quiet introspection of his characters, the skillful exploration of pain and loss and grief and religion and loneliness.

From a Low and Quiet Sea is essentially a series of three short stories - the first follows Farouk, a Syrian refugee who pays a man to help him escape his country with his wife and daughter; the second is about Lampy, an Irish teenager who lives with his mom and grandfather and who's still desperately in love with his ex-girlfriend; and the third follows John, an old man who grew up under the shadow of his brother's death. Their stories converge at the end rather unexpectedly, but in a way that I thought was rather brilliantly conceived.

As with any novel that changes perspectives, it's inevitable that some will be stronger than others. The opening chapter - Farouk's - is far and away the most accomplished of the three. Ryan doesn't rest on the already tragic premise; he crafts a positively harrowing journey for this character, and as we wrap up his story and proceed into the second section, it's almost painful leaving him behind. John's chapter is stunning as well - it's the only one told in first-person, as his story takes the form of a confession - and of the three it's the most episodic, lending it a very readable quality while still getting to the heart of this troubled and compelling character. For me, Lampy's chapter was notably the weakest. Though there was some poignant commentary here about growing up fatherless, I felt that there wasn't enough of a story or a character arc to justify this section's length.

This is one of those books that was stressing me out as I headed toward the conclusion, because I couldn't even begin to imagine what was going to connect these three disparate stories, and I was almost afraid that whatever Ryan had come up with wasn't going to be satisfying enough. I needn't have worried - the resolution is surprising but gratifying. There's also an undeniable thematic interconnectedness that I thought was handled wonderfully throughout the book. I thought Ryan's examination of the role of storytelling in the lives of these three men was a beautiful element, as well as the similar yet distinct meditations on loneliness and grief as each of these characters search for some kind of peace.

4.5, which I'm rounding down now for the weak middle section, but which I may round up later depending on how this book stays with me over time. I really loved this.

Thank you to Penguin Books and Donal Ryan for the advanced copy provided in exchange for an honest review.

[Karina · Rating 3 out of 5]

Call me Lord, he said, or so the story went, one day when she was bringing him his tea. I won’t, sir, she replied. I have only one Lord, and He’s watching from Heaven, and I’ll never use His name in vain, not ever will I give to another. Get out then, old Manford said, get out of here and don’t come back. (PG 158)

This was a semi-great 3 story book written by a wonderful Irishman. He writes deep and detailed descriptions of the characters thoughts and feelings and then somehow connected all three characters together.

Farouk’s story was depressing but one of the better ones. Lampy’s story was a bit boring as he’s a brokenhearted 20 something year old. John’s story was the most interesting as I felt was written the best.

The three stars are for the constant confusion in the present or memories in time, whether remembering something or the story going back in time…. Had to reread many of the paragraphs to clarify what was happening in my brain. Donal Ryan doesn’t seem to like periods or quotation marks. One thought can run halfway to a whole page with commas and constant ‘ands.’ He is heavily descriptive of almost everything the character sees or hears.

If you say something enough times, the repetition of it makes it true. Any notion you like, no matter how mad it seems, can be a fact’s chrysalis. Once you say it loud enough and often enough it becomes debatable. Debate changes minds. (PG 124)

{{{The quote above stuck with me with all the yellow journalism going on all the time. This has nothing and everything to do with the book.}}}




###Note to Self— finished this in Paris, France.
It was lovely. Unforgettable experience and lovely people…. Great food and architecture.>>>>
Au revoir et bonne nuit.
Merci beaucoup

[Paula Mota · Rating 4 out of 5]

4,5*

# The Irish Readathon

And once a thing enters a person’s mind, it’s always there, like woodworm in the leg of a chair, like cells of cancer, like rats in the cavities of the earth; it can’t ever be fully eradicated. Even things long forgotten remain in the dark infinity of the mind; there’s no unlearning. What’s said can’t be unsaid. And no law in this universe is immutable.

Este livro, nomeado para o Booker Prize em 2018, foi escrito num altura em que não deixavam de chegar refugiados sírios à Europa, fugidos da guerra civil que grassava desde 2011, dando às costas das ilhas gregas em embarcações rudimentares e sobrelotadas ou mesmo já sem vida. Poucos não se lembrarão da imagem do pequeno Alan Kurdi afogado numa praia turca. É com uma história semelhante que Donal Ryan inicia o seu livro, sem dúvida a menos poderosa das quatro partes que formam “From a Low and Quiet Sea”, porque, apesar da sensibilidade que caracteriza a escrita do autor, há uma certa sensação de superficialidade. Daí por diante, já no terreno que domina, a Irlanda, há um crescendo de emoção que culmina em perfeição - e em pacote de lenços para mim - no capítulo final, em que percebemos como estão ligados três homens que parecem não ter relação alguma: Farouk, o refugiado sírio que se recusa a aceitar a realidade…

Whatever it was she knew she needn’t share, whatever news she felt she must break to him, about head trauma or contusions or possible concussions or delays or complications or refusals of consulates or countries or agents hereof to grant visas or mercies or passage or grace, or of lost identifications or lost purses or lost luggage, or bombed hospitals or dead colleagues or escalations of hostilities or conflagrations or annihilations or massacres or of the damage done to the cabin door when he and the complaining man had smashed it in just before they were knocked from their feet by the whirling storm, and again he heard the old man say: This mourning time must end.

…Lampy, o jovem desorientado que vive com a mãe solteira e o avô, tentando superar um desgosto amoroso…

How could he tell his grandfather that he wanted to find a place where the measure of a man was different? Not linked to money or to sport or a road in the town. Or was it the same everywhere? He wanted to have no past, no address, to just be from Ireland. Not this town, or the Villas, or the house at the end of the terrace with the broken gatepost. He wanted to tell a romantic story to explain his father, to say that he was missing somewhere, in action maybe, last seen crossing an Afghan pass.

…e John, o penitente arrogante a realizar a sua confissão in extremis.

I’ll whisper my sins to you and you can hear them, anyway, and this confessional is fine and wide, not like the upright coffins sometimes used, and the quietness around us here is deep, and the quietness seems to have a purpose about it, the expectant stillness of a held breath, a pause for a search for a felicitous word, a consoling gesture, a heartening smile or nod. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.