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The Big Fellow
Biography of Michael Collins.
222 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1937
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About the author
Frank O'Connor
164 books131 followersLibrarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads data base.
Frank O’Connor (born Michael Francis O'Connor O'Donovan) was an Irish author of over 150 works, who was best known for his short stories and memoirs. Raised an only child in Cork, Ireland, to Minnie O'Connor and Michael O'Donovan, his early life was marked by his father's alcoholism, indebtness and ill-treatment of his mother.
He was perhaps Ireland's most complete man of letters, best known for his varied and comprehensive short stories but also for his work as a literary critic, essayist, travel writer, translator and biographer.[5] He was also a novelist, poet and dramatist.[6]
From the 1930s to the 1960s he was a prolific writer of short stories, poems, plays, and novellas. His work as an Irish teacher complemented his plethora of translations into English of Irish poetry, including his initially banned translation of Brian Merriman's Cúirt an Mheán Oíche ("The Midnight Court"). Many of O'Connor's writings were based on his own life experiences — his character Larry Delaney in particular. O'Connor's experiences in the Irish War of Independence and the Irish Civil War are reflected in The Big Fellow, his biography of Irish revolutionary leader Michael Collins, published in 1937, and one of his best-known short stories, Guests of the Nation (1931), published in various forms during O'Connor's lifetime and included in Frank O'Connor — Collected Stories, published in 1981.
O'Connor's early years are recounted in An Only Child, a memoir published in 1961 but which has the immediacy of a precocious diary. U.S. President John F. Kennedy quoted from An Only Child in his remarks introducing the American commitment to land a man on the moon by the end of the 1960s. Kennedy described the long walks O'Connor would take with his friends and how, when they came to a wall that seemed too formidable to climb over, they would throw their caps over the wall so they would be forced to scale the wall after them. Kennedy concluded, "This nation has tossed its cap over the wall of space and we have no choice but to follow it."[7] O'Connor continued his autobiography through his time with the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, which ended in 1939, in his book, My Father's Son, which was published in 1968, after O'Connor's death.
Frank O’Connor (born Michael Francis O'Connor O'Donovan) was an Irish author of over 150 works, who was best known for his short stories and memoirs. Raised an only child in Cork, Ireland, to Minnie O'Connor and Michael O'Donovan, his early life was marked by his father's alcoholism, indebtness and ill-treatment of his mother.
He was perhaps Ireland's most complete man of letters, best known for his varied and comprehensive short stories but also for his work as a literary critic, essayist, travel writer, translator and biographer.[5] He was also a novelist, poet and dramatist.[6]
From the 1930s to the 1960s he was a prolific writer of short stories, poems, plays, and novellas. His work as an Irish teacher complemented his plethora of translations into English of Irish poetry, including his initially banned translation of Brian Merriman's Cúirt an Mheán Oíche ("The Midnight Court"). Many of O'Connor's writings were based on his own life experiences — his character Larry Delaney in particular. O'Connor's experiences in the Irish War of Independence and the Irish Civil War are reflected in The Big Fellow, his biography of Irish revolutionary leader Michael Collins, published in 1937, and one of his best-known short stories, Guests of the Nation (1931), published in various forms during O'Connor's lifetime and included in Frank O'Connor — Collected Stories, published in 1981.
O'Connor's early years are recounted in An Only Child, a memoir published in 1961 but which has the immediacy of a precocious diary. U.S. President John F. Kennedy quoted from An Only Child in his remarks introducing the American commitment to land a man on the moon by the end of the 1960s. Kennedy described the long walks O'Connor would take with his friends and how, when they came to a wall that seemed too formidable to climb over, they would throw their caps over the wall so they would be forced to scale the wall after them. Kennedy concluded, "This nation has tossed its cap over the wall of space and we have no choice but to follow it."[7] O'Connor continued his autobiography through his time with the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, which ended in 1939, in his book, My Father's Son, which was published in 1968, after O'Connor's death.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
August 31, 2013
A great biography of Collins written less than two decades after his death. O'Conner fought against Collins and the Treaty during the Irish Civil War, but became fascinated by the man later. Contains many, many interesting anecdotes which you'll enjoy if you aren't too worried about their provenance (there are very few footnotes). Neil Jordan said he read this book before writing the script to his movie and it shows. There are scenes in the book which are almost exactly performed on screen in the film. Pick up this book if you want a non-academic, fun and interesting view of Collins.
February 22, 2018
I was given a copy of the recent re-print of this book by Mercer Press in exchange for a fair review (https://www.mercierpress.ie/news/pres... )
One of the first thing I noticed about this re-issue was its introduction by filmmaker Neil Jordan, so I had to double check and yes, the original publication of this book, which came out only two decades after Michael Collins' death, was a hefty inspiration to Jordan writing and making his biopic of the man. He goes on to tell that story himself in his introduction, and I think it is the way that intro blends so well into Frank O'Connor's own acknowledgements and justifications at the start of the book proper, that made me realize why this book makes sense now, why bring it back into focus now.
Jordan's film of Michael Collins' life is itself 20 years old now, and surely not only for me, was one of the only pieces of media about the historical figure given to me while I was studying him and that period in school. Obviously everyone's history teacher and level of personal interest were no doubt different, but I think for many people my age unless you had someone in your life personally interested in the time it was hard to connect to it or humanize the figures involved.
This was a problem O'Connor saw only 20 years after Collins had died. He acknowledges that he's telling this story from a very particular perspective, relying heavily on anecdotes and personal stories and impressions of the man and using these and his friends' thoughts about him to try to understand him as a person, why he acted as he did, how to account for his 'mistakes' towards the end of his life. He doesn't deny the almost haegiographfic worship of the man, he never hesitates in praising his genius, points out the various ways in which his larger than life gruffness and bursts of violence might be off-putting but applauds only those of his acquaintance that loved Collins the more for these things. He makes no bones of the fact that this is his angle, he wants to recreate that feeling of awe, not just of the man himself, but surrounding him at the time, the feeling in the country when independence and the dreams of generations finally seemed as those they wouldn't die, and how that affected and felt for ordinary people. O'Connor admits when he simply knows little about particular historical events or periods of the life he's covering - the book is sparsely footnoted, and he points out where he's relying on other's written work. The book reads a lot less like history and more the feverish, essential recollections of a man for a personal friend whom he can't help mythologizing and worshiping as a hero, and he doesn't try to. He mentions repeatedly the flaws that Collins has and how important it is not to avoid them, but it's pure lipservice - O'Connor does not write like a man who believes anything he's including to be a flaw, until one pivotal incident late in Collins' life, and this 'mistake' haunts those pages.
This re-issue, with the Jordan introduction really focused my reading of the book on the idea of the representation of Collins, his public memory. O'Connor has a beautiful style and his character drawings are remarkable, not just of Collins - he doesn't need the subtlety of a novel to weave in characterization of all the other people who touched Collins' life; he has the excuse of biography to simply state who they were, and he draws wonderful pictures of long dead nobodies and essential figures. But it is very hard to read this book as factual, even when some must be. O'Connor feared Collins and the reason for Irish people to have the feelings about him, and the conflict that ended his life, that they did, would be forgotten, that he'd become a flat, dead name. Which, personally speaking, was largely true. Seeing how this book directly influenced one of the most well-known modern representations of Michael Collins, and the importance of him as a living, breathing barely-flawed human in our minds to both Jordan and O'Connor, was a big part of the intrigue in reading this book for me. How much of what still exists in public memory of Collins' is a through-line from his one man's dedication to him as a hero and superman. If questions of vitality vs. accuracy, or representation of historical Irish figures in the public consciousness interest you too, I'd recommend this book even if you don't specifically care to know more of Collins' quite bizarre and contradictory character.
One of the first thing I noticed about this re-issue was its introduction by filmmaker Neil Jordan, so I had to double check and yes, the original publication of this book, which came out only two decades after Michael Collins' death, was a hefty inspiration to Jordan writing and making his biopic of the man. He goes on to tell that story himself in his introduction, and I think it is the way that intro blends so well into Frank O'Connor's own acknowledgements and justifications at the start of the book proper, that made me realize why this book makes sense now, why bring it back into focus now.
Jordan's film of Michael Collins' life is itself 20 years old now, and surely not only for me, was one of the only pieces of media about the historical figure given to me while I was studying him and that period in school. Obviously everyone's history teacher and level of personal interest were no doubt different, but I think for many people my age unless you had someone in your life personally interested in the time it was hard to connect to it or humanize the figures involved.
This was a problem O'Connor saw only 20 years after Collins had died. He acknowledges that he's telling this story from a very particular perspective, relying heavily on anecdotes and personal stories and impressions of the man and using these and his friends' thoughts about him to try to understand him as a person, why he acted as he did, how to account for his 'mistakes' towards the end of his life. He doesn't deny the almost haegiographfic worship of the man, he never hesitates in praising his genius, points out the various ways in which his larger than life gruffness and bursts of violence might be off-putting but applauds only those of his acquaintance that loved Collins the more for these things. He makes no bones of the fact that this is his angle, he wants to recreate that feeling of awe, not just of the man himself, but surrounding him at the time, the feeling in the country when independence and the dreams of generations finally seemed as those they wouldn't die, and how that affected and felt for ordinary people. O'Connor admits when he simply knows little about particular historical events or periods of the life he's covering - the book is sparsely footnoted, and he points out where he's relying on other's written work. The book reads a lot less like history and more the feverish, essential recollections of a man for a personal friend whom he can't help mythologizing and worshiping as a hero, and he doesn't try to. He mentions repeatedly the flaws that Collins has and how important it is not to avoid them, but it's pure lipservice - O'Connor does not write like a man who believes anything he's including to be a flaw, until one pivotal incident late in Collins' life, and this 'mistake' haunts those pages.
This re-issue, with the Jordan introduction really focused my reading of the book on the idea of the representation of Collins, his public memory. O'Connor has a beautiful style and his character drawings are remarkable, not just of Collins - he doesn't need the subtlety of a novel to weave in characterization of all the other people who touched Collins' life; he has the excuse of biography to simply state who they were, and he draws wonderful pictures of long dead nobodies and essential figures. But it is very hard to read this book as factual, even when some must be. O'Connor feared Collins and the reason for Irish people to have the feelings about him, and the conflict that ended his life, that they did, would be forgotten, that he'd become a flat, dead name. Which, personally speaking, was largely true. Seeing how this book directly influenced one of the most well-known modern representations of Michael Collins, and the importance of him as a living, breathing barely-flawed human in our minds to both Jordan and O'Connor, was a big part of the intrigue in reading this book for me. How much of what still exists in public memory of Collins' is a through-line from his one man's dedication to him as a hero and superman. If questions of vitality vs. accuracy, or representation of historical Irish figures in the public consciousness interest you too, I'd recommend this book even if you don't specifically care to know more of Collins' quite bizarre and contradictory character.
March 3, 2018
I approached Mercier Press’ reissue of Frank O’Connor’s 1937 biography of Michael Collins “The Big Fellow” with trepidation. Surely a book written over 80 years ago would be old-fashioned and dense in its writing style with little of interest to the modern reader.
However, I found my initial prejudice was completely wrong as I was gripped from the opening page of this book. The author Frank O’Connor was also a Corkman but fought on the opposite side to Collins in the Irish Civil War. He knew the characters he describes in the book and brings each of them vividly to life with all of their quirks and traits- the advantage of an almost contemporaneous write-up. O’Connor’s writing style is fast-paced and oriented towards the actions of Collins from the 1916 Rising to his premature death near Beal na mBláth in August 1922.
A picture builds of a driven man, a man capable of great power and passion but also meticulous in organisation and detail. Collins, whilst inspiring great devotion among many, could also be divisive. O’Connor clearly traces Collins’ rise and fall and always strives to link this to the consequences of his powerful personality with both its heroic attributes and its tragic flaws.
Throughout this book, Collins’ humanity and “tenderness” is emphasised- this was no killing machine but a man wedded to a cause whilst shouldering the terrible burden of the consequences of pursuing that cause. In some ways, the book points to a conclusion that here was a man whose personality was too large to be constrained within the administrative and political structures of the emerging democratic Republic of Ireland. The author leaves us to wonder if his death was necessary in the end for Ireland to emerge from the shadow of war.
Collins was a giant of a man in every sense. His loss was a great one in terms of the unique personality and characteristics he brought to Irish life. The great achievement of O’Connor’s book is in giving us, the readers, a much better insight to the man Michael Collins was and the magnitude of the loss sustained in that lonely glen near Beal na mBláth.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis. Ni bheidh a leithéid ann arís.
However, I found my initial prejudice was completely wrong as I was gripped from the opening page of this book. The author Frank O’Connor was also a Corkman but fought on the opposite side to Collins in the Irish Civil War. He knew the characters he describes in the book and brings each of them vividly to life with all of their quirks and traits- the advantage of an almost contemporaneous write-up. O’Connor’s writing style is fast-paced and oriented towards the actions of Collins from the 1916 Rising to his premature death near Beal na mBláth in August 1922.
A picture builds of a driven man, a man capable of great power and passion but also meticulous in organisation and detail. Collins, whilst inspiring great devotion among many, could also be divisive. O’Connor clearly traces Collins’ rise and fall and always strives to link this to the consequences of his powerful personality with both its heroic attributes and its tragic flaws.
Throughout this book, Collins’ humanity and “tenderness” is emphasised- this was no killing machine but a man wedded to a cause whilst shouldering the terrible burden of the consequences of pursuing that cause. In some ways, the book points to a conclusion that here was a man whose personality was too large to be constrained within the administrative and political structures of the emerging democratic Republic of Ireland. The author leaves us to wonder if his death was necessary in the end for Ireland to emerge from the shadow of war.
Collins was a giant of a man in every sense. His loss was a great one in terms of the unique personality and characteristics he brought to Irish life. The great achievement of O’Connor’s book is in giving us, the readers, a much better insight to the man Michael Collins was and the magnitude of the loss sustained in that lonely glen near Beal na mBláth.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis. Ni bheidh a leithéid ann arís.
May 21, 2010
perhaps more detailed than I was looking for
August 3, 2013
A mite dated and hagiographic.
March 2, 2020
This is an exhilarating and evocatively written book, undoubtedly capable of stirring up some measure of jingoism in even the most steadfast of British loyalists. It is charged with an unassailable admiration for the loyalty, bravery and patriotism of those men and women who dedicated their lives - often literally - to the pursuit of autonomy beyond that of suzerainty.
‘The Big Fellow’ is a thoroughly entertaining and informative read, with tales of daring prison breakouts, assassinations, espionage and complex power plays - it almost seems too fantastical to be the story of a simple man from Cork who enjoyed wrestling on the floor with his friends and was as likely to fly into a rage as he was into tears. It chronicles one mans ascent as a revolutionary to becoming one of Ireland’s greatest leaders, from developing a reputation for being an insatiable extremist to being a man with wisdom beyond his years who saw in the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921 ‘not the ultimate freedom that all nations desire ... but the freedom to achieve it’.
Michael ‘Mick’ Collins was nicknamed ‘The Big Fellow’ from childhood and would see the nickname appropriated as a means of derision - a jibe from the people around him at how they thought he saw himself - and then reappropriated to reflect the awe, approbation and respect he commanded. A man who started out defined by his quintessential Irish character - humorous, tender and with a fiery temper, he was truculent but quick to forgive - and who would go on to become fabled for his meticulousness, loyalty and unwavering commitment to a cause that would define and, ultimately, take his life.
Some prior knowledge of Irish Republicanism, from the Easter Rising of 1916 to the Civil War of 1922-1923, is required to understand this book. It is not so much centred around the historical events but, rather, given it is a biography, is devoted to the life of Michael Collins and told primarily by way of anecdotal evidence recalled by those closest to Collins throughout this period. However, there is very little upbraiding of Collins’ action or character and from the very beginning it overemphasises every aspect of his being. Indeed, by O’Connor’s own admission this is a work of aggrandisement and hyperbole - he warns in the foreword that ‘[a]necdote preserves the living man, but it exaggerates him’ - such as when he recounts the time Collins hoisted half a tierce (some 78 pints) of beer singlehandedly on to the counter of a bar. However, having read what his contemporaries thought of him, I think this aggrandisement is simply testament to his disposition and the aura that surrounded him. In this regard, this is certainly - as I saw another reviewer describe it - a hagiography, written by a man who, although having fought against Collins during the period, became inspired by the tales which remained as his legacy following his death.
I am proud to say that some of my own relatives feature in this biography. Included in the book is part of the final stanza from the last poem that Thomas Ashe (my first cousin thrice removed) wrote. It inspired not only Collins but an entire nation following Ashe’s death, who was hauled away by British guards to subject him to forced feeding during his hunger strike, and I feel it perfectly captures the pertinacious attitude that this book portrays Collins as having:
‘Let me carry your Cross for Ireland, Lord!
For Ireland weak with tears,
For the aged man of the clouded brow,
For the child of tender years…’
‘The Big Fellow’ is a thoroughly entertaining and informative read, with tales of daring prison breakouts, assassinations, espionage and complex power plays - it almost seems too fantastical to be the story of a simple man from Cork who enjoyed wrestling on the floor with his friends and was as likely to fly into a rage as he was into tears. It chronicles one mans ascent as a revolutionary to becoming one of Ireland’s greatest leaders, from developing a reputation for being an insatiable extremist to being a man with wisdom beyond his years who saw in the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921 ‘not the ultimate freedom that all nations desire ... but the freedom to achieve it’.
Michael ‘Mick’ Collins was nicknamed ‘The Big Fellow’ from childhood and would see the nickname appropriated as a means of derision - a jibe from the people around him at how they thought he saw himself - and then reappropriated to reflect the awe, approbation and respect he commanded. A man who started out defined by his quintessential Irish character - humorous, tender and with a fiery temper, he was truculent but quick to forgive - and who would go on to become fabled for his meticulousness, loyalty and unwavering commitment to a cause that would define and, ultimately, take his life.
Some prior knowledge of Irish Republicanism, from the Easter Rising of 1916 to the Civil War of 1922-1923, is required to understand this book. It is not so much centred around the historical events but, rather, given it is a biography, is devoted to the life of Michael Collins and told primarily by way of anecdotal evidence recalled by those closest to Collins throughout this period. However, there is very little upbraiding of Collins’ action or character and from the very beginning it overemphasises every aspect of his being. Indeed, by O’Connor’s own admission this is a work of aggrandisement and hyperbole - he warns in the foreword that ‘[a]necdote preserves the living man, but it exaggerates him’ - such as when he recounts the time Collins hoisted half a tierce (some 78 pints) of beer singlehandedly on to the counter of a bar. However, having read what his contemporaries thought of him, I think this aggrandisement is simply testament to his disposition and the aura that surrounded him. In this regard, this is certainly - as I saw another reviewer describe it - a hagiography, written by a man who, although having fought against Collins during the period, became inspired by the tales which remained as his legacy following his death.
I am proud to say that some of my own relatives feature in this biography. Included in the book is part of the final stanza from the last poem that Thomas Ashe (my first cousin thrice removed) wrote. It inspired not only Collins but an entire nation following Ashe’s death, who was hauled away by British guards to subject him to forced feeding during his hunger strike, and I feel it perfectly captures the pertinacious attitude that this book portrays Collins as having:
‘Let me carry your Cross for Ireland, Lord!
For Ireland weak with tears,
For the aged man of the clouded brow,
For the child of tender years…’
November 22, 2022
Interesting work from a fiction writer, and it should be remembered that O’Connor primarily was a fiction writer; however his writing of a historiography of Collins tells us something about the magnitude and attraction of Collins’ character. All-in-all it’s a pretty good book, though perhaps take a pinch of salt to it in places.
September 16, 2019
As interesting as the subject is, I found this book very difficult to read, and I don't recommend that you read it unless you already have a lot of knowledge about this period in Irish history.
July 11, 2024
EAMON DE VALERA
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews