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Fierce Appetites: Loving, Losing and Living to Excess in My Present and in the Writings of the Past
Every day a beloved father dies. Every day a lover departs. Every day a woman turns forty.
All three happening together brings a moment of reckoning.
Medieval historian Elizabeth Boyle made sense of these events the best way she knew how - by immersing herself in the literature that has been her first love and life's work for over two decades.
Fierce Appetites is the exhilarating and deeply humane result. Not only does Elizabeth Boyle write dazzling accounts of ancient stories, familiar and obscure, from Ireland and further afield, but she uses her historical learning to grapple with the raw and urgent questions she faces, questions that have bedevilled people in every age. She writes on grief, addiction, family breakdown, the complexities of motherhood, love and sex, memory, class, education, travel (and staying put) with unflinching honesty, deep compassion and occasional dark humour.
Fierce Appetites is captivating and original - as an insight into the mind and heart of a groundbreaking scholar, and as a wise and reassuring account of what it is to be human.
All three happening together brings a moment of reckoning.
Medieval historian Elizabeth Boyle made sense of these events the best way she knew how - by immersing herself in the literature that has been her first love and life's work for over two decades.
Fierce Appetites is the exhilarating and deeply humane result. Not only does Elizabeth Boyle write dazzling accounts of ancient stories, familiar and obscure, from Ireland and further afield, but she uses her historical learning to grapple with the raw and urgent questions she faces, questions that have bedevilled people in every age. She writes on grief, addiction, family breakdown, the complexities of motherhood, love and sex, memory, class, education, travel (and staying put) with unflinching honesty, deep compassion and occasional dark humour.
Fierce Appetites is captivating and original - as an insight into the mind and heart of a groundbreaking scholar, and as a wise and reassuring account of what it is to be human.
338 pages, Paperback
First published March 3, 2022
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852 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 60 reviews
June 28, 2022
The subtitle for this is so misleading, making it sound like a vaguely sensationalist variation on Eat, Pray, Love when it’s a different animal altogether – and a much better book. But Elizabeth Boyle’s talked about the headache this gave her publicists, with its combination of reflections on social and intellectual history and early Irish literature, bumping up against thoughts on current affairs from Black Lives Matter to the handling of the pandemic. Inspired by medieval Irish annals, this is structured as a chronicle of a year in her life, here 2020. It began badly with the loss of her father, before shifting into the plague year still fresh in our collective memory. Boyle, uprooted, from home in Ireland, moved in with her stepmother in Suffolk to wait things out.
Boyle’s an academic by trade, her area’s medieval Ireland and Old Irish, here her thematic, month-by-month, entries mingle details of her everyday and memories of her past, her struggles with anxiety, her turbulent relationships, her difficult childhood, with musings on the connections and disconnections between now and medieval times: the nature of history; time; even concepts of the self. She introduces characters from Irish sagas alongside those from her own life in all its messy, sprawling, complexity. She’s quite a character herself, irreverent, outspoken, unashamedly addicted to alcohol, sweaty sex, and obscure forms of heavy metal, which led to numerous flings with musicians. She’s also the first in her family to go to university, a former Cambridge fellow, highly respected in her field, who’s now based in Early Irish at Maynooth University, not far from Dublin. I found her immensely likeable, recognisably flawed, intellectually curious, incredibly well-informed on her subject, she manages to make medieval Irish mythology, society and writing accessible, vivid and completely compelling, surprisingly relevant to thinking about the present.
Boyle’s an academic by trade, her area’s medieval Ireland and Old Irish, here her thematic, month-by-month, entries mingle details of her everyday and memories of her past, her struggles with anxiety, her turbulent relationships, her difficult childhood, with musings on the connections and disconnections between now and medieval times: the nature of history; time; even concepts of the self. She introduces characters from Irish sagas alongside those from her own life in all its messy, sprawling, complexity. She’s quite a character herself, irreverent, outspoken, unashamedly addicted to alcohol, sweaty sex, and obscure forms of heavy metal, which led to numerous flings with musicians. She’s also the first in her family to go to university, a former Cambridge fellow, highly respected in her field, who’s now based in Early Irish at Maynooth University, not far from Dublin. I found her immensely likeable, recognisably flawed, intellectually curious, incredibly well-informed on her subject, she manages to make medieval Irish mythology, society and writing accessible, vivid and completely compelling, surprisingly relevant to thinking about the present.
March 18, 2022
What a fascinating read this was! I thoroughly enjoyed this compelling mix of memoir intertwined with a vast introductory course in medieval literature. Most of the writers she mentioned were completely new to me and it was a privilege to have her provide such a tour. Lordy - to be that intelligent and passionate about your life. I envied her and I envied her students. Boyle shows us how to read, how to be curious, how to learn, how to teach - ultimately, how to apply old texts and their writers to our everyday lives. It is also brutally honest in the account of her life and her time in lockdown. She really does bleed onto the page as she describes troubled relationships with relatives and lovers along with copious amounts of alcohol for which she does not apologise. And she writes about writing this book too which was the result of an email that she sent to reassure her students in lockdown. The writing of this book is part of the story she is telling. Highly recommend it!
March 18, 2025
Fierce Appetites is a hybrid memoir, written over the year following the death of the author's father, which gives her cause to reflect on their relationship, her childhood, her role as a parent/mother, her academic profession and some of the decisions she has made over the years, both the well thought out and the impulsive, those she takes some pride in and others she regrets.
The bonds between different members of a family are explored and pondered and found in the ancient texts.
Alongside the memoir aspect, written in 12 chapters,months of the years, her reflections lead into a potted introduction to medieval literature, each chapter finding some connection between the personal narrative and something of the medieval history/literature texts that she is reminded of.
Most of this is unfamiliar to me, as it would be to most people unless you had studied it in university, but that was what initially piqued my interest in the book and I found it fascinating to read about all these references and the translations of those texts and how the author demonstrates how they have something relevant to say today if you care to sit with them and interpret/reflect on their meaning or find a connection, which Elizabeth Boyle does.
They tell us through their stories and poems, how people lived, loved, coped and the scale of their imagination, and we reflect on how much things have or haven't changed.
The book was written in 2020, which is also interesting because it was a year that gave many the opportunity to pursue projects like this, and also because of the political climate that gets occasionally referenced. While the author lives in Ireland, she also travels to the UK to see her daughter and sometimes abroad to speak on her subject of expertise.
When she mentions the political situation, she does so from the point of view of a historian, and some of these insights from 5 years ago are as relevant today as when she wrote them.
There are so many interesting insights and observations, challenges and meandering trains of thought, I highlighted so many and could easily have spent many more hours looking up the references.
Highly Recommended.
The bonds between different members of a family are explored and pondered and found in the ancient texts.
The world has always been full of stepmothers, foster-mothers, fathers who do the 'mothering', aunts and cousins and grandparents who take on primary caring responsibilities, adoptive mothers, institutions that rear children (for better or worse), and innumerable kinds of almost-mothers, surrogate mothers, 'they-were-like-a-mother-to-me's. I was reared by a stepmother who mothered me as best she could, even when I sometimes believed she was like the mythic wicked stepmother from a fairy tale, and treated her accordingly.
Alongside the memoir aspect, written in 12 chapters,months of the years, her reflections lead into a potted introduction to medieval literature, each chapter finding some connection between the personal narrative and something of the medieval history/literature texts that she is reminded of.
There is a popular misconception that people in the Middle Ages didn't grieve as much or as deeply as we do today. Perhaps because of the extremely high rates of infant mortality, and images in modern culture of the Middle Ages as a time of endemic warfare, people tend to think that societies became numbed to death. But the medieval literature of grief disproves that claim. People suffered from the loss of their loved ones then just as much as we do now.
Most of this is unfamiliar to me, as it would be to most people unless you had studied it in university, but that was what initially piqued my interest in the book and I found it fascinating to read about all these references and the translations of those texts and how the author demonstrates how they have something relevant to say today if you care to sit with them and interpret/reflect on their meaning or find a connection, which Elizabeth Boyle does.
The things we fight for,a nd the reasons we fight for them, can be so elusive, so futile, and yet so deeply felt. Every year, I try to explain the emotional complexities of The Táin: From the Irish Epic Táin Bó Cúailnge to a new generation of students: Fer Diad and Cú Chulainn, fighting on opposite sides of a conflict and yet deeply bound by love for each other; Fergus's divided loyalties; Medb's myopic willingness to sacrifice her daughter for the sake of a bull.
They tell us through their stories and poems, how people lived, loved, coped and the scale of their imagination, and we reflect on how much things have or haven't changed.
At the mortuary, we had been handed a NHS leaflet on dealing with grief. One of its sensible pieces of advice is not to make any major life changes in the first year of losing someone close to you. In medieval literature, characters are not given self-help pamphlets. When they suffer grief, they destroy mountains, raze kingdoms, tear their hair out and scorch the earth. I just sat numbly at the kitchen table, drinking gin and sending unwise WhatsApp messages to ex-lovers.
The book was written in 2020, which is also interesting because it was a year that gave many the opportunity to pursue projects like this, and also because of the political climate that gets occasionally referenced. While the author lives in Ireland, she also travels to the UK to see her daughter and sometimes abroad to speak on her subject of expertise.
One of the main objections to travel in the Middle Ages was that it led to sin.
When she mentions the political situation, she does so from the point of view of a historian, and some of these insights from 5 years ago are as relevant today as when she wrote them.
History is full of incremental improvements and revolutionary convulsions - often these are followed by reactionary backlashes in which rights are revoked, inequalities re-established.
There are so many interesting insights and observations, challenges and meandering trains of thought, I highlighted so many and could easily have spent many more hours looking up the references.
Highly Recommended.
Read
June 14, 2022Just finished reading this beautiful, brave, smart, lambent book, and I am absolutely blown away. It took me much longer than books usually do, because I kept putting it down to think about what I'd just read, Googling stories she included and reading them, and going back and re-reading sections because they resonated so deeply and were so beautifully written. Brilliant, and brava to the author, Elizabeth Boyle!
Fellow readers and booklovers, if you haven't read it yet and you have any interest at all in medieval studies, Irish history and literature, or vibrant, intelligent, and humane memoirs of love and loss and being a human being, I urge you to read this book. It's easily one of my favorite things I've read as a writer and a medievalist in recent memory. SO GOOD!
Fellow readers and booklovers, if you haven't read it yet and you have any interest at all in medieval studies, Irish history and literature, or vibrant, intelligent, and humane memoirs of love and loss and being a human being, I urge you to read this book. It's easily one of my favorite things I've read as a writer and a medievalist in recent memory. SO GOOD!
April 14, 2022
The next time I'm embarrassed running into my students in gym clothes, I will remember this professor, who discusses her threesomes, drinking problem, and unplanned pregnancy in detail!
December 15, 2024
Letztes Jahr war ich bei Hodges&Figgins, dem ältesten Buchladen in Irland - da musste ich dieses Buch aus dem Regal "Authors from Ireland" mitnehmen. Das Buch war seltsam, es ist schwer zu beschreiben. Elizabeth Boyle ist Historikerin und Professorin für mittelalterliche irische Literatur und hat darüber, aber auch darüber hinaus viel zu erzählen. In 12 Monaten des Jahres 2020 widmet sie sich jeweils einem Thema ("Journeys", "Mothers", "Grief", "Lockdown" ...) und verbindet dabei Autobiographisches mit Ideen aus mittelalterlichen Texten. Sprich, es gibt immer wieder Passagen mittelalterlicher Erzählungen, wozu die Autorin dann ihre lebensgeschichtlichen Gedanken und ihr akademisches Wissen darlegt. Dabei ist sie erschreckend ehrlich und scheut sich nicht, Sachen zu sagen, die andere Leute verwerflich finden könnten. Die Texte fand ich teilweiße extrem schwer zu verstehen, nicht zuletzt wegen der ganzen gälischen Namen, und auch in englischer Übersetzung und mit den Anmerkungen haben mir einige Vokabeln und das historische Verständnis über Irland bzw. über das Mittelalter gefehlt. Nichtsdestotrotz konnte ich mit den mitgelieferten Interpretationen viel anfangen, und dabei war es spannend zu lesen, dass die Menschen in Mittelalter natürlich die gleichen Emotionen hatten wie wir. Andere Umstände, andere Probleme, andