My Father Left Me Ireland: An American Son's Search For Home

by Michael Brendan Dougherty

The perfect gift for parents this Father’s  a beautiful, gut-wrenching memoir of Irish identity, fatherhood, and what we owe to the past.
 
“A heartbreaking and redemptive book, written with courage and grace.”
–J.D. Vance, author of  Hillbilly Elegy

“…a lovely little book.”
–Ross Douthat,  The New York Times

The child of an Irish man and an Irish-American woman who split up before he was born, Michael Brendan Dougherty grew up with an acute sense of absence. He was raised in New Jersey by his hard-working single mother, who gave him a passion for Ireland, the land of her roots and the home of Michael's father. She put him to bed using little phrases in the Irish language, sang traditional songs, and filled their home with a romantic vision of a homeland over the horizon.

Every few years, his father returned from Dublin for a visit, but those encounters were never long enough. Devastated by his father's departures, Michael eventually consoled himself by believing that fatherhood was best understood as a check in the mail. Wearied by the Irish kitsch of the 1990s, he began to reject his mother's Irish nationalism as a romantic myth.

Years later, when Michael found out that he would soon be a father himself, he could no longer afford to be jaded; he would need to tell his daughter who she is and where she comes from. He immediately re-immersed himself in the biographies of firebrands like Patrick Pearse and studied the Irish language. And he decided to reconnect with the man who had left him behind, and the nation just over the horizon. He began writing letters to his father about what he remembered, missed, and longed for. Those letters would become this book.

Along the way, Michael realized that his longings were shared by many Americans of every ethnicity and background. So many of us these days lack a clear sense of our cultural origins or even a vocabulary for expressing this lack--so we avoid talking about our roots altogether. As a result, the traditional sense of pride has started to feel foreign and dangerous; we've become great consumers of cultural kitsch, but useless conservators of our true history.

In these deeply felt and fascinating letters, Dougherty goes beyond his family's story to share a fascinating meditation on the meaning of identity in America.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, Ireland, Biography, Irish Literature, History, Biography Memoir

240 pages, Hardcover

Published April 30, 2019

Reviews

[Mark Jr. · Rating 4 out of 5]

I picked up this book on the effusive recommendation of Alan Jacobs. At first I thought I might tire of it: though I felt sympathy for a fatherless boy, I confess to my shame that that sympathy did not extend to listening to him moon to his dad about the absence of his dad.

But something happened in the emotional tenor of the book: by making his efforts to recover a father an effort to also recover a sense of nation and people (both of which I take for granted), Dougherty succeeded in sounding not whiny but hopeful. And when he turned his penetrating gaze and his grand prose back on America, he saw something I needed to see again:

Mass media was my primary teacher growing up. And it taught me and my friends how to conform with one another. It slipped under the table to me a lesson that sincerity is a kind of weakness. That it will be used against me. And that any sentiment at all, anything that could expose you to the danger of ridicule or the genuine possession of an emotion, should be double- and triple-Saran-wrapped in irony. I suppose we do this for safety somehow, as if unwrapped passion itself is so flammable, it would consume our little worlds at the instant we exposed it to open air. (180)

I immediately saw myself. A few of my own convictions are things that embarrass me in polite Christian company, and the mocking I took to be healthy self-deprecation I now see as ironic self-distancing and self-protection. I will change, by God's grace.

Dougherty shows that the Irish nationalists of yesteryear, who gave their lives in a revolt they had to know would fail, have been mocked by today's ironic self-distancers. But they had something real we lack, something that ought to quicken the heart. In a day when even snuggling with your children is justified by the terms of technocratic capitalism—"Reading to Kids Increases their Net Worth by $127,350 by age 40"—we need to recover the idea that life gives us better values than money. That sounds almost like pablum as I summarize it, but it wasn't in Dougherty's hands: he successfully conveyed a sense of longing for the Irish nation without in any way trying to exclude others. In the day of the alt-right, it's considered dangerous to praise and defend the values of one's nation. Nations are ersatz realities, political creations, power grabs—we Saran-wrap ourselves from feeling any pride in star-spangled banners or Irish tri-colours. But it shouldn't be. Distinctive cultures have distinctive gifts of God (and distinctive sins), and those gifts are worth preserving. And the neat thing about American nationhood is that it was designed to incorporate huddled masses yearning to breathe free. This vision doesn't have to focus on exclusion.

