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Inventory
" Inventory is a remarkable memoir; a work of auto-archaeology, really, in which Darran Anderson disinters his own and his country’s hard pasts, shaking life, love and loss out of the objects of his youth in Northern Ireland." --Robert Macfarlane, author of A Deep Time Journey
A lyrical memoir and family history told through four generations of fathers and sons in Northern Ireland
Inventory , Darran Anderson’s searing yet tender memoir, is an interwoven tale of political conflict, trauma, history, family, and resistance. With great rhythm, humor, and sometimes painful detail, Anderson tells the story of his city and family through the objects and memories that define them.
Growing up in Derry, Northern Ireland, amid the unspeakable violence of the Troubles, Anderson was accustomed to poverty and fracture. Avoiding British soldiers, IRA operatives, unexploded bombs, and stray bullets, he and his friends explored their hometown with boundless imagination and innocence despite their dire circumstances. But his parents and extended family, Catholics living in Protestant-controlled Northern Ireland, could not evade the persecution. His father joined the IRA, spent time in prison, and yearned to escape the hellish reality of the Troubles.
Throughout his inventive, evocative memoir, Anderson chronicles the history of Derry’s evolution from an island backwater to a crucial Allied naval base during World War II, and the diverging paths of his two grandfathers in the wake of the American military’s one, an alcoholic army deserter, drowns in the legendary River Foyle―the river that will take the life of the grandfather’s wife years later―while the other, a smuggler, lives off the river, retrieving the bodies of the drowned.
Fifteen years after leaving Derry, Anderson returns to confront the past and its legacy when yet another family member goes missing in the Foyle. In Inventory , his gripping attempt to see who, or what, he can salvage from history’s shadows, Anderson creates “a presence in the shape of an absence,” unearthing the buried fates of family, country, and self.
A lyrical memoir and family history told through four generations of fathers and sons in Northern Ireland
Inventory , Darran Anderson’s searing yet tender memoir, is an interwoven tale of political conflict, trauma, history, family, and resistance. With great rhythm, humor, and sometimes painful detail, Anderson tells the story of his city and family through the objects and memories that define them.
Growing up in Derry, Northern Ireland, amid the unspeakable violence of the Troubles, Anderson was accustomed to poverty and fracture. Avoiding British soldiers, IRA operatives, unexploded bombs, and stray bullets, he and his friends explored their hometown with boundless imagination and innocence despite their dire circumstances. But his parents and extended family, Catholics living in Protestant-controlled Northern Ireland, could not evade the persecution. His father joined the IRA, spent time in prison, and yearned to escape the hellish reality of the Troubles.
Throughout his inventive, evocative memoir, Anderson chronicles the history of Derry’s evolution from an island backwater to a crucial Allied naval base during World War II, and the diverging paths of his two grandfathers in the wake of the American military’s one, an alcoholic army deserter, drowns in the legendary River Foyle―the river that will take the life of the grandfather’s wife years later―while the other, a smuggler, lives off the river, retrieving the bodies of the drowned.
Fifteen years after leaving Derry, Anderson returns to confront the past and its legacy when yet another family member goes missing in the Foyle. In Inventory , his gripping attempt to see who, or what, he can salvage from history’s shadows, Anderson creates “a presence in the shape of an absence,” unearthing the buried fates of family, country, and self.
416 pages, Paperback
First published August 4, 2020
19 people are currently reading
577 people want to read
About the author
Darran Anderson
15 books76 followersDarran Anderson is an Irish nonfiction writer who lives in London. He is the author of ‘Inventory’ (Chatto & Windus/Farrar, Straus & Giroux) and 'Imaginary Cities' (Influx Press/University of Chicago Press).
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
May 24, 2020
3.5 stars
Inventory is such a multifaceted work: it's part world history, part family history, part social history, part memoir. But beneath its diverse and eclectic interests, it's preoccupied by one essential thing: the past. And it is this preoccupation that gives the book's narrative its momentum. The past, in Inventory, is a slippery, unwieldy thing. Anderson does not uncover it so much as reconstruct it. Indeed, to a great extent the pasts discussed in this book have been buried: family members hesitate or refuse to share traumatic pasts, pasts are entirely erased with the tearing down of properties, people die and so too do their pasts. In response, Anderson tries to make sense of the gaps in his and his family's story. And throughout the book, he calls attention to his attempt to do so: he asks his mother for what she remembers, he sits down with his grandfather to record his stories, he seeks out microfilms of old newspapers to gather information. All of these things make Inventory feel like a project of making sense of the past.
But more than just a project, Inventory is a personal project. In many ways Anderson's attempt to make sense of his family's past is also an attempt to make sense of himself: his upbringing, his adolescence, his relationship to his forbears. And the way his personal project unfolds is in his taking inventory of the objects from his and his family's past.
There it is: Anderson takes inventory of these objects, holds them up to the light, because they mean or meant something to him; they are invested with something beyond their physical existence. The very structure of this book hinges on this fact, with each chapter titled after an object: a periscope, a torch, a football, a television, a shovel, an LP.
Beyond that, Anderson also examines his own past living during the tail end of the Troubles, from his life as a kid in Derry to his adolescence to his eventually leaving Northern Ireland. What I found especially striking about the more memoir-ish parts of Inventory is the haunting specificity of Anderson's writing. Lines like "I remember laughing with nerves, not for the last time, at the sight of trauma," or how at one point it "gradually dawned" on him that he couldn't go to sleep "because the nocturnal soundtrack of helicopters was no longer there. The silence of peace was deafening."
Anderson writes: "Time is the spreading of ink on a page wet with rain." If so, then Inventory is his attempt to reconstitute, in part at least, that seeping ink, to give it shape, illegible as it may be.
Thanks so much to Farrar, Straus and Giroux for providing me with an e-ARC of this via NetGalley!
"How might it be possible to reconstruct a lost person? To thread bone onto soul and muscle onto bone and skin onto muscle without creating a monster or marionette. To rebuild a human being from photographs, documents, contradictory fragments of memories. The objects and impressions they left behind perhaps form a silhouette of negative space resembling a figure. A presence in the shape of an absence. Perhaps it is also worth establishing what first took people apart. To follow the unwinding thread."
Inventory is such a multifaceted work: it's part world history, part family history, part social history, part memoir. But beneath its diverse and eclectic interests, it's preoccupied by one essential thing: the past. And it is this preoccupation that gives the book's narrative its momentum. The past, in Inventory, is a slippery, unwieldy thing. Anderson does not uncover it so much as reconstruct it. Indeed, to a great extent the pasts discussed in this book have been buried: family members hesitate or refuse to share traumatic pasts, pasts are entirely erased with the tearing down of properties, people die and so too do their pasts. In response, Anderson tries to make sense of the gaps in his and his family's story. And throughout the book, he calls attention to his attempt to do so: he asks his mother for what she remembers, he sits down with his grandfather to record his stories, he seeks out microfilms of old newspapers to gather information. All of these things make Inventory feel like a project of making sense of the past.
But more than just a project, Inventory is a personal project. In many ways Anderson's attempt to make sense of his family's past is also an attempt to make sense of himself: his upbringing, his adolescence, his relationship to his forbears. And the way his personal project unfolds is in his taking inventory of the objects from his and his family's past.
"We'd fixate on the objects. Not just to play with but to inspect from every angle. We knew instinctively that all the objects found were invested, or had once been, with some kind of meaning."
There it is: Anderson takes inventory of these objects, holds them up to the light, because they mean or meant something to him; they are invested with something beyond their physical existence. The very structure of this book hinges on this fact, with each chapter titled after an object: a periscope, a torch, a football, a television, a shovel, an LP.
Beyond that, Anderson also examines his own past living during the tail end of the Troubles, from his life as a kid in Derry to his adolescence to his eventually leaving Northern Ireland. What I found especially striking about the more memoir-ish parts of Inventory is the haunting specificity of Anderson's writing. Lines like "I remember laughing with nerves, not for the last time, at the sight of trauma," or how at one point it "gradually dawned" on him that he couldn't go to sleep "because the nocturnal soundtrack of helicopters was no longer there. The silence of peace was deafening."
Anderson writes: "Time is the spreading of ink on a page wet with rain." If so, then Inventory is his attempt to reconstitute, in part at least, that seeping ink, to give it shape, illegible as it may be.
Thanks so much to Farrar, Straus and Giroux for providing me with an e-ARC of this via NetGalley!
July 14, 2020
‘Inventory’ is a cunning memoir that reveals the binding roots of familial structure by exploring the darker recollections of war, faith, and art. The intelligence of the language provides nourishment for the book, and the landscapes depicted throughout the pages were mysterious and inviting.
Darran Anderson initiates his collection by reflecting about his upbringing in Derry (whether you call the city Derry or Londonderry depends on your politics the Derry Girls tell us) in 1984. I was intrigued and curious about Darran’s upbringing-he tries for live a normal childhood, but can’t escape the violence and bloodshed of the Troubles in Northern Ireland.
The remainder of the memoir is a balancing act where Darran divulges in his families legacy. The IRA struggles are sporadic and engaging, but Anderson reveals quite a bit more, and although we’re told that Ireland was neutral during wwII, we can’t discredit the thousands of Irish citizens that served under the British allied armies. Anderson reflects on this subject with a cold voice while describing his grandfather.
Darran Anderson initiates his collection by reflecting about his upbringing in Derry (whether you call the city Derry or Londonderry depends on your politics the Derry Girls tell us) in 1984. I was intrigued and curious about Darran’s upbringing-he tries for live a normal childhood, but can’t escape the violence and bloodshed of the Troubles in Northern Ireland.
The remainder of the memoir is a balancing act where Darran divulges in his families legacy. The IRA struggles are sporadic and engaging, but Anderson reveals quite a bit more, and although we’re told that Ireland was neutral during wwII, we can’t discredit the thousands of Irish citizens that served under the British allied armies. Anderson reflects on this subject with a cold voice while describing his grandfather.
April 28, 2021
Anderson is a very gifted writer. His previous non-fiction book Imaginary Cities has been described as creative non-fiction. His language is lyrical, imbued with visual descriptions that bring so much life to Derry and its surroundings. He was born in 1980, thus this book describes his upbringing during The Troubles. He has one sister, but she is barely present. His father worked as a gravedigger and a number of other jobs he picked up to enable him to support his family. It was years before the writer learned his father had been interned at Long Kesh. The family was nominally Catholic but rarely went to mass. They had been hippies when they were younger, moving to Cork in their late teens, but returning to family when Anderson's mother got pregnant.
Derry lies on one bank of the River Foyle. Shipbuildng which was once a major industry had disappeared by the time Anderson was born. The river provided many opportunities for children to explore, to get into trouble, and also to lose their lives. The river was the site of three deaths of adult family members of Anderson. Anderson describes his father as being a reluctant talker, but as someone who loved being outdoors. When he was young, he and his father would sometimes leave at dawn to bicycle out to the ancient stone ringfort The Grianan of Aileach which lies 7 miles northwest of the city across the border in Donegal. They'd arrive back home at night.
Derry and the surrounding areas is full of ghosts. Anderson believes that events can change the landscape of a place. They are haunted long after people remember what happened there. Several times, he produces a catalogue of deaths, never naming the victims or precise location. However, in Northern Ireland, many would recognize the incidents, and his spare descriptions have an impact.
The author reminds us "All conflicts are measured in hours, and only those outside it all think otherwise" (p. 93). In his late teens he leaves Derry for Belfast. While Derry was occupied by the British Army and at war, Anderson describes Belfast as the place that put "the psycho in psychogeography". Geography is an important academic discipline in both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. It is far broader than the study of landscapes, and demographics. It includes historical, cultural, social, political, climate, forensics, urban planning, food and agriculture and more. A definition and history can be found here https://theconversation.com/psychogeo... which includes this definition "Psychogeography, as the term suggests, is the intersection of psychology and geography. It focuses on our psychological experiences of the city, and reveals or illuminates forgotten, discarded, or marginalised aspects of the urban environment." Anderson's example of psychogeography is his observation of Belfast as a city in which people can identify what neighborhood you are from by the side of the street you are walking on and the direction you are going.
This is much more than another memoir of The Troubles. The imaginative prose and the story will stay with you long after you finish reading. Highly recommended.
Derry lies on one bank of the River Foyle. Shipbuildng which was once a major industry had disappeared by the time Anderson was born. The river provided many opportunities for children to explore, to get into trouble, and also to lose their lives. The river was the site of three deaths of adult family members of Anderson. Anderson describes his father as being a reluctant talker, but as someone who loved being outdoors. When he was young, he and his father would sometimes leave at dawn to bicycle out to the ancient stone ringfort The Grianan of Aileach which lies 7 miles northwest of the city across the border in Donegal. They'd arrive back home at night.
Derry and the surrounding areas is full of ghosts. Anderson believes that events can change the landscape of a place. They are haunted long after people remember what happened there. Several times, he produces a catalogue of deaths, never naming the victims or precise location. However, in Northern Ireland, many would recognize the incidents, and his spare descriptions have an impact.
The author reminds us "All conflicts are measured in hours, and only those outside it all think otherwise" (p. 93). In his late teens he leaves Derry for Belfast. While Derry was occupied by the British Army and at war, Anderson describes Belfast as the place that put "the psycho in psychogeography". Geography is an important academic discipline in both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. It is far broader than the study of landscapes, and demographics. It includes historical, cultural, social, political, climate, forensics, urban planning, food and agriculture and more. A definition and history can be found here https://theconversation.com/psychogeo... which includes this definition "Psychogeography, as the term suggests, is the intersection of psychology and geography. It focuses on our psychological experiences of the city, and reveals or illuminates forgotten, discarded, or marginalised aspects of the urban environment." Anderson's example of psychogeography is his observation of Belfast as a city in which people can identify what neighborhood you are from by the side of the street you are walking on and the direction you are going.
This is much more than another memoir of The Troubles. The imaginative prose and the story will stay with you long after you finish reading. Highly recommended.
May 9, 2021
With most accomplishments or things worth doing we tend to only see the clean finished product. What makes this memoir so compelling however is that I felt the labour and hardship that went into it. This is a raw and gritty book about a city and a family that have been through a punishing time.
I have so much admiration for the research and effort that went into putting this story together. Aside from exquisitely detailing a narrative of people and place, the writing was beautiful and toed that delicate balance of being poetic while not overbearing. I also had plenty of laughs along the way and I wonder if I will ever attend a session so severe that it would make me consider becoming a Born Again Christian. I kind of hope so...
I feel this is a book that nearly did not get written, it could have easily ended up in the Foyle in a multitude of ways. But it didn't, it is thankfully here for everyone to appreciate and tells a story absolutely worth telling.
I have so much admiration for the research and effort that went into putting this story together. Aside from exquisitely detailing a narrative of people and place, the writing was beautiful and toed that delicate balance of being poetic while not overbearing. I also had plenty of laughs along the way and I wonder if I will ever attend a session so severe that it would make me consider becoming a Born Again Christian. I kind of hope so...
I feel this is a book that nearly did not get written, it could have easily ended up in the Foyle in a multitude of ways. But it didn't, it is thankfully here for everyone to appreciate and tells a story absolutely worth telling.
August 15, 2020
This brand-new, lyric, fragmented memoir of growing up in the last years of the Troubles in Derry, Northern Ireland, was a shade disappointing in that not much really happened to the memoirist and we never really hear about the last fifteen years of his life pre-memoir and post-Ireland. He writes about his parents well and his other relatives with some skill, but never unpacks his father completely (one suspects he hasn’t yet in his mind, so can’t do it on the page). The attempts to integrate through a series of lists all the terrible things that did not happen to the author but happened to others unknown to him is gruesome but nearly as compelling as his own narrow escapes and scrapes such as the Protestant taxi man who accelerates through a roadblock of Protestant paramilitary rather than stopping to allow the thugs to extinguish the author’s young life.
This is an intimate memoir, in the sense that the author makes no attempt to put the affair in the context of greater historical current, but is content with a local narrative (which narrow lens occasionally feels cramped). He also cedes the storytelling voice to various relatives in the second half of the book, which ought to provide the immediacy of direct quote, but instead feels distancing. Descriptive passages and aimless wandering bog down the narrative from time to time.
Nonetheless, there are some lovely and meaningful passages, such as the following (which also seems to fit the present political moment):
"Ideologues exist, but it’s best to pay attention to what they do rather than what they say, or what they say they do. Often there’s a dishonesty there, even to themselves. The ultra-righteous frequently have less-than-righteous motives, but it goes further than that, into the realms where you can see in the fanatic a profound disbelief in what they claim to espouse, an intense doubt and failing at the core of their supposed faith, and thus all the more need to shout and attack and convert. You can only be absolutist with little or no experience. This is one reason the young are radical and the rich can be casually cruel. As you live and experience, you learn that people are complex, contradictory, nuanced. People do not fit where ideologues place them."
All in all, lots of color, but left me feel something was missing, such as an actually consequential life at the memoir’s center.
This is an intimate memoir, in the sense that the author makes no attempt to put the affair in the context of greater historical current, but is content with a local narrative (which narrow lens occasionally feels cramped). He also cedes the storytelling voice to various relatives in the second half of the book, which ought to provide the immediacy of direct quote, but instead feels distancing. Descriptive passages and aimless wandering bog down the narrative from time to time.
Nonetheless, there are some lovely and meaningful passages, such as the following (which also seems to fit the present political moment):
"Ideologues exist, but it’s best to pay attention to what they do rather than what they say, or what they say they do. Often there’s a dishonesty there, even to themselves. The ultra-righteous frequently have less-than-righteous motives, but it goes further than that, into the realms where you can see in the fanatic a profound disbelief in what they claim to espouse, an intense doubt and failing at the core of their supposed faith, and thus all the more need to shout and attack and convert. You can only be absolutist with little or no experience. This is one reason the young are radical and the rich can be casually cruel. As you live and experience, you learn that people are complex, contradictory, nuanced. People do not fit where ideologues place them."
All in all, lots of color, but left me feel something was missing, such as an actually consequential life at the memoir’s center.
January 18, 2021
"Violence begets violence. Those immersed in it know it; those who profit from it at a distance know it even more. Not much is truly holy in this world, but precious is the person who does not pass on the pain and the desire for retribution, that self-sustaining spiral; who says, "No more," not out of resignation or defeat, but out of something that might be called love, if it even needs a name."
Darran Anderson grew up in Derry, Northern Ireland during the Troubles, a boy from a Catholic Family with hippy parents (like wearing two large targets, it seems). He pieces together the past, both his family's and Derry's, in various objects: periscope, gas mask, revolver, skylight, bus ticket. Each object, over seventy in all, is a repository of memory, a cue for a forgotten story, a death that still haunts, a long-held secret.
Trying to reconstruct childhood is difficult enough (how much are we accidentally inventing as much as remembering? what do we forget on purpose?), but reminiscing about growing up in what was essentially a war zone must feel like sorting through sharp debris. Anderson, however, is a graceful writer who manages to be both grounded and lyrical, his descriptions vivid, near-tangible, his curiosity palpable. This isn't misery-lit (I hate that term), because it just defies all the usual tropes in its inventive construction, in making real the often dream-like quality of memory. Despite the matter-of-factness about a city's violence (it is grim), the tenderness and beauty in this writing radiate intensely. Really, this book is radical because having grown up in a place where fearful silence was (is?) deeply embedded ("Whatever you say, say nothing"), even mentioning people who were wrongfully killed, outright murdered, unearths what some people want to keep buried. This is a great book, evocative and engrossing.
June 18, 2020
"Inventory" by Darran Anderson is a nonfiction work about the author's experiences and life in Northern Ireland. While the book is nonfiction, the language Anderson uses is more reminiscent of a literary work in that the pages are filled with beautiful imagery, well-developed characters, descriptive setting, and conflict. "Inventory" highlights the power of stories, memory, and family history and how the realities of a place like Northern Ireland shape one's life and future. I did have to stop periodically to look up information about the historical events described in the book to understand what was going on. Overall, this is a really excellent work and worth the read.
August 9, 2020
The author's formative years in an environment of war and faith shaped his life and showed the binds that tie a family together. I enjoyed this, as it was written in a way that anyone unfamiliar with the history of Northern Ireland can feel invested in it.
August 19, 2020
Biased because it’s my home city and could identify but really really enjoyed it
Embarrassed to say as a commited bibliophile I don’t know this writer but have caught up with podcasts and reading
Well worth a hardback
Embarrassed to say as a commited bibliophile I don’t know this writer but have caught up with podcasts and reading
Well worth a hardback
May 10, 2020
Everyone I know is getting fed up of me bringing this book up in conversation. I love it. It’s like a zanier, Northern Irish W. G. Sebald.
November 9, 2020
Beautiful, brilliantly written account of growing up in Northern Island. Moved me, informed me and constantly made me stop and think. Easily one of my favourite books of the last few years.
May 18, 2024
After visiting Ireland, I was intrigued to learn as much as I could about Ireland, including the Troubles. So, I was really excited and intrigued to read this memoir.
I think perhaps my expectations of what I thought this was book was going to be paled in comparison to what the book actually is. This is a memoir. And while he discusses and explains what The Troubles were and what living through the tail end of them were like, he is also sharing his own particular point of view. I won’t lie, the paragraphs and vignettes about the mischief him and his friends got into were of 0 interest to me. I understand how they play a part in the story as a whole, I just didn’t enjoy reading about them. And there were other sections of the book I felt this way about.
What I did find super interesting was his family history, and what it was like for his grandparents and parents living in and outside of Derry during the Troubles. I won’t lie, my foray into the Troubles was Derry Girls, and it’s not like that show was diving into all the complexities and violence that was associated with the Troubles. So, to read a raw account of what it was like from someone who lived through it was enlightening. I knew it was dark, and troublesome, and awful. But it is another thing to really delve into it and digest it. It also really helps me to understand a lot of the complex and deep feelings a lot of Irish people still have today. I’m definitely going to ruminate on this one for a second.
I would likely rate this 3.5 stars if possible. I decided to give it a 3 because there were sections that were very dense and overly-wordy that I felt added nothing to the story at hand. But overall, this was a powerful memoir, and I’m glad I stuck with it.
I think perhaps my expectations of what I thought this was book was going to be paled in comparison to what the book actually is. This is a memoir. And while he discusses and explains what The Troubles were and what living through the tail end of them were like, he is also sharing his own particular point of view. I won’t lie, the paragraphs and vignettes about the mischief him and his friends got into were of 0 interest to me. I understand how they play a part in the story as a whole, I just didn’t enjoy reading about them. And there were other sections of the book I felt this way about.
What I did find super interesting was his family history, and what it was like for his grandparents and parents living in and outside of Derry during the Troubles. I won’t lie, my foray into the Troubles was Derry Girls, and it’s not like that show was diving into all the complexities and violence that was associated with the Troubles. So, to read a raw account of what it was like from someone who lived through it was enlightening. I knew it was dark, and troublesome, and awful. But it is another thing to really delve into it and digest it. It also really helps me to understand a lot of the complex and deep feelings a lot of Irish people still have today. I’m definitely going to ruminate on this one for a second.
I would likely rate this 3.5 stars if possible. I decided to give it a 3 because there were sections that were very dense and overly-wordy that I felt added nothing to the story at hand. But overall, this was a powerful memoir, and I’m glad I stuck with it.
May 20, 2021
I feel like this could be 5-stars if I read up a bit more on the history and then read this book again, because I feel a bit like I was missing something. But then again, I feel like from what I did get that that is kind of the point of the narrative, that not everything is always clear. Overall, I really enjoyed this one, as the writing is really good and the subject was one that I'm really interesting. I will definitely be keeping this one on my shelf to reread in the future.
Honestly, I almost feel like this one transcends ratings because it was probably more me missing something than an actual fault of the book. But I'll stick with this and if I keep thinking about it, maybe I'll upgrade it officially.
Also I can't believe this was an August 2020 release with so few ratings, that I found it used, and that I hadn't heard about it at all before stumbling upon it in my local used bookstore. It's totally the kind of book I like to keep my eye out for.
Honestly, I almost feel like this one transcends ratings because it was probably more me missing something than an actual fault of the book. But I'll stick with this and if I keep thinking about it, maybe I'll upgrade it officially.
Also I can't believe this was an August 2020 release with so few ratings, that I found it used, and that I hadn't heard about it at all before stumbling upon it in my local used bookstore. It's totally the kind of book I like to keep my eye out for.
January 6, 2023
“Violence begets violence. Those immersed in it know it; those who profit from it at a distance know it even more. Not much is truly holy in this world, but precious is the person who does not pass on the pain and the desire for retribution, that self-sustaining spiral; who says, "No more," not out of resignation or defeat, but out of something that might be called love, if it even needs a name.”
i can’t even begin to describe the experience of reading this book. raw, tragic, funny at times but sobering and haunting at others. the writing is unlike any i’ve ever read and i can do nothing other than sing its praises — it’s some of the most beautiful and authentic prose i’ve ever come across and truly a window into a time and an existence few could’ve ever imagined.
i can’t even begin to describe the experience of reading this book. raw, tragic, funny at times but sobering and haunting at others. the writing is unlike any i’ve ever read and i can do nothing other than sing its praises — it’s some of the most beautiful and authentic prose i’ve ever come across and truly a window into a time and an existence few could’ve ever imagined.
August 23, 2020
Once you relax with the way the assemblage of short episodes come at you it becomes an irresistible read. You marvel at how the nuts and bolts surrounding one youngish man's early life have been restored to history through his recollections.
December 18, 2021
Some good bits, but felt self-indulgent and downright petulant at times.
December 31, 2021
Incredible writing, each sentence is lyrical and carefully placed, this is a moving memoir of growing up in Derry and the 'ghosts' that are around.
March 5, 2023
Incredible non fiction about a boy growing up in Derry, Northern Ireland.
May 7, 2023
Another memoir, this time from a recommendation by cais.tea on Bookstagram. 👌
Darran Anderson recounts his memories as tales through objects, and the reader gets a bird's eye view of his life in Derry, and how the Troubles impacted the lives of those around him.
In between, there are his reckless dalliances with drugs, unhinged friends, his discovery of music (Yay! Pulp's Babies 🥹), flirtations with near-escapes from death and the nihilistic frustrations: "You sabotage everything good for yourself at the last minute."
Beaneath the mad antics, Irish landscapes, his wonderful daydreaming tendencies and stories about vanishing family members lies a wintering tundra of numbness about not being able to talk about their experience. I felt a distance when I read a paragraph that recounted the number of people killed during crossfire or terrorist attacks. It was something that I could not understand and expect to understand.
I spent a few months with Anderson's words, dipping in and out with delight, sorrow and the occasional cackle at things like: "There was Carl, who was crafty; and Danny, who was jolly; and Gareth, who was timid, and there was me, who had no idea what I was or how I appeared." Or "Once, my mother came into the living room and saw me gazing up, spellbound, framed in a beam of light, and she thought for a second that her son was seeing some appartion of the Virgin Mary. I was watching a mouse very carefully, climbing up the net curtain."
In the end, ultimately everyone ends up guilty. "We tell ourselves stories about war. Of good guys and bad guys. Redemption and sacrifice. Yet the nature of conflict is such that when it is unleashed, it is almost impossible to remain good."
Darran Anderson recounts his memories as tales through objects, and the reader gets a bird's eye view of his life in Derry, and how the Troubles impacted the lives of those around him.
In between, there are his reckless dalliances with drugs, unhinged friends, his discovery of music (Yay! Pulp's Babies 🥹), flirtations with near-escapes from death and the nihilistic frustrations: "You sabotage everything good for yourself at the last minute."
Beaneath the mad antics, Irish landscapes, his wonderful daydreaming tendencies and stories about vanishing family members lies a wintering tundra of numbness about not being able to talk about their experience. I felt a distance when I read a paragraph that recounted the number of people killed during crossfire or terrorist attacks. It was something that I could not understand and expect to understand.
I spent a few months with Anderson's words, dipping in and out with delight, sorrow and the occasional cackle at things like: "There was Carl, who was crafty; and Danny, who was jolly; and Gareth, who was timid, and there was me, who had no idea what I was or how I appeared." Or "Once, my mother came into the living room and saw me gazing up, spellbound, framed in a beam of light, and she thought for a second that her son was seeing some appartion of the Virgin Mary. I was watching a mouse very carefully, climbing up the net curtain."
In the end, ultimately everyone ends up guilty. "We tell ourselves stories about war. Of good guys and bad guys. Redemption and sacrifice. Yet the nature of conflict is such that when it is unleashed, it is almost impossible to remain good."
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