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The Beasts They Turned Away
Íosac Mulgannon is a man called to stand. Losing a grip on his mental and physical health, he is burdened with looking after a mute child whom the local villagers view as cursed. The aging farmer stubbornly refuses to succumb in the face of adversity and will do anything, at any cost, to keep hold of his farm and the child. This dark and lyrical debut novel confronts a claustrophobic rural community caught up in the uncertainties of a rapidly changing world.
232 pages, Paperback
First published March 11, 2021
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews
June 12, 2022
This is Ryan Daniels's finely crafted debut novel, set in a rural Irish farming community and following the aging farmer, Iosac. The entire work is cloaked with a sense of foreboding. Iosac is a brooding character, an anachronism even among his neighbors. Iosac has taken in a small boy, a mute child who wears a cow's skull on his head. The locals believe the child to be cursed and possibly Iosac as well. The themes and tone are reminiscent of Cormac McCarthy in places, but this never feels derivative. As a whole, this work is extraordinarily atmospheric, a literary novel full of haunting images and stark beauty.
March 25, 2022
Longlisted for the 2022 Republic of Consciousness Prize and the real find of the longlist
I plough I plough, the old man says, I plough across this stony earth. The sun does not set in a sunless sky and so it is to man himself to know what he has done and to know his soul. The ground cleaves before him. I plough I plough, he tells the clutch, he tells the gears. Pain rings through his shoulders, looking behind him as he must, a glinting current, an internal melody. He breathes in dust and vibrates in his seat. When they break him in two they’ll find he has no bones, no blood. That he is a dust-packed shell, hardened and hollow. The soil turns behind him. I plough I plough, he tells the grease gun in the corner. To the end of the field. He bounces in the seat. Is shook, jostles. The vulgar ground. If all ground was honey it would not ache so to plough it. Honey, he yells at the dashboard. He raises the front mouldboard and lowers it again setting it back to task, to peeling away the skin of the world to reveal the scowling bones beneath. He strips the field of the fallow grass one furrow at a time. Each pass leaves four rows of heaped resolve, compass straight, the next pass four more. The field a letter to the world. He knows the violence of the land of the heaving tractor because he knows the violence inside himself. Him shaking in the seat, body turned to nothing is him tussling with the open field before him and being numbed and being lifted. Lifted up, above the seat, above the valley plane, so that he is a man between land and sky, belonging to neither, a transition, a flicker of an image of a man. I plough I plough, the old man says.
The books is published by époque press, a new-ish UK small press whose aim to seek “out new voices, authors who are producing high-quality literary fiction and who are looking for a publisher to help them realise their ambitions.”.
Impressively they have, via their author Lynn Buckle won the 2021 Barbellion Prize for “What Willow Says” which the prize called a “powerful story of change and acceptance, as a deaf child and her grandmother experiment with the lyrical beauty of sign language through their love of trees, set to a backdrop of myths, legends, and ancient bogs.”
And I think this book – a very high quality literary tale of smallholding farming in Ireland – both has much in common with “What Willow Says” (an older person and a child, a powerful story of change albeit with little acceptance, a background of myths and plenty of bogs) while also in its publication fitting firmly into their aims as the author has commented “It was a bit tricky getting it published, because the larger publishers are concerned about marketability, as are agents. They thought it was too non-conventional in style. It’s not an easily digestible story of “down-on-the-farm” or anything. And I think some of the more literary circles were a bit wary of all the intimate farming details.”
And as well as being a tribute to époque who did give the book great support and bring it to market that quote explains much of what makes this book unique (despite some strong resemblances to both the 2020 International Booker winner – “Discomfort of Evening” and much more so to the 2020 Republic of Consciousness winner “Animalia”).
It is a book which is simultaneously:
A serious, well-informed and partly didactic exploration of the plight of family agriculture in Ireland and the struggles of small farmers and small towns to hold out against the tide of the seeming imperative for expansion into larger argi-industrial concerns (together with the pressures of animal welfare authorities, government agencies and banks);
And a novel of the highest literary quality – written in an episodic style in a deliberately fragmentary and intense present tense, with a palpable sense of the countryside and weather and one where the boundaries between land and sky are as porous as those between earth and bog, the present and the past and the tangible and the fantastical.
The set up of the novel is a small town in Ireland – where an ageing farmer (normally known as the Old Man but identified through others as Íosac Mulgannon) stubbornly maintains his smallholding (a small flock of cows, peat digging, field ploughing) while also taking care of a small child whose links to him are less than clear.
The child is a mute and somewhat brooding presence at Íosac’s side, spends most of the novel wearing a cow skull which Íosac places on his head in a prelude to the novel, and is seen by the other inhabitants as potentially cursed. Íosac is a strong willed character, never without his hurl (hurling stick) in his hands (something which has explicit links to Gaelic mythology that he shares with the child), albeit struggling with his age health, his sanity and the pressures of officialdom.
Around Íosac and wearily interacting with him are the local town dwellers – in particular a foul mouthed Priest, the neighbouring farmer and a group of drinkers at the town’s pub (some of who are ex-farmers) – his relationship with them is difficult albeit when outside forces threaten them all (in particular a group of thieves who over time steal from the church, the instruments from the pub and the local Gaelic Football goalposts; and later a ferocious storm) they pull together in a limited sense.
And in the book through some 60+ beautifully presented short chapters (typically 1-3 pages) we follow the rhythm of Íosac's life on the farm - from milking to slurry spreading to peat digging.
The book is literally down to earth but also highly symbolic – the thieves effectively targetting what holds the community together the storm coming from the East (which of course makes almost no metrological sense but signifies Dublin).
Overall this is an unconventional and wonderfully crafted novel. If I had a criticism it is that the book can feel a little repetitive if read conventionally (i.e. on its own and cover to cover) and in fact the very episodic nature of the writing is I think best suited to more of a sampling approach – perhaps reading the book
If I did not perhaps read the book in either the ideal or intended fashion – I did I think read it in the ideal location. Appropriately for a book which has repeated references to cows, with one cow (both when alive and dead) a main side character and with one of the two main characters (a young boy) wearing a cow skull for almost the entire novel – I read it in a barn which for many decades was used by the local farm for registering cows and with a small group of cows housed around 20 metres from my front gate (see opening picture to my review).
Highly recommended. 4.5 stars.
Child, listen to me now, he says. We are the Mulgannons. We stand on what is ours. Let it tear itself from our feet before men take it from us. We do not move. We do not yield. O’Grady paces back and forth, his fingers spread over his face, whispering oh, and when he changes direction he starts to curse and then stops and says, oh, oh. He takes a step towards the old man and then throws up his arms and starts pacing again. It’s the milking and the feeding and the fieldwork, the old man knows. The throb of the milkers, in the pipes. In the shed. And the milk falling to the tank. The scrape of the fork against the bunks and the long draw of water a cow takes in gulps. His feet colliding against the inside of his wellies. The wild swing of a calf’s tail when it’s on the teat. And the ache of it all, of all of it. It’s the rhythms of these things that fill him, the move of it in his bones, that drown himself inside his skin. He has worn himself into everything here. How is it that he must give up that which is his? That which is the all of him.
February 15, 2022
Longlisted for the 2022 Republic of Consciousness Prize
The old man leaves the shed, trudges the worm path to the house. His hurl drags behind him in the grass. A handful of cows still linger near the gate. Between them, across their bodies, the words Emma, Ache, I, Sometimes.
The Beasts They Turned Away by Ryan Dennis is published by the small independent époque press:
The author has explained the background to the novel in several interviews for example here, where he explains how époque press published a book that larger conventional publishers couldn't properly appreciate, and here:
[As an aside, as a former resident of Norfolk, I couldn't help but be reminded of the views on modern farming methods of an incomer to Norfolk, the Radio Norwich DJ Alan Partridge: https://youtu.be/RxSbTlH0K4w]
The novel is based around the mythical figure of Íosac Mulgannon, called 'the old man' in the text, a local amateur hurling star in his youth, but now an ageing dairy farmer who literally plows a lonely furrow with his ageing equipment, such as his Ford tractor, while his peers have either quit farming, or moved to more intensive modern methods.
How many shear pins has he fixed, how many spreaders has he outlived. Folly, he knows, to think, but. The tops of weeds brush along his trousers, flicker behind him. And he thinks of this, of having no more broken things to patch, to shove on yet another day, and yet to have fought and pushed to that day and to have no one taken those days before it. Until his time can be over. What will be the final count of broken things in the end, and the pleasure of no more. He rummages through the tool box.
This an example of the novel's distinctive style, which describes the quotidian details of farming in finely crafted prose (Dennis has referenced both Cormac McCarthy and prose stylists like Anna Burns).
Hints through the text reveal that the old man's one love (the Emma of the opening quote, and sister of one of his neighbours, Mary Flaherty), infatuated with him in his hurling prime but whose admiration he failed to fully reciprocate, moved some years ago to London where she is now settled and married (shades of Remains of the Day in terms of Íosac's belated recognition of what he has lost). Now, three ex-farmers at the pub aside, his only real companions are his cows, and 'the child', a mute boy who is rumoured to have simply appeared at the farm one day and who Íosac has essentially adopted.
In the opening lines of the novel, The old man and the child are in the Ford, the child sits on the floor, tucked in by the steering column. A wilted cow hangs from the bucket, with the old man taking a deceased beast to a dumping ground for dead animals. He finds there a cow skull which he, in a reflex action, jams over the child's head and which the child then resists him removing, wearing it permanently, eliciting a reaction from the local's that alternates between considering him a possessed figure and feeling strong sympathy.
The old man carries his hurling stick ('hurl') with him everywhere, an explicit nod to the Gaelic legend of Cúchulainn, and during the novel defeats a bull, a gang of robbers and a once-in-two hundred years wind of the order of the January 1839 Oíche na Gaoithe Móire. This from a scene where, as in the legend, he defends himself and the boy) against a dog (as in the legend) using his hurl:
I don't care, the old man says. He prods the air. Takes another step forward. I don't care.
Then swings the hurl wildly about him.
I don't care.
I’ve cuts through the air and burrows into the heaved ground, leaving the earth pocked and dented. It pushes into the furrows, its impact resounding with grainy clatter. The colours of the field and its rocks and stray weeds bleach away behind the plunging hail. The hedgerows teeter, the brush shaking violently and the leaves tearing apart and falling beneath them. Moisture beads on the arms of the old man and melts on his skin, the sudden coolness heightening the ache swelling inside his body. The boot prints the old man made across the soil fill in and disappear. The air around him Is heavy and loud, and he cannot tell where the dog went because the valley around him has been curtained from view. The ploughed and unploughed ground merge together in the wet haze, and the tractor paler; into silhouette. The horizon has collapsed around them. Only the shape of the skull remains visible in the torrent, the hail recoiling off it. The child's eyes unmoving inside the echoing bone.
And the relationship between the old man and the child is key to the novel, as he resists the combined forces of the bank, determined to foreclose on their loans, the Irish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, unaccustomed to his crude methods, and the Department for Children and Youth Affairs, concerned for the custody of the boy, each trying to break up his relationship with his land, his animals and his ward.
The old man stares into the darkness. Calls out to the child.
The footsteps of the child in the spreading night. Circling the old man, the old man pitches turf. After the evening milking because he likes being on the bog at this time, when all is black and there is no distinction between what is sky and what is not and even the bending ground, because it is not solid, is already dissolving into the thing above it. So the old man thinks. And the darkness not a thing he is between, but an inseparable part of. He calls the child again and sees his shadow pass before him.
The turf he lifts from the ground, the stacks, like carcasses of once violent things. Heaves them into the trailer. Over the ditch grass rising up. Traces his path to the next stack.
Go not far, the old man calls out, and then says, things lurk. He thinks he hears the child rustling the uncut ground. What things, he cannot tell the child. Not because the old man has not stood on the same ground and looked into the darkness for all the time before. But because he suspects the things that stir unseen are different now. He is not sure how to name them, or if they have skin to grasp.
Don't tarry, Child, he says. To help would be better. He takes measured steps, the turf in his arms. Moves from bog to trailer and back like a jolting pendulums making bare the ground, as if clearing the land of monuments and the stories they held. Pull me against the world, he thinks.
Impressively powerful. 4.5 stars
The old man leaves the shed, trudges the worm path to the house. His hurl drags behind him in the grass. A handful of cows still linger near the gate. Between them, across their bodies, the words Emma, Ache, I, Sometimes.
The Beasts They Turned Away by Ryan Dennis is published by the small independent époque press:
époque press is an independent publisher based in Brighton, with connections to Dublin and New York, established to promote and represent the very best in new literary talent.
Through a combination of our main publishing imprint and our online é-zine we aim to bring inspirational and thought provoking work to a wider audience.
Our main imprint is seeking out new voices, authors who are producing high-quality literary fiction and who are looking for a publisher to help them realise their ambitions. Our commitment is to fully consider all submissions on literary merit alone.
Our é-zine showcases a combination of the written word, and other art forms, bringing together artists working in different mediums to encourage and inspire new perspectives on specific themes.
The author has explained the background to the novel in several interviews for example here, where he explains how époque press published a book that larger conventional publishers couldn't properly appreciate, and here:
I grew up on a family dairy farm in Western New York State. From an early age I recognized that, especially in the US, there weren’t many novels or even movies being made about farmers. In the few that were written, the act of farming itself wasn’t accurate, was assigned to only the traditional or pastoral, or only occurred in the background of the book. That didn’t seem fair to a group of people with such intense selfhood and who gave so much of themselves in what they did. In the nineties farming became increasingly difficult in the US, and small farmers like my family struggled. Still, there was no one telling their story.
Living in Ireland gave me the opportunity to write about the same type of people, but in a different context. The experience of small farmers suffering against imposed expansion in the sector is universal across many countries—as are the drivers and consequences of it—but the specific details of the Irish countryside made it an entirely fresh experience for me. And, in the US such a novel would probably be considered a eulogy to family agriculture, while in Ireland there is still the opportunity to support it. In that way I hope the book is timely and perhaps relevant.
[As an aside, as a former resident of Norfolk, I couldn't help but be reminded of the views on modern farming methods of an incomer to Norfolk, the Radio Norwich DJ Alan Partridge: https://youtu.be/RxSbTlH0K4w]
The novel is based around the mythical figure of Íosac Mulgannon, called 'the old man' in the text, a local amateur hurling star in his youth, but now an ageing dairy farmer who literally plows a lonely furrow with his ageing equipment, such as his Ford tractor, while his peers have either quit farming, or moved to more intensive modern methods.
How many shear pins has he fixed, how many spreaders has he outlived. Folly, he knows, to think, but. The tops of weeds brush along his trousers, flicker behind him. And he thinks of this, of having no more broken things to patch, to shove on yet another day, and yet to have fought and pushed to that day and to have no one taken those days before it. Until his time can be over. What will be the final count of broken things in the end, and the pleasure of no more. He rummages through the tool box.
This an example of the novel's distinctive style, which describes the quotidian details of farming in finely crafted prose (Dennis has referenced both Cormac McCarthy and prose stylists like Anna Burns).
Hints through the text reveal that the old man's one love (the Emma of the opening quote, and sister of one of his neighbours, Mary Flaherty), infatuated with him in his hurling prime but whose admiration he failed to fully reciprocate, moved some years ago to London where she is now settled and married (shades of Remains of the Day in terms of Íosac's belated recognition of what he has lost). Now, three ex-farmers at the pub aside, his only real companions are his cows, and 'the child', a mute boy who is rumoured to have simply appeared at the farm one day and who Íosac has essentially adopted.
In the opening lines of the novel, The old man and the child are in the Ford, the child sits on the floor, tucked in by the steering column. A wilted cow hangs from the bucket, with the old man taking a deceased beast to a dumping ground for dead animals. He finds there a cow skull which he, in a reflex action, jams over the child's head and which the child then resists him removing, wearing it permanently, eliciting a reaction from the local's that alternates between considering him a possessed figure and feeling strong sympathy.
The old man carries his hurling stick ('hurl') with him everywhere, an explicit nod to the Gaelic legend of Cúchulainn, and during the novel defeats a bull, a gang of robbers and a once-in-two hundred years wind of the order of the January 1839 Oíche na Gaoithe Móire. This from a scene where, as in the legend, he defends himself and the boy) against a dog (as in the legend) using his hurl:
I don't care, the old man says. He prods the air. Takes another step forward. I don't care.
Then swings the hurl wildly about him.
I don't care.
I’ve cuts through the air and burrows into the heaved ground, leaving the earth pocked and dented. It pushes into the furrows, its impact resounding with grainy clatter. The colours of the field and its rocks and stray weeds bleach away behind the plunging hail. The hedgerows teeter, the brush shaking violently and the leaves tearing apart and falling beneath them. Moisture beads on the arms of the old man and melts on his skin, the sudden coolness heightening the ache swelling inside his body. The boot prints the old man made across the soil fill in and disappear. The air around him Is heavy and loud, and he cannot tell where the dog went because the valley around him has been curtained from view. The ploughed and unploughed ground merge together in the wet haze, and the tractor paler; into silhouette. The horizon has collapsed around them. Only the shape of the skull remains visible in the torrent, the hail recoiling off it. The child's eyes unmoving inside the echoing bone.
And the relationship between the old man and the child is key to the novel, as he resists the combined forces of the bank, determined to foreclose on their loans, the Irish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, unaccustomed to his crude methods, and the Department for Children and Youth Affairs, concerned for the custody of the boy, each trying to break up his relationship with his land, his animals and his ward.
The old man stares into the darkness. Calls out to the child.
The footsteps of the child in the spreading night. Circling the old man, the old man pitches turf. After the evening milking because he likes being on the bog at this time, when all is black and there is no distinction between what is sky and what is not and even the bending ground, because it is not solid, is already dissolving into the thing above it. So the old man thinks. And the darkness not a thing he is between, but an inseparable part of. He calls the child again and sees his shadow pass before him.
The turf he lifts from the ground, the stacks, like carcasses of once violent things. Heaves them into the trailer. Over the ditch grass rising up. Traces his path to the next stack.
Go not far, the old man calls out, and then says, things lurk. He thinks he hears the child rustling the uncut ground. What things, he cannot tell the child. Not because the old man has not stood on the same ground and looked into the darkness for all the time before. But because he suspects the things that stir unseen are different now. He is not sure how to name them, or if they have skin to grasp.
Don't tarry, Child, he says. To help would be better. He takes measured steps, the turf in his arms. Moves from bog to trailer and back like a jolting pendulums making bare the ground, as if clearing the land of monuments and the stories they held. Pull me against the world, he thinks.
Impressively powerful. 4.5 stars
March 2, 2022
Longlisted for the Republic of Consciousness Prize 2022
Once again, this year's Republic of Consciousness list is full of interesting surprises, and this is one of the most striking - it will undoubtedly be memorable but was rarely an enjoyable or comfortable reading experience. The story is written episodically in short chapters, and its two main characters are mostly referred by the nameless third party narrator as the old man and the boy.
The old man is Íosac Mulgannon, who is clinging onto a small farm where he has spent most of his life, mostly working alone. The boy, who never speaks, has walked into the old man's farm without explanation and been informally adopted. In the striking opening scene the old man places a cow's skull on the boy's head, which becomes a sort of totemic symbol.
Their determination to continue their own path in the face of disapproval from much of the town and the authorities is central to the book, as is Mulgannon's inspiration from the legendary warrior hero Cú Chulainn.
The book is full of language that will be unfamiliar to most non-Irish readers due to both agricultural terminology and local colour, and the terse, poetic sentences make it more challenging at times too. The unsparing descriptions of the mechanics of farming are reminiscent of Animalia.
Once again, this year's Republic of Consciousness list is full of interesting surprises, and this is one of the most striking - it will undoubtedly be memorable but was rarely an enjoyable or comfortable reading experience. The story is written episodically in short chapters, and its two main characters are mostly referred by the nameless third party narrator as the old man and the boy.
The old man is Íosac Mulgannon, who is clinging onto a small farm where he has spent most of his life, mostly working alone. The boy, who never speaks, has walked into the old man's farm without explanation and been informally adopted. In the striking opening scene the old man places a cow's skull on the boy's head, which becomes a sort of totemic symbol.
Their determination to continue their own path in the face of disapproval from much of the town and the authorities is central to the book, as is Mulgannon's inspiration from the legendary warrior hero Cú Chulainn.
The book is full of language that will be unfamiliar to most non-Irish readers due to both agricultural terminology and local colour, and the terse, poetic sentences make it more challenging at times too. The unsparing descriptions of the mechanics of farming are reminiscent of Animalia.
February 15, 2022
Mythic Farming
Review of the époque press paperback edition (March 2021)
Dennis' world is not so violent and dystopic as those in the McCarthy books of course. His Íosác (named surely as an ironic comment on the grim nature of his life) Mulgannon, known as "the old man," and his adopted nameless mute orphan, known as "the child," are still presented as symbolic and generic figures struggling to maintain an old-ways of life in an Ireland that is being worn away through economic and climate hardships. There is no specific time frame stated in the text that I noticed, but the situation does seem to reflect the 2009 economic crisis and a storm of ash cloud descending on the land would seem to hearken back to the 2010 Iceland volcano eruptions that affected Europe at the time.
Dennis presents his tale in the form of 67 short stories, some as short as a vignette paragraph and others that go on for several pages. This makes for an easily digestible novel in bits, but I did find myself compelled to read several stories at a go as I wondered what can possibly happen next to these extreme characters? Mulgannon is defiant of all outside help and interference with his cow farm and is in mostly regular conflict with his neighbours and community. The mute child wears a cow skull for a hat /mask (pictured on the front cover) throughout most of the book as well, as if that wasn't weird enough. Still there are moments of dark humour and comic events to help lighten the mood at times.
An added element of mythology and the old-ways are regular references to the Irish mythological hero Cú Chulainn, whose adventures are apparently regular reading for the old man and the child. You will also have to be prepared to do some googling about the nature of cow farm work and farm equipment (and Irish sports equipment) to understand all of the terminology of the book.
There are some unique formatting decisions in the book's design which add to its aura of something recovered from a past world. The often synoptic chapter headings are in supersized Dazzle Unicase font (i.e. reminiscent of the large opening letters on mediaeval manuscripts) while the story texts are in thin pale Gotham Light font. The chapter heading pages are all smudged as if dirt had been smeared over them or a vehicle's wheels had left its track marks on them. This latter adds to the impression of them being "found" objects.
I read The Beasts... simply on the basis of seeking out époque press after having read their previous published work, Craig Jordan-Baker's excellent The Nacullians through my Republic of Consciousness Prize book-of-the-month subscription. This is definitely a publisher to watch, for its very unique selection of author's works.
Other Reviews
Review: The Beasts They Turned Away at Bandit Fiction.
A Darkness Flowing - The Beasts They Turned Away at Books Ireland Magazine.
"A novel like no other. Mythic and intimate, original yet recognisable, the barbed wire prose of Ryan Dennis draws down storm clouds and grey crows over a world at the end of its tether. Half mad, wholly inspired and completely brilliant." - cover blurb by Mike McCormack, author of Solar Bones and winner of the Goldsmiths Prize.
Review of the époque press paperback edition (March 2021)
Íosác, Irish version of the anglicized name Isaac which is a transliteration of the Hebrew term Yiṣḥāq (יִצְחָק) which literally means "He laughs/will laugh." - sourced from Wikipedia
He used to be normal once, Keane heard that much, so. That would have been before the boy, anyway. When someone from another part of the country orphaned the lad. Jaysus, dropped him off at the shed like a cat no one wanted. - excerpted from The Beasts... pg. 100Ryan Dennis' stark debut novel The Beasts They Turned Away presents a hardscrabble life in an isolated Irish farming community. It's mythic elements reminded me of the novels of Cormac McCarthy, especially Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West and The Road. Meridian, because of its generic figures of "The Judge" and "The Kid," and The Road, with the father caring for the son in an apocalyptic landscape.
Dennis' world is not so violent and dystopic as those in the McCarthy books of course. His Íosác (named surely as an ironic comment on the grim nature of his life) Mulgannon, known as "the old man," and his adopted nameless mute orphan, known as "the child," are still presented as symbolic and generic figures struggling to maintain an old-ways of life in an Ireland that is being worn away through economic and climate hardships. There is no specific time frame stated in the text that I noticed, but the situation does seem to reflect the 2009 economic crisis and a storm of ash cloud descending on the land would seem to hearken back to the 2010 Iceland volcano eruptions that affected Europe at the time.
Dennis presents his tale in the form of 67 short stories, some as short as a vignette paragraph and others that go on for several pages. This makes for an easily digestible novel in bits, but I did find myself compelled to read several stories at a go as I wondered what can possibly happen next to these extreme characters? Mulgannon is defiant of all outside help and interference with his cow farm and is in mostly regular conflict with his neighbours and community. The mute child wears a cow skull for a hat /mask (pictured on the front cover) throughout most of the book as well, as if that wasn't weird enough. Still there are moments of dark humour and comic events to help lighten the mood at times.
An added element of mythology and the old-ways are regular references to the Irish mythological hero Cú Chulainn, whose adventures are apparently regular reading for the old man and the child. You will also have to be prepared to do some googling about the nature of cow farm work and farm equipment (and Irish sports equipment) to understand all of the terminology of the book.
There are some unique formatting decisions in the book's design which add to its aura of something recovered from a past world. The often synoptic chapter headings are in supersized Dazzle Unicase font (i.e. reminiscent of the large opening letters on mediaeval manuscripts) while the story texts are in thin pale Gotham Light font. The chapter heading pages are all smudged as if dirt had been smeared over them or a vehicle's wheels had left its track marks on them. This latter adds to the impression of them being "found" objects.
I read The Beasts... simply on the basis of seeking out époque press after having read their previous published work, Craig Jordan-Baker's excellent The Nacullians through my Republic of Consciousness Prize book-of-the-month subscription. This is definitely a publisher to watch, for its very unique selection of author's works.
Other Reviews
Review: The Beasts They Turned Away at Bandit Fiction.
A Darkness Flowing - The Beasts They Turned Away at Books Ireland Magazine.
"A novel like no other. Mythic and intimate, original yet recognisable, the barbed wire prose of Ryan Dennis draws down storm clouds and grey crows over a world at the end of its tether. Half mad, wholly inspired and completely brilliant." - cover blurb by Mike McCormack, author of Solar Bones and winner of the Goldsmiths Prize.
October 28, 2025
I read this for the 2022 Republic of Consciousness Prize.
Told in 1-5 page chapters we watch Iosac Mulgannon, an aging dairy farmer mostly referred to as the old man, stand against the modern world, debt collectors, well meaning neighbors who want the old man to give up farming and have an easy life, other farmers who want to help him modernize, the forces of nature and decay, and anyone who wants to take the young mute child that is in the old man’s care, only ever called Child, and who the superstitious villagers believe is cursed.
We are aware of the thoughts of the old man so we know that he feels he is meant to stand, to be challenged and to remain standing, like the mythic Celtic-Irish hero Cúchulainn whose stories the old man reads to the child every night in hopes of instilling pride and strength in the child.
The language is spare and much is hinted at and left unexplained, but this is a deeply layered book rich in symbolism, and the type of experimental fiction indie presses do best.
Highly recommended
Told in 1-5 page chapters we watch Iosac Mulgannon, an aging dairy farmer mostly referred to as the old man, stand against the modern world, debt collectors, well meaning neighbors who want the old man to give up farming and have an easy life, other farmers who want to help him modernize, the forces of nature and decay, and anyone who wants to take the young mute child that is in the old man’s care, only ever called Child, and who the superstitious villagers believe is cursed.
We are aware of the thoughts of the old man so we know that he feels he is meant to stand, to be challenged and to remain standing, like the mythic Celtic-Irish hero Cúchulainn whose stories the old man reads to the child every night in hopes of instilling pride and strength in the child.
The language is spare and much is hinted at and left unexplained, but this is a deeply layered book rich in symbolism, and the type of experimental fiction indie presses do best.
Highly recommended
February 20, 2022
My main reason for reading this book was its listing for the 2022 Republic of Consciousness Prize for Small Presses. I say “main” because I happened to be looking at the publisher’s website a few days before that list was announced and the books there all look so interesting that I had sort of decided to read my way through the set. As things stand, this is my fourth book from Epoque Press (the others being El Hacho, The Nacullians and What Willow Says) and I have enjoyed them all. I also have Ghosts of Spring on my TBR pile courtesy of the RoC monthly book club.
The Beasts They Turned Away is another excellent book. Unusually for me, I read it in a very piecemeal fashion because of other commitments. But I think this might actually be a good way to experience this book, although I am not sure whether it actually means I missed a key part of the experience. It is told in a series of short episodes, some a single paragraph, some a few pages. They aren’t all in chronological order. In the mix of vignettes, there are several anchor points for the reader: conversations between the “old man” and one of his friends, chapters where the “old man” reads about Cuchulainn, and the repeated actions of farming (which is of course both repetitive and hard work, both of which are captured brilliantly in the narrative here).
The “old man” is Íosac Mulgannon and he is a farmer struggling to keep his farm afloat (not helped by the fact that he destroys all his post - bills etc. - without even opening it). As the book opens, he is with a young child. This child is an enigma and the central mystery of the book. He doesn’t speak and he spends most of the book wearing a skull over his head (as shown on the book’s cover). This child is a very unsettling and sinister presence throughout the book. The relationship between the old man and the child and the community’s reaction to the child drive the book. A large part of this book is about community.
Because I read the book in a lot of small chunks rather than 2 or 3 sittings (which would be my normal approach to a book this length), the repetition in the story never felt like repetition. In retrospect, I am not sure whether experiencing that repetition would actually bring me closer to the author’s intention when writing the book. At one point, the old man talks about milking his cows at the same time every day and comments that he believes that when he is dead his body will still get up and milk the cows at that hour. This is one of the repetitious cycles built into life on the farm (I grew up surrounded by two farms and often spent time working at both, so I experienced some of this as a youngster, albeit a long time ago) and being aware of that seems like it might be key to a full experience of the book.
You can’t describe this book as fun to read. But it is definitely a top quality reading experience. I particularly enjoyed the writing style, the way that the reader is left to realise certain things, and the way that many things are left unexplained or only resolved late in the book.
Excellent - and will, I imagine be near the top of my personal rankings of the RoC long list.
The Beasts They Turned Away is another excellent book. Unusually for me, I read it in a very piecemeal fashion because of other commitments. But I think this might actually be a good way to experience this book, although I am not sure whether it actually means I missed a key part of the experience. It is told in a series of short episodes, some a single paragraph, some a few pages. They aren’t all in chronological order. In the mix of vignettes, there are several anchor points for the reader: conversations between the “old man” and one of his friends, chapters where the “old man” reads about Cuchulainn, and the repeated actions of farming (which is of course both repetitive and hard work, both of which are captured brilliantly in the narrative here).
The “old man” is Íosac Mulgannon and he is a farmer struggling to keep his farm afloat (not helped by the fact that he destroys all his post - bills etc. - without even opening it). As the book opens, he is with a young child. This child is an enigma and the central mystery of the book. He doesn’t speak and he spends most of the book wearing a skull over his head (as shown on the book’s cover). This child is a very unsettling and sinister presence throughout the book. The relationship between the old man and the child and the community’s reaction to the child drive the book. A large part of this book is about community.
Because I read the book in a lot of small chunks rather than 2 or 3 sittings (which would be my normal approach to a book this length), the repetition in the story never felt like repetition. In retrospect, I am not sure whether experiencing that repetition would actually bring me closer to the author’s intention when writing the book. At one point, the old man talks about milking his cows at the same time every day and comments that he believes that when he is dead his body will still get up and milk the cows at that hour. This is one of the repetitious cycles built into life on the farm (I grew up surrounded by two farms and often spent time working at both, so I experienced some of this as a youngster, albeit a long time ago) and being aware of that seems like it might be key to a full experience of the book.
You can’t describe this book as fun to read. But it is definitely a top quality reading experience. I particularly enjoyed the writing style, the way that the reader is left to realise certain things, and the way that many things are left unexplained or only resolved late in the book.
Excellent - and will, I imagine be near the top of my personal rankings of the RoC long list.
March 11, 2021
I have stated on this blog quite a few times that I am a fan of books which portray the savage side of nature. Thus, it comes to no surprise that I was drawn to Ryan Dennis’ The Beasts They Turned Away. Although the book does tackle the topic a bit differently.
The main protagonist is Íosac Mulgannon. In the opening chapter of the book he is some sort of bovine graveyard with a child who appears mute. After telling the child to stop playing with the dead animals, he places a cow skull on the child’s head, which he wears for the majority of the novel. This little description is a tiny idea of what to expect.
The plot of the book is about Íosac trying to protect the child from certain villagers who think it is cursed. To make matters worse Íosac’s is just the child’s caretaker so he has to constantly stop people from wanting to take him away. To be brutally honest, this is not a book about plot. A lot of the chapters are about daily life on the farm, from ploughing the field to milking cows. As this is a book about nature, life and death feature. There are themes though.
One main theme is modernisation. Characters approach Íosac to help him modernize the farm, one scene in particular which involves cow vaccinations stick out. Íosac is frugal in nature and prefers not to spend even if it involves double the work, which, most the time he’s capable of doing, much to the atonishment of his fellow farmers.
Another aspect of the book, I liked was the relationship between Íosac and the child. There’s something warm about it. Íosac may appear to be gruff and bad tempered but he does soften up when he’s dealing with the boy and it does show his more humane side.
The Beasts They Turned Away is a powerful book. There are brutal moments and ugly ones as well. However, there a flashes of tenderness and one can’t help but sympathise with Íosac’s battle to avoid modernisation. It is oddly humane. The book is also memorable, I can guarantee that every scene will stick in your brain some way. As debut novels go, this one is a powerhouse.
The main protagonist is Íosac Mulgannon. In the opening chapter of the book he is some sort of bovine graveyard with a child who appears mute. After telling the child to stop playing with the dead animals, he places a cow skull on the child’s head, which he wears for the majority of the novel. This little description is a tiny idea of what to expect.
The plot of the book is about Íosac trying to protect the child from certain villagers who think it is cursed. To make matters worse Íosac’s is just the child’s caretaker so he has to constantly stop people from wanting to take him away. To be brutally honest, this is not a book about plot. A lot of the chapters are about daily life on the farm, from ploughing the field to milking cows. As this is a book about nature, life and death feature. There are themes though.
One main theme is modernisation. Characters approach Íosac to help him modernize the farm, one scene in particular which involves cow vaccinations stick out. Íosac is frugal in nature and prefers not to spend even if it involves double the work, which, most the time he’s capable of doing, much to the atonishment of his fellow farmers.
Another aspect of the book, I liked was the relationship between Íosac and the child. There’s something warm about it. Íosac may appear to be gruff and bad tempered but he does soften up when he’s dealing with the boy and it does show his more humane side.
The Beasts They Turned Away is a powerful book. There are brutal moments and ugly ones as well. However, there a flashes of tenderness and one can’t help but sympathise with Íosac’s battle to avoid modernisation. It is oddly humane. The book is also memorable, I can guarantee that every scene will stick in your brain some way. As debut novels go, this one is a powerhouse.
March 21, 2022
An apocalypse-tinged story of a small holding dairy farmer in rural Ireland, leaning on the mythic for support, told in broken, prickly sentences that combine to create an unsentimental rhythm - a style well matched to the psychological state of the protagonist. A unique work that brings other writers to mind (Cormac McCarthy, certainly) but that is very much itself. This is an exciting discovery that would be well worth being chosen as the year’s best among fiction published by a UK/Irish small press, a prize awarded by the Republic of Consciousness for which this novel is as of this writing among the longlisted.
“The old man” is how the novel’s protagonist is usually, and frequently, referred to. He does at least have a name by which his community knows him, unlike “the child” whom he has seemingly adopted. The child, mute and unreadable, of unknown origin and present in this place for reasons nobody knows, for most of the novel wears a cow skull encasing his head, placed there by the old man in the opening scene. A fittingly bleak symbol, it may reference Táin Bó Cúailnge, or “The Cattle Raid of Cooley”, in which the hero Cú Chulainn defends Ulster from an invading army intent on stealing a bull; here the old man defends his farm from invading bankers intent on taking the farm and from government officials intent on taking the child, while clearly being identified with Cú Chulainn, most obviously through his past as a famed hurling player and his now ever present hurl, used for both support and as a weapon.
The old man is fighting a losing battle against what others would call progress. His farm in deep financial trouble, his equipment old, his cows not productive enough, his body taking a continuing beating. “You’ll be dead,” a friendly character in the local pub warns him. “Then I’ll be dead,” he replies. His essence is well described by the following passage:
Complicating the picture is his care of the child, a bizarre scenario from a realist point of view, more explicable from the mythical. A fair few of the townspeople, including the town priest who is of a decided apocalyptic frame of mind, think the child is cursed, possessed, or possibly a demon itself. And as we readers have no more idea than they or evidently the old man himself where this child came from, who are we to say they’re wrong!
There’s a remarkable scene where the priest confronts the old man, with whom he has an amusingly foul-mouthed prickly friendship, and the child in a bog and attempts to conduct an ill-planned exorcism while being fought off by the old man swinging his hurl. “‘Speak, demon,’ the priest barks. ‘Speak! To what purpose do you insolently resist? To what purpose do you brazenly refuse?’ The old man lifts the hurl from the ground and swings it.”
The priest could of course have been asking those questions of the old man as well. Like Cú Chulainn however he’ll fight off a host of attackers - bankers, animal welfare officials, bulls, crows, unfriendly townsfolk, hysterical parents, pillaging invaders from Dublin, child welfare officials, an epic storm - to find the only conceivable fate someone like him could.
“The old man” is how the novel’s protagonist is usually, and frequently, referred to. He does at least have a name by which his community knows him, unlike “the child” whom he has seemingly adopted. The child, mute and unreadable, of unknown origin and present in this place for reasons nobody knows, for most of the novel wears a cow skull encasing his head, placed there by the old man in the opening scene. A fittingly bleak symbol, it may reference Táin Bó Cúailnge, or “The Cattle Raid of Cooley”, in which the hero Cú Chulainn defends Ulster from an invading army intent on stealing a bull; here the old man defends his farm from invading bankers intent on taking the farm and from government officials intent on taking the child, while clearly being identified with Cú Chulainn, most obviously through his past as a famed hurling player and his now ever present hurl, used for both support and as a weapon.
The old man is fighting a losing battle against what others would call progress. His farm in deep financial trouble, his equipment old, his cows not productive enough, his body taking a continuing beating. “You’ll be dead,” a friendly character in the local pub warns him. “Then I’ll be dead,” he replies. His essence is well described by the following passage:
The old man, the old man, he is one called. To stand, against the times, to remain, resist and be counted as one that had to be slain because he would not kneel, submit. To be found not wanting. He descends the steps of the Ford, a man emerging from the dark haze to champion, fight.
Complicating the picture is his care of the child, a bizarre scenario from a realist point of view, more explicable from the mythical. A fair few of the townspeople, including the town priest who is of a decided apocalyptic frame of mind, think the child is cursed, possessed, or possibly a demon itself. And as we readers have no more idea than they or evidently the old man himself where this child came from, who are we to say they’re wrong!
The priest stops beneath an old painting of the town’s centre. Its frame with dust in the ridges. The crowd stands, huddled, folds their arms, grimaces. Times of trial and turmoil come, the priest says. He faces the child, but backs into the townspeople. They make room, absorb him. And that is not a boy, he yells, his arm shooting forward. That is not a boy! Mulgannon, take him away!
There’s a remarkable scene where the priest confronts the old man, with whom he has an amusingly foul-mouthed prickly friendship, and the child in a bog and attempts to conduct an ill-planned exorcism while being fought off by the old man swinging his hurl. “‘Speak, demon,’ the priest barks. ‘Speak! To what purpose do you insolently resist? To what purpose do you brazenly refuse?’ The old man lifts the hurl from the ground and swings it.”
The priest could of course have been asking those questions of the old man as well. Like Cú Chulainn however he’ll fight off a host of attackers - bankers, animal welfare officials, bulls, crows, unfriendly townsfolk, hysterical parents, pillaging invaders from Dublin, child welfare officials, an epic storm - to find the only conceivable fate someone like him could.
March 19, 2022
4.5 rounded down to 5 but could go up
This is on the 2022 Republic of Consciousness longlist. It is a relatively short book with short chapters. It moves mostly forward in time, although sometimes a post-activity scene occurs before the activity. The chapters are vignettes or scenes of what is going on in the life of Íosac Mulgannon, the old man, and the mute Child who "wears" the skeleton head of a cow for most of the novel. Where the Child came from is never told. Folks in the community speculate; they also, for most of the book, believe the Child is possessed. They are sure the old man in mad and to a certain extent he is.
One could think the book is repetitive and it is, just as farming is full of repetitive chores -- every day the cows must be milked morning and night, every year there are calves to dehorn, fences to mind, fields to plow, hay to made, and a many other regularly occurring chores. And then there are minor and major disasters to deal with -- storms blowing roofs off and walls in, cows/heifers getting out and roaming the countryside, cows birthing in out-of-the-way spots, cows getting mastitis, equipment breakdowns. There are the bills to be paid or not and dealing with people trying to put their noses in the farmers business. And then you get old. The long days and years have taken their toll and the body hurts mostly all the time.
And then there's the Child. Where did he come from? Is he mute or just choosing not to speak? Why do folks believe he is the cause of disasters? A reader will still have those questions and more when the book ends, but a discerning reader will have a feel for the old man and what he has given up to stay on that small farm and what the Child means to him. He's an angry guy and sometimes that anger erupts. But he has reasons to be angry.
Really enjoyed this book, dark though it be.
This is on the 2022 Republic of Consciousness longlist. It is a relatively short book with short chapters. It moves mostly forward in time, although sometimes a post-activity scene occurs before the activity. The chapters are vignettes or scenes of what is going on in the life of Íosac Mulgannon, the old man, and the mute Child who "wears" the skeleton head of a cow for most of the novel. Where the Child came from is never told. Folks in the community speculate; they also, for most of the book, believe the Child is possessed. They are sure the old man in mad and to a certain extent he is.
One could think the book is repetitive and it is, just as farming is full of repetitive chores -- every day the cows must be milked morning and night, every year there are calves to dehorn, fences to mind, fields to plow, hay to made, and a many other regularly occurring chores. And then there are minor and major disasters to deal with -- storms blowing roofs off and walls in, cows/heifers getting out and roaming the countryside, cows birthing in out-of-the-way spots, cows getting mastitis, equipment breakdowns. There are the bills to be paid or not and dealing with people trying to put their noses in the farmers business. And then you get old. The long days and years have taken their toll and the body hurts mostly all the time.
And then there's the Child. Where did he come from? Is he mute or just choosing not to speak? Why do folks believe he is the cause of disasters? A reader will still have those questions and more when the book ends, but a discerning reader will have a feel for the old man and what he has given up to stay on that small farm and what the Child means to him. He's an angry guy and sometimes that anger erupts. But he has reasons to be angry.
Really enjoyed this book, dark though it be.
August 26, 2022
Can't really argue that this is a top class small press book with direct but sometimes dizzying prose, in nice short easily digested chapters all centred around an old man and his "cursed" mute child. Builds its location up nicely. I'm actually tempted to just put all of the "republic of consciousness prize" Goodreads list into my "Want to read" pile but may just go through them one by one and see what other stuff I can discover... the fact that this gem only has 61 ratings at the time of writing this review is somewhat criminal.
March 8, 2021
he Beasts They Turned Away is a book that is unlike any I have read in recent memory. While this is a book based in a rural setting, and primarily told from the viewpoint of a farm, it is not a book that is only for people from a farming background. I barely know one end of a cow from the other to be honest, but I still really enjoyed this.
The writing was absolutely fantastic and the story had me questioning everything I was reading. It is a bit of a strange story, which starts out with a child deciding he is quite happy to stroll around with a cows skull on his head (not a spoiler, it is the cover of the book). I was searching for the hidden meaning in every sentence trying to piece everything together as I went. This is not a book in which the story was clear from the off, at least it wasn’t for me, but if anything this added to my enjoyment of the book.
The Beasts They Turned Away is written in short but exceptional chapters, which is perfect for what is being presented. I read this book in short bursts, and it is hard to think that the author means for it to be consumed any other way. Each time you dip into this book it gives you something to be savored.
This is a book that I thought was innovative and thought provoking. It is a striking look at the inward and focused mentality that we sometimes associate with small towns and rural communities. The story based on what is essentially a strange occurrence in the town, and how the residents react to it. This coupled with the story of Íosac’s own personal issues make for a striking tale. It is one which I plan on reading again with a highlighter to pick up some of the finer moments. Recommended to fans of the genre.
The writing was absolutely fantastic and the story had me questioning everything I was reading. It is a bit of a strange story, which starts out with a child deciding he is quite happy to stroll around with a cows skull on his head (not a spoiler, it is the cover of the book). I was searching for the hidden meaning in every sentence trying to piece everything together as I went. This is not a book in which the story was clear from the off, at least it wasn’t for me, but if anything this added to my enjoyment of the book.
The Beasts They Turned Away is written in short but exceptional chapters, which is perfect for what is being presented. I read this book in short bursts, and it is hard to think that the author means for it to be consumed any other way. Each time you dip into this book it gives you something to be savored.
This is a book that I thought was innovative and thought provoking. It is a striking look at the inward and focused mentality that we sometimes associate with small towns and rural communities. The story based on what is essentially a strange occurrence in the town, and how the residents react to it. This coupled with the story of Íosac’s own personal issues make for a striking tale. It is one which I plan on reading again with a highlighter to pick up some of the finer moments. Recommended to fans of the genre.
March 13, 2021
The narrative follows the struggles of everyday life of an old man called Iosac Mulgannon and a mute child who is unnamed. It is unclear whether the child is related to him as he just appeared one night and the old man has cared for him ever since. When the old man is not working on the farm he is in the town with the child picking up food or having a pint in the Clarke Martin Pub. Everyone is extremely wary of the child and believe him to be cursed. They whisper and mutter when they walk by while also crossing themselves. They believe him to not be natural and tell the old man to send him away. He refuses and protects the child at all costs. His determination to let the child be is powerful and questions the town; who decides what is natural?
I enjoyed the vivid imagery Dennis used as it sent chills down my spine. From the beginning the child wears a cow skull that stays on him up to near the end of the story. It’s a haunting image mixed with innocence and youth. It confuses you but has the right effect bringing up why the townspeople appear nervous in his presence. It acts as a barrier which limits the interaction between characters which effectively only intensifies the old man and child’s loneliness more.
This is a story about life and nature set against the backdrop of the loneliness and isolation that comes from working on the farm. It is a simple way of life that strips back all the nonsense and noise that modern living has accustomed us to. Here, it is just the land, the sky and the noise of the animals that surround you. The old man ploughs and ploughs to feel the day push against him, to feel the ache in his body. He needs to know that he still can and always will. He knows the sounds of the land and his body works in rhythm to its song. When letters start piling up with the bank’s logo it becomes clear that he is about to lose everything. He has put everything into the farm, he is embedded in its soil. He can not give up, it is all that he is. The music of the milkers are soaked into his skin, it takes over and consumes his heart. The old man tells the child how they are born of this ground and will let it tear itself from their feet before men take it from them. They will not move and will never yield.
The relationship between the old man and the child is an odd one. The old man speaks and the child says nothing. He follows and watches through the cow’s skull, showing little to no emotion. The old man cares for the child but keeps him at a distance. Sometimes he will attempt to reach out and touch him before the child quickly moves away. He wonders if the child sees things that he doesn’t and knows the child won’t be steered by anyone.
There is a heavy weight of sadness to this story as the old man spends his days working the farm with little to no interaction with other people. He will talk now and then to the child who never speaks and finds himself thinking back on memories past. It is hinted that there was a chance for happiness years ago with a woman but he didn’t take it. I felt for both characters but took some comfort that they at the very least had each other to feel a little less alone.
I give The Beasts They Turned Away By Ryan Dennis a Four out of Five paw rating.
No matter where I turned I was faced with the never-ending stretch of fields, looming ominously into the unknown. This is a story that shows you how to be a part of the land and the story it tells. It gets wedged in-between your nails, into your skin and hair reminding you of a different time, a place with an old sky and song.
I enjoyed the vivid imagery Dennis used as it sent chills down my spine. From the beginning the child wears a cow skull that stays on him up to near the end of the story. It’s a haunting image mixed with innocence and youth. It confuses you but has the right effect bringing up why the townspeople appear nervous in his presence. It acts as a barrier which limits the interaction between characters which effectively only intensifies the old man and child’s loneliness more.
This is a story about life and nature set against the backdrop of the loneliness and isolation that comes from working on the farm. It is a simple way of life that strips back all the nonsense and noise that modern living has accustomed us to. Here, it is just the land, the sky and the noise of the animals that surround you. The old man ploughs and ploughs to feel the day push against him, to feel the ache in his body. He needs to know that he still can and always will. He knows the sounds of the land and his body works in rhythm to its song. When letters start piling up with the bank’s logo it becomes clear that he is about to lose everything. He has put everything into the farm, he is embedded in its soil. He can not give up, it is all that he is. The music of the milkers are soaked into his skin, it takes over and consumes his heart. The old man tells the child how they are born of this ground and will let it tear itself from their feet before men take it from them. They will not move and will never yield.
The relationship between the old man and the child is an odd one. The old man speaks and the child says nothing. He follows and watches through the cow’s skull, showing little to no emotion. The old man cares for the child but keeps him at a distance. Sometimes he will attempt to reach out and touch him before the child quickly moves away. He wonders if the child sees things that he doesn’t and knows the child won’t be steered by anyone.
There is a heavy weight of sadness to this story as the old man spends his days working the farm with little to no interaction with other people. He will talk now and then to the child who never speaks and finds himself thinking back on memories past. It is hinted that there was a chance for happiness years ago with a woman but he didn’t take it. I felt for both characters but took some comfort that they at the very least had each other to feel a little less alone.
I give The Beasts They Turned Away By Ryan Dennis a Four out of Five paw rating.
No matter where I turned I was faced with the never-ending stretch of fields, looming ominously into the unknown. This is a story that shows you how to be a part of the land and the story it tells. It gets wedged in-between your nails, into your skin and hair reminding you of a different time, a place with an old sky and song.
October 10, 2023
It's a hard hard life for the elderly protagonist of this Irish novel. He's somehow ended up in charge of a young boy in addition to his chores on the dairy farm.
This is a powerful novel that acquires it's power as much through what's implied as opposed to what's said
This is a powerful novel that acquires it's power as much through what's implied as opposed to what's said
April 2, 2022
Profound and absurd, like an Old Testament take on Coetzee’s Childhood of Jesus in the form of @ely_percy Duck Feet. Loved this tale of a dairy farmer and his boy from @PenOfRyanDennis @Epoque_Press
August 3, 2021
A brilliant read!
Íosac Mulgannon is in a bind. The conditions are harsh and savage. The animals are dying. The neighbors and the local town are clearly superstitious and want the land. And to top it off, the kid won't talk. Íosac has no other option but to do what he knows best and to farm. Along with his trusted hurl, he toils from dawn to dusk.
Such is the premise of this debut novel that I was instantly drawn in. The description and language is beautifully written, and literally drips off the page with lyrical prose and vivid scenes. The harsh reality of farm life is brutally, but at the same time and in equal measure, magnificently portrayed. Similarly, the town takes us back to a time when people were superstitious and where religion held such sway over its flock. But not our Íosac who faces them all with his hurl.
But don't be fooled by that. This novel demands your attention and has gained my respect.
If Seamus Heaney, John B. Keane, and Flann O'Brien had a kid - they would surely call him Ryan Dennis.
Íosac Mulgannon is in a bind. The conditions are harsh and savage. The animals are dying. The neighbors and the local town are clearly superstitious and want the land. And to top it off, the kid won't talk. Íosac has no other option but to do what he knows best and to farm. Along with his trusted hurl, he toils from dawn to dusk.
Such is the premise of this debut novel that I was instantly drawn in. The description and language is beautifully written, and literally drips off the page with lyrical prose and vivid scenes. The harsh reality of farm life is brutally, but at the same time and in equal measure, magnificently portrayed. Similarly, the town takes us back to a time when people were superstitious and where religion held such sway over its flock. But not our Íosac who faces them all with his hurl.
But don't be fooled by that. This novel demands your attention and has gained my respect.
If Seamus Heaney, John B. Keane, and Flann O'Brien had a kid - they would surely call him Ryan Dennis.
April 7, 2022
A wholly original novel that manages to be both humorous and disturbing, there's nothing bucolic about this dark, unsettling tale of farming life in rural Ireland. It's a surprisingly enjoyable read written as a series of short vignettes which adds to the overall strangeness & creates a feeling of disorientation as the life of the deranged old man and the rather odd child unfolds.
December 31, 2020
Dennis’ debut novel is a poetic love-letter to many, many things - farming, family, community, the west of Ireland and aging, but above all hardship.
Íosac Mulgannon is a man who has had to graft his way through life, and suffer more than most. Yet here is the story of a man, not without his flaws, who struggles on to stand by his beliefs and the boy who has come to be with him.
Dennis does two things particularly well - writing texts so beautiful that it makes you put down the book for a moment to take in the wonder of what you’ve just read (and then to reread it again in absolute delight) and secondly, to build tension and intrigue masterfully. This is a slow cooker, and that’s said here as nothing but the highest compliment. The wait for the story to “cook” brings out the aromas in full through the many downbeat but hilarious characters he so flavourfully presents. He knows and loves Ireland’s West and its people. How intricately he details the ways of the land is, at times, just astonishing.
It’s evident that Dennis’ background is an agricultural one - but this is not just an ode to a life on the farm, it’s a celebration of suffering, and why some people choose that path.
This book is a revelation - a “should be” masterpiece that we will hopefully one day look back on as being the first of many from the author.
Íosac Mulgannon is a man who has had to graft his way through life, and suffer more than most. Yet here is the story of a man, not without his flaws, who struggles on to stand by his beliefs and the boy who has come to be with him.
Dennis does two things particularly well - writing texts so beautiful that it makes you put down the book for a moment to take in the wonder of what you’ve just read (and then to reread it again in absolute delight) and secondly, to build tension and intrigue masterfully. This is a slow cooker, and that’s said here as nothing but the highest compliment. The wait for the story to “cook” brings out the aromas in full through the many downbeat but hilarious characters he so flavourfully presents. He knows and loves Ireland’s West and its people. How intricately he details the ways of the land is, at times, just astonishing.
It’s evident that Dennis’ background is an agricultural one - but this is not just an ode to a life on the farm, it’s a celebration of suffering, and why some people choose that path.
This book is a revelation - a “should be” masterpiece that we will hopefully one day look back on as being the first of many from the author.
February 2, 2022
Ryan Dennis’ novel tells the story of a farmer who is living on the edge. The old man milks his gaunt cows, farms his impoverished land with a voiceless child, ignored, misunderstood and unloved by many people living in the village nearby. The farmer does not give up; he cares about his child, his cows and his land. With his stubbornness, the farmer carries on his daily activities. His pride does not look for compassion. He shows his suffering only through his irreverent and violent attitude. It takes a while to understand the real essence of the old man and his bravery in keeping going despite his internal and external struggles. Ryan Dennis was able to depict the transition of perspective on the old man, his child and his lifestyle in an accurate and poetic way. Ryan Dennis, with his book, was able to tell a story of care and hope through a dark and mythic literary lens.
I highly reccommend this book to the literary crowd!
I highly reccommend this book to the literary crowd!
April 11, 2021
"You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there... They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.''
- Sherlock Holmes
No pithy mystery to be had here, but that quote came back to me when I first sat down with this unnerving book set in the Irish countryside. A familiar loneliness of place & small town tensions, the repetitive nature of farm work, of lives lived by the fallacy of sunk-costs, and the stubbornness to try to force it to mean something.
- Sherlock Holmes
No pithy mystery to be had here, but that quote came back to me when I first sat down with this unnerving book set in the Irish countryside. A familiar loneliness of place & small town tensions, the repetitive nature of farm work, of lives lived by the fallacy of sunk-costs, and the stubbornness to try to force it to mean something.
April 27, 2022
I had difficulty reading this book straight through, perhaps because I'm struggling with a difficult lung infection at the moment. Some of the chapters were overwhelmingly claustrophobic given that I'm already gasping. I've mucked out too many goat sheds, sprayed myself with too much milk replacer, and stepped out of too many pairs of overalls that could stand just fine without me to not smell and taste my way through some of the more brutal chapters, and I don't mean that in a good way. When I tried to abandon the book, though, it was like trying to give up the farm. I found that I couldn't stop thinking about the old man and the boy. I kept coming back.
Four stars for my experience, but you may get more with yours.
Four stars for my experience, but you may get more with yours.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
January 17, 2021
It is not an easy read for a non native speaker, but if you take your time, it can be everything you expect from a great book.
While reading it, you eventually will start doing it carefully, in order not to miss anything. A true masterpiece that can pull you out of reality, right into the setting of the book, and may let you understand the motivation behind the decision of people for a harsh life-path.
An absolute recommendation.
While reading it, you eventually will start doing it carefully, in order not to miss anything. A true masterpiece that can pull you out of reality, right into the setting of the book, and may let you understand the motivation behind the decision of people for a harsh life-path.
An absolute recommendation.
December 22, 2021
I loved the sparse, muscular yet beautiful prose, the highly evocative imagery, the deranged storyline. The writing brought to mind Cormac McCarthy - stylistically reminiscent of Child of God, perhaps, in all its fierce muddiness.
March 6, 2021
Stellar debut from Ryan Dennis takes the bull by the horns, so to speak, and never lets go. The gritty prose punches the reader in the gut, then comes up top for more. Spare and taut, vivid, gothic, sometimes scriptural, sometimes poetic, 'The Beasts They Turned Away' takes you into a world on the precipice that's frankly, unforgettable. I’m waxing lyrical about this one to friends. Definitely worth a look.
January 31, 2021
Hm, where to begin.
Prose: My first thoughts, within the first few pages really, is that Ryan Dennis has a gift for laconic phrase. The short length of this book by no means implies a lack of depth, as each page contains multiple layers of emotion, metaphor, and story. A master of this is Cormac McCarthy and you can see his influence in Dennis' work, but it isn't the slightest bit derivative. The writing is clean, tight, and impactful. It makes for a fast read, even if...
Plot:...the story isn't immediately revealed. This isn't a Patterson book. You need to feel it and savor it. It takes some time to unwind but so does Hitchcock. I have zero familiarity with the dairy farms of Western Ireland but the pain, the grind, and the desolation of such a lifestyle can be applied to anyone who had ever experienced dejection or frustration. This is an angry book full of loss, but it's written so well you can't help but consume it.
Impact: As other readers have mentioned, The Beasts They Turned Away packs some punch. I found it best to enjoy in short spurts, simply because Dennis can pack more into two pages than most writers can in ten. Despite the short length, I found that I took my time reading it. I would pick it up, rip through a few (short) chapters, and need to put it down and gestate until I was ready to pick it up again. It's a drug, and a potent one.
I'll be reading this a few times. I feel like I missed a lot during the first reading. It will become a permanent part of my bookshelf.
Prose: My first thoughts, within the first few pages really, is that Ryan Dennis has a gift for laconic phrase. The short length of this book by no means implies a lack of depth, as each page contains multiple layers of emotion, metaphor, and story. A master of this is Cormac McCarthy and you can see his influence in Dennis' work, but it isn't the slightest bit derivative. The writing is clean, tight, and impactful. It makes for a fast read, even if...
Plot:...the story isn't immediately revealed. This isn't a Patterson book. You need to feel it and savor it. It takes some time to unwind but so does Hitchcock. I have zero familiarity with the dairy farms of Western Ireland but the pain, the grind, and the desolation of such a lifestyle can be applied to anyone who had ever experienced dejection or frustration. This is an angry book full of loss, but it's written so well you can't help but consume it.
Impact: As other readers have mentioned, The Beasts They Turned Away packs some punch. I found it best to enjoy in short spurts, simply because Dennis can pack more into two pages than most writers can in ten. Despite the short length, I found that I took my time reading it. I would pick it up, rip through a few (short) chapters, and need to put it down and gestate until I was ready to pick it up again. It's a drug, and a potent one.
I'll be reading this a few times. I feel like I missed a lot during the first reading. It will become a permanent part of my bookshelf.
March 31, 2021
A fierce, inventive and atmospheric novel. The protagonist, íosac Mulligan, is a rural farmer in an unnamed town in the West of Ireland, just about still clinging on to his land. In his care is a boy, mute and strange, who is written off as cursed by the small-minded rural community. Íosac is a kind of mythical character, heroic in his determination - but also stubborn, flawed by his intransigence, in the mould of the epic protagonists of the Icelandic sagas. The town is like every small Irish town, but not, uncanny - twisted off kilter a little. The setting and the cast of characters reminded me a little of the Irish film Calgary. The two things I really liked about this novel were firstly the detail of the honest brutalism of eekibg out a living as a small farmer, and secondly how Dennis creates a pervading air of menace by a slow accumulation of images as the story of Íosac’s rebellion unfolds. This is a brave novel, original and ambitious and very well written. It is published by Epoque press, a new independent who have published some really good books over the last few years, and continues their commitment to ambitious new fiction. Well worth checking out.
February 17, 2022
Longlisted for The Republic of Consciousness Prize
April 1, 2025
This book dragged, it had no direction, no progression, it was hard to understand what was going on. The lack of speech marks added to my confusion. Had it really been said, or was it, a thought? The characters didn’t let you in, the old man, whose name was hard to pin down, as he got called various things, he lived a hard life, that dragged on, in endless repeat (much like real life) but with no fun, bar his night time walks and the pub. He loves the child but there is only a weird connection in that they shared a life together. The town/village just added unpleasantness as often as they could.
July 2, 2022
I wasn’t as captured by the writing or atmosphere of this book as others have been, but I appreciated the brutalist approach and the inexorable confluence of doom-laden bodies
May 20, 2022
It's incredibly rare to stumble on such an original voice these days. Dennis strikes a stark and gripping tone characterized by gruff personalities who's terse mutterings at the pub, or in the fields are immediately spell-binding. We are at once in the muck of the bogs, breathing the stench of manure and cattle, and at odds with the changing world that is consuming the mind space of these increasingly trapped characters. The work draws on with unrelenting vision. To say nothing of how the brilliant book design brings this world to life is to understate the attention to detail that sets Dennis' work apart from run-of-the-mill fiction. "I plough, I plough, he tells the clutch, he tells the gears..." Dennis writes with an unmatched knowledge of farming, and the ability to render a deeply tangible reading experience. This is an author to watch!
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