Dougherty focused a good deal on the revisionist approaches to the Irish nationalist story. And I found his comments on that revisionism helpful:

Let's grant for a moment that we are all revisionists now. That we all retell stories in light of our motives. The next question would be: What are your motives?... If we want noble things in life, we will pull those noble things out of our history and experience. If we are cynics, we will see plenty of justification for our cynicism. (48)

I'm a conservative Protestant Christian, and I'm not going to distance myself from critiquing one theme in the book that I didn't quite understand. Dougherty seems to be critical of an American culture which, in his youth, placed a stigma on the single-parent status of his mother. Widows get support that single moms don't get, he said. They made their bed with a man they weren't married to; now they must lie in it even after he is gone. My heart does go out to Dougherty's deceased mother, who died lonely and afflicted. It's true that I place more blame on his father, who never should have fathered a child with a woman to whom he was not married (his later efforts to maintain connection with his son are nonetheless noted and appreciated—he was far better than many men). But the woman made a choice, too, and it affected her and her son for decades afterwards. Illicit sex does this. Our culture for the last fifty years has tried to wink at premarital sex and nudge it on everyone, but this is what happens when people have sex without being married: pain. It isn't strait-laced primness that causes me to oppose premarital sex, but love for God (who gave us the gift of sex) and for people.

This book is blurbed by J.D. Vance, of whose work it made me think. Oh how I wish that more of the fatherless boys I knew in long ministry on the wrong side of the tracks would turn out to be as thoughtful and successful as Vance and Dougherty. Most fatherlessness never gets an eloquent plea for attention. Those of us who take fathers for granted should read these books to increase our gratitude—and our determination to be faithful in love to our own children.

[Bob · Rating 1 out of 5]

The only thing worse than an autobiography is an epistolary autobiography consisting of letters one hopes no one would ever send to a loved one (full of pedantic & drearily-stylized recollections that the recipient also participated in as well as wikipedia-style factoids about the Easter Rising that one suspects the recipient, being Irish, knows better than the Irish-American writer). The only thing worse than such an epistolary autobiography is such an epistolary autobiography w/ a political purpose.

In this case, that purpose includes bemoaning nuclear family breakdown, catholic laxening, apologizing for nationalism (including, unconsciously, Trumpism), & subtle bemoaning declining white birth rates & promoting restrictions on abortion (&, I'm sure, any form of contraception). I came away from this book more than ever convinced of the need for abortion to be free on-demand. If the author's mother had made that decision, I'd've gotten back several hours of my life instead of begin morbidly fascinated to read this book & see how a Irish-American conservative travesties the anti-colonial nationalisms & radical republicianisms of Patrick Pearse & James Connolly into something superficially palatable to US conservatives hellbent on the maintenance & restoration of social hierarchy.

[Cheryl · Rating 4 out of 5]

As far as memoir type books good, this is a really good one. I liked the way that this book was written in the style of letters. I really appreciated the fact that author, Michael shared his heart and soul with this book. The letters really brought me closer to him. This is exactly the way I want to feel and experience when I am reading a book about someone's life.

My heart ached for Michael. Yet, he had a wonderful mother. She loved him. Her inserting bits of Ireland to him when he was a young boy is sweet. With each letter, I grew closer to Michael. He was honest in his letters. I have been fortunate to never experience my parents going through a divorce. Yet, my nephews have and my heart breaks for them.

Readers who like reading nonfiction or memoirs will find this book heartfelt and real. Mr. Dougherty is so honest that it is refreshing to read that in a book. This book is a recommended read.

[Jeanette · Rating 2 out of 5]

Despite liking the author, his mother, his father and his life in general- I was underwhelmed by this book. It's written beautifully, but not for me. Looking back with such a heavy tinged brand of "gypped" ire- is just not on my personal wavelength. I don't believe it ever has been either.

Having a childhood and young adulthood that was in majority Irish immigrant community, I thought I would have a better connection. But although I understood Michael, I just couldn't ever get on the "same page" with him. His Mother's last few years almost made me cry. IMHO, as "understanding" as he was to her, that particular era leaves me stymied for his "there" but truly "not there" reaction/ intersect with her.

This is about his Daddy. The Daddy not there and how Ireland and its history has somewhat replaced the ultimate connection to the person he saw infrequently. The one who replaced him with another Irish family in Ireland. Quite frankly, the title should have been "My Mother Left Me Ireland etc." The identity and much else is honored to land FAR more on her plate.

I did NOT think that putting it in letters to his Father increased the connection or onus. It didn't to me. Just made him seem and act MORE needy. Which of course, he was. But in Irish manner (LOL) he just gets lyrical and pontificates about Irish history comparisons and identity connections in a rather pompous manner instead. And I completely disagree about his ideas about nationalism and onus for government when the cultural masses are "quiet" as well. He sees things in the self centered nearly entirely and not just historically either.

I liked the end letter. And I am with him on the language of identity too.

All of us have our mountains to climb. The Irish excel at telling rather than doing, IMHO. He should have told this from his end straight out instead of substituting rebel Easter Rising heroes revised bravado.

He's more Irish than even he connotes.

[Sarah Swann · Rating 3 out of 5]

This one was ok for me. I liked that it was told in letters, but it started losing me when it went into the history of Ireland. It got boring for me. I enjoyed the evolution of his relationship with his father. I did have a bit of a hard time believing that these were original letters with all of the history lessons and things that seemed a bit odd to include in a letter. But it was fine and thought it was a solid memoir.

[Colleen Chi-Girl · Rating 5 out of 5]

I thought this was a beautiful memoir and tribute by an American male author about his Irish biological father.

As the memoir begins, Michael lives in the USA with his single Mom, who got pregnant some time ago by a nice young Irishman visiting NY. They didn’t marry or figure out a plan for raising Michael. Abandoned and angry mother who loves her son.

Michael does seem his father occasionally over the years and I hurt for him and his mother. To say more will give too much away.

I was somewhat happy by the ending and can’t say why!

[Rose · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book should really be called "My Mother Gave Me Ireland." Like much of the book, the title is centered around a missing father, when in fact, most of the poignant and revealing scenes have to do with the author and his mother. In a way, the idea that Dougherty's father is the important figure shows the sexist blindness that he exhibits towards his mother. She exposed him to Irish language, stories, and the Americanized versions of Irish culture. These inform his childhood and understanding of Ireland, but he can't seem to see Ireland for what is actually is, or what his father is showing him of it.

The text is written with the pretense that it is letters to Dougherty's father. However, the pretense falls away in the middle of each of the "letters" (which are more like chapters). One can understand the memories he recounts at the beginning and end of each chapter as something he might share with his father. But the middle of each letter would be America-splaining (like man-splaining) Irish culture to an Irish person. They explanations are missing an important understanding of the working-class nature of Irish culture as well as the complex relationship Irish people have with their own history, especially in an era when they are finally coming to terms with the role of the church as both liberator and oppressor. If, instead of recounting bits and pieces of the Easter Uprising, Dougherty had instead written about the effect that the version of history he learned had upon his view of the world, it would have made more sense.

There are other pieces that lead me to feel the author had glossed over the way that two cultures had shaped his view of the world. For example, when he talks about the Kiowa language (which is spoken by a small number of Native Americans from the Kiowa tribe) and the attempts at preserving it among living speakers, he uses it as a way to show that his fascination with Irish is not in vain. He suggests that Irish is dying and that most people speak it as a second language and without pride in Ireland. My own experience traveling in Ireland suggests a much more complex picture, with people in some parts of the west taking a lot of pride in speaking it and passing it on to their children, while some in Dublin look at it with a more fatalistic approach. Dougherty's version lacks nuance. Furthermore, he misses a major point in his comparison to the Kiowa language. The British government tried to destroy Irish by preventing it from being taught, by outlawing its use, and several other means. The descendants of the British used similar methods, honing them more fully, to do the same to many Native American languages. With this kind of comparison or a more nuanced understanding of the topics he broaches, Dougherty might have been able to look straight on at how history on both sides of the Atlantic have shaped him (including as an English language speaker). Instead, his writes from the perspective of someone who is barely aware of his own culture (beyond what the mass media offers up for entertainment) or the culture he is trying to claim.

I entered a Goodreads giveaway and received this book as a winner, not realizing that Dougherty is a writer for conservative magazines. I was partway through the book when I decided to look him up because I felt like he was dancing around the issues he was using plenty of words to bring up. I'm not opposed to reading conservative views of the world (though I don't subscribe to them) because I think it is important to read many perspectives in order to understand the complex views that sit side by side in America. However, as I read this book, I felt like it was written to prevent me from understanding how Dougherty really sees his place within America and within Ireland, and uses broad strokes characteristics to describe himself and his peer group and a skewed retelling of a single event in Irish history as a replacement for specific incidents that highlight who he is and how he became that person. I guess I expect an Irish or Irish-American memoir (having read several others) to contain a lot more self-awareness and understanding of the contradictions in history and culture.

[Jake McAtee · Rating 5 out of 5]

Really great stuff.

[Ivan · Rating 4 out of 5]

A heartbreaking and beautiful book.

[Stephen Smith · Rating 4 out of 5]

A moving memoir mixed with political and historical reflections. A bit disjointed, but still powerful in that those most basic human relationships often drive our perspectives and our politics in profound ways that theory and ideology cannot.

[Sugarrr · Rating 1 out of 5]

I was hoping this was a different kind of memoir, these letters were mostly boring to me. If this book were written like a usual memoir it probably woukd gave been better. Sry I just didnt like it..

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very good. Moving and emotional but also incisive about culture, consumerism and legacy. We are leaving debts to our progeny (if we have any) that they are unprepared to pay.

[فاروق · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is the first time I’ve read a book about longing for a homeland or sense of place written by someone who lives in the United States but has origins in another Western country (Ireland), so I was interested to see what parallels I would find between this book and authors who write about settling in the US from non Western countries. The differentiating factor here was that it was a book about fatherhood as much as it was about placelessness, with the two being intertwined as the author’s father lived in Ireland with his other family, and so the longing for a sense of home was coupled with longing for a father.

Ireland in its recent years has transformed itself into the European hub for American tech companies due to lucrative tax incentives the companies can exploit by being headquartered in there (Microsoft, Google, Facebook, and Twitter all have their HQs in Dublin). As such, the homogenized culture of consumption and polite liberalism that you’d expect in a place like San Francisco is now alive and well in Dublin, so one has to ask how big the differences between cultures truly is in the major cities.

But Ireland’s history sets it apart from other places. Having successfully rebelled against the British Empire, there is a rich cultural legacy of poems and ballads that commemorate the rebellion and places value in what it means to be “Irish.” That value and cultural heritage hangs over the author as he tries to make sense of being Irish, growing up as the only child of a single mother whose father lives abroad and occasionally writes to him.

I really enjoyed reading the author’s description of what it meant for him to grow up in suburban White America where very little sacrifice was required of him. He was successful in school, polite to others, and lived a generally comfortable life that never required him to ask larger questions about purpose or responsibility. So much of our culture embraces platitudes like “be yourself” and “be authentic” that can create a sense of isolation when you are not a part of a larger tradition, cultural, spiritual, or familial, to guide you through the process of growing up, coming into your own, and understanding your place and purpose on this earth. And that isolation was juxtaposed with the inheritance of Irish culture that had these great songs and legends honoring the sacrifices of previous generations. But without a strong connection to his Irish father, struggles with the language, and no connection to the land, what to make of this great cultural repository?

I think it’s a question asked by many children of immigrants who may be disconnected from the tongues of their parents, and the cultural and spiritual legacies they come across in places they now live thousands of miles away from. The author intertwines Irish history, his upbringing, and the evolving relationship with his father, and the progression of that relationship and connection seems central to his answer to that question.

It’s a quick book, the writing is lyrical, and I enjoyed reading the reflections on fatherhood and place. While I’ve acutely felt that sense of isolation that the author eloquently describes, his answer to those questions weren’t as fleshed out, perhaps because they now transcend the realm of words and are found in his relationship with his father and his own experience of becoming a father. Also, the tension of making sense of one’s Irish legacy did not seem to be as haunting a question when there are many cultural and religious parallels and pockets to be found in the United States. It seemed more like a consequence of growing up in the shadow of an absent Irish father, and a response to the uncomfortable decadence of growing up in suburbia.

[Jonathan Maas · Rating 5 out of 5]

A great book - a unique tale

This book breaks you down and then somehow builds you back up again.

Michael Brendan Dougherty grew up without a father, and somehow managed to keep from being that person himself when he grew up.

Yes, he is angry. Yes, he has problems.

But he finds a way through it, and then brings it to us. His father, as it turns out, has a few layers - and not all of them bad.

And Michael Brendan Dougherty stays with it to the end, so that we can see it as well.

And as hard as the truths of life he brings are - it's a short tale. And over before you know it. And with a tale like this, that's a good thing.

I highly recommend it to just about anyone!

[Jonathan Gormley · Rating 1 out of 5]

You ever been in a bar where a nearby hipster is opinining far too loudly about craft beers? Subjecting whoever is with him and those within earshot to obnoxious certainty that some obscure brew is the best.

Unfortunately it is basically the style of this author. Except it's not about beer, it's about Ireland. And Ireland isn't the best, according to him it's the worst.

So this author is in New Jersey but he read some basics of Ireland and now he wants to send up his hot takes about Irish history, language, and culture to (get this) his father *who himself is actually Irish and lived his whole life in Ireland*.

The premise of this book is that it is a collection of letters the author wrote to his father (who never married his mother and thereby they live on different continents). The truly sad observation is that the author bears scars from not having the attentions of his father in his day to day life. So in this book, a kind of self-therapy, the author goes about exacting a harsh punishment on his father in the way of writing letters that alternatively slather guilt on the father for his absence and then the pretentious lectures about Ireland to someone who would know more than he about the subject. The father is never given the honor of reply in the book.

You the reader are even less of a priority in this communication. You may enter with a humble understanding of Irish history, but you will not benefit from any foundational background with this author. Much like the bar patron in unfortunate earshot of the craft brew hipster, you're not really meant to engage the monolog. You're just the audience for a self-satisfied rambler who seems a bit too certain.

[Books, Brews, and Tunes · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderful memoir about what it’s like to be raised in a single parent household and then later connect with your father. However, it also serves to offer up political philosophy. MBD is a conservative and, regardless of your views, his definitions of culture and a nation were well thought out and left you thinking.

Also you get to expand your Irish history along the way and have it, specifically 1916. MBD ties in the writings of Patrick Pearse to connect to today to talk about the loss of a national identity (sort of US is not a melting pot but a salad bowl in the 21st century compared to before vibes) — a nation is passing down identities and stories from one generation to the next — something MBD longed for and made sure his daughter would have.

Overall, enjoyable book regardless if you agree with MBD’s political views or not — have an open mind you learn so much more (you’re smart enough to know if someone is talking out their arse).

[Cathi Warren · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one of the most achingly lovely books I've ever read. Part history, part coming-of-age, part coming to grips, part coming home...to the only home that matters. Regardless of how far you live from the author's background of being the only child of a single mother, abandoned by his father, and searching for the painful answers he needed, you will find a piece of yourself in this book. And maybe find your own way home.

(And there's no substitute for hearing this author read his own words.)

[julia! · Rating 3 out of 5]

sometimes even i have to tell myself no, but i’m so conflicted because this book is so like “YEAHHHHH MAN- YEAHHH NATIONALISM— YEAHHH DADDY ISSUES BUT AS A MAN” but then there’s quotes like “failing to have children, but failing the children we have” i just… 3.5 on a good day, but 2.5 on an average day.

[Andrew · Rating 5 out of 5]

Really moving book. I listened to the audio version read by the author. I've followed Michael Brendan Dougherty (pronounced like pizza Dough-erty, not Dow-erty as I'd thought) for quite awhile, and it was interesting thinking back on his public life on twitter and at the American Conservative and trying to place it within the context of this book.

He used to actually follow me on twitter back when it was relatively new and we exchanged barbs a few times. He's since joined the National Review after leaving The American Conservative and The Week.

I'd highly recommend it if you like Ireland or memoirs. A lot to ponder in a very short book.

[Steven · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a beautiful, heartfelt little book.

[Alex O'Connor · Rating 5 out of 5]

A beautiful meditation on fatherhood and nationhood. Really resonated with me, and articulated some things that I have felt about my Irish heritage.

[Scott · Rating 4 out of 5]

Listened to this while on morning walks in Dublin and Cork. A moving tribute.

[Neil McGee · Rating 3 out of 5]

Enjoyed the literary journey through another's eyes. (I was welcomed and never felt more at home in my own skin than the thoroughly enjoyed days in Ireland, enjoyed both the Republic & Northern, but the party scene was a once in a lifetime experience in Belfast)

[MG · Rating 3 out of 5]

A friend recommended this, who is a literature professor. I admit the writing was quite good, but to what end? Yes, Dougherty had issues stemming from his absent Irish dad, and, yes, the birth of his first child stirred some longings for rootedness, but I am not sure what we were to gain from hearing his literary letter/essays to his dad. He makes peace with his dad and with his Irishishness, but that is simply what it means to mature and the way he does it was not generalizeable to his readers. Disappointing.

[Sam Strickland · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dougherty gives an intimate portrait of his life as a son commingled with his hopes for his life as a father. It renders personal a lot of the critiques conservative writers have made of social atomization and family disintegration. I hope it opens up some conversations on the merits and drawbacks of nationalism.

[Nancy Head · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book. It's beautiful, profound, philosophical, and poetic. A great read.

[Andrew Figueiredo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Michael Brendan Dougherty builds a moving memoir through these letters to his father. It's not terribly long, but in retelling Dougherty's life, addresses fatherhood, patriotism, tradition, masculinity, Irish history, and politics (in a sort of indirect way). The author traces evolving relationships his mother, who worked hard to confer authentic Irishness on her son, and his father, largely estranged in Ireland while he grew up. The often strained father-son relationship manifests itself in a cultural gap Dougherty closes over time, ending in raising his daughter on Irish lullabies and storybooks. Furthermore, these relationships exemplify a range of expressions of nationalism. From a deep, sacrificial commitment expressed by participants in The Rising to the consumerist ethic of liberation and convenient personal authenticity to an ironic aloofness, his story summarizes the ways we connect to ancestors. "My Father Left Me Ireland" presents a potent critique of shallow liberal ideas of belonging and elevates a profound understanding of nationalism centered on an "immense inheritance of imagination and passion" (27). I prefer this more personal narrative to Yoram Hazony's categorization-laden defense of nationalism. Dougherty's memoir delivered his point without rationalizing it in contemporary political heuristics.

While I couldn't relate to the familial estrangement, Dougherty's book resonated with me as a first-generation American always seeking a deeper connection with my Portuguese roots. I often feel like my ancestry envelops me, giving me a rootedness in a world torn from its roots. Growing up somewhere where I couldn't encounter my culture in the community (unlike Dougherty's upbringing around to Irish-American groups during the Troubles), I had to work extra to learn the language through my parents. We watched Portuguese soccer, spoke to my grandparents in Portuguese, and cobbled together the ingredients we could find in a Midwestern grocery store into traditional cuisine, keeping strong the "identity that could not be bought and sold" (129). I was lucky to inherit a very alive language, far easier to delve into than Irish. Whether my parents and grandparents recognized it or not, they knew that our common inheritance mattered beyond any marketized, instrumental reason, beyond "technocratic manipulation" (94).

In an era "thick with skepticism for everything received" (38 in my e-book), Dougherty similarly calls us to recognize our roots and the sacrifice that comes with them. In this sense, his work is a counter-cultural one, flying in the face of the "myth of liberation . . . a solvent that had slowly and inexorably dissolved any sense of obligation in life" (86). Finally, I found an author who gave me the words to explain why I want to teach my children the prayer my great-grandmother taught me, to cook properly cut the greens for a bowl of Caldo Verde, to watch the Seleção with a burgeoning sense of pride, to retell the lore of Goesto Ansures, the first Figueiredo. Someday, when I become a father, I'll know to reread "My Father Left me Ireland" because it inspires me to be a steward of my Portuguese roots.

[Edward · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dougherty has written an autobiograpy in the form of letters to his father who was mostly absent while he was growing up. His parents separated, his father remaining in Ireland and his single-parent mother raising him in the States. There was considerable animosity between the parents, and the son only saw his father infrequently and briefly when he would come to the states. But what the son got from the father was an emotional connection to Ireland..

The author realizes that he is risking sentimentality in seeming to praise Ireland too much, its history, especially the Easter Rising of 1916 which led to the creation of a country independent from England. On the other hand, he is critical of the aspects of modern Ireland which have neglected Ireland’s past. This ambivalence is reflected as well in the often troubled relationship with his father. In a sense his love for Ireland is compensating in complex ways for the emotional distance he kept for a long time from his father.

He sees Ireland as a spiritual home. A nation, he thinks, should be more than just contractual relations between people. It should be a “spiritual ecology that exists between the living, the unborn, and the dead.” This may sound pretty vague, but in support of what he means, he praises the speaking of the Gaelic language as well as Irish history. His mother taught him Gaelic and he is trying to pass that knowledge on to his infant daughter. He laments the loss of any connection with the past that h e sees as becoming too prevalent in the Unied States, and in Ireland as well. The decline of the native language, the decline of religion, the emphasis on material gain (Ireland referred to ,for example, in purely economic terms as the “Celtic Tiger”) are indications of what he means.

What about all of the celebrations of St. Patrick’s Day, the parades, the Irish dancing and music? He’s a bit skeptical as many of these practices of “Irishness” are commercialized kitsch and have little depth with the real Ireland.

It’s an interesting approach to the meaning of a nationality, with the emphasis on Ireland and its history. Dougherty admires Patrick Pearse, an executed leader of the 1916 uprising, in his advocacy of idealism, that a man has to be ready to and to die for a cause, and even resort to violence in extreme cases. I think what attracts the author is Pearse’s emotional appeal which goes well beyond a rational and narrow self interest. .

In his own way, that is what Daugherty is attempting to do in this book by trying to bridge the gap between himself and his father and this idea of what it should mean to identify with a country. I don’t know if he entirely succeeds, but I give him credit for originality in raising these issues.

[Christian D. D. · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had the honor and pleasure of meeting the author--and getting an autographed copy of this book--when he spoke at the American Enterprise Institute (AEI) think tank in Washington, DC a year ago. At the basic level, it's a superb, deeply moving story about the author's reconnection with both his absentee Irish national father in particular and his Irish roots in general.

But for me, "My Father Left Me Ireland" has also served me very usefully at another level, as an excellent source for two separate research papers on the Irish Republican Army (IRA) for my online Masters in Intelligence Studies (w/concentration in Terrorism Studies) degree program at American Military University (AMU)--got a solid "A" on both papers, so I reckon that makes for a pretty solid testimonial! While not written as a book on terrorism, international relations, or history in general, nonetheless gives good insight into the cultural mindset of Irish nationals and Irish-Americans of alike, and the enduring impact and lingering effects of the IRA, old and new alike, on the members of the Irish Diaspora, including fundraising efforts:
“She [the author’s mother, that is] brought me to bars in Boston and put spare money into those woolen Irish flat caps when collections went out for the ‘widows and orphans’ of West Belfast.’ She was smart enough to know what the money really was for.” (p. 10)

Other particularly noteworthy and memorable passages:

--p. 7: "I remember that my mother's Virginia Slims had this new Irish name, 'fags,' which I was not allowed to repeat." Haha, political incorrectness

--p. 16: "You ordered steak well done at the restaurant, and then I did too. (I would order steak this way for the next ten years. Damn you for that.)" Haha, damn him indeed--such a sacrilegious way to eat steak!

--p. 23: "Sports--the very thing that made it easy for almost any other two men to find ease and commonality with each other--reminded me instantly that in your presence I am family, but still unfamiliar. I am proximate, nowhere near close."

--p. 28: "Eamon de Valera, born in New York City, was ridiculed as a half-Spanish bastard." Wow, well that answers my question about the origin of his surname. And I can partially relate, as I'm Scots-Irish from my Dad's side and 1/4 Spaniard from the Mom's side (God rest both my parents' souls).

--p. 184: "Many language learners say they find a new personality in their second language." I concur wholeheartedly; I've found myself being more culturally sophisticated and respectful, and better able to build rapport wth people of other nationalities and cultures. And it fills me with a newfound sense of disdain and disgust with the laziness and disrespectfulness of the travelers who who embody the stereotype of "The Ugly American."

[Michele · Rating 2 out of 5]

"The child of an Irish man and an Irish-American woman who split up before he was born, Michael Brendan Dougherty grew up with an acute sense of absence. He was raised in New Jersey by his hard-working single mother, who gave him a passion for Ireland, the land of her roots and the home of Michael's father. She put him to bed using little phrases in the Irish language, sang traditional songs, and filled their home with a romantic vision of a homeland over the horizon.

Every few years, his father returned from Dublin for a visit, but those encounters were never long enough. Devastated by his father's departures, Michael eventually consoled himself by believing that fatherhood was best understood as a check in the mail. Wearied by the Irish kitsch of the 1990s, he began to reject his mother's Irish nationalism as a romantic myth.

Years later, when Michael found out that he would soon be a father himself, he could no longer afford to be jaded; he would need to tell his daughter who she is and where she comes from. He immediately re-immersed himself in the biographies of firebrands like Patrick Pearse and studied the Irish language. And he decided to reconnect with the man who had left him behind, and the nation just over the horizon. He began writing letters to his father about what he remembered, missed, and longed for. Those letters would become this book.

Along the way, Michael realized that his longings were shared by many Americans of every ethnicity and background. So many of us these days lack a clear sense of our cultural origins or even a vocabulary for expressing this lack--so we avoid talking about our roots altogether. As a result, the traditional sense of pride has started to feel foreign and dangerous; we've become great consumers of cultural kitsch, but useless conservators of our true history.

In these deeply felt and fascinating letters, Dougherty goes beyond his family's story to share a fascinating meditation on the meaning of identity in America."

I felt the book was too political with excessive talk of the Easter Rising in 1916. The talks about the gaelic language and its decline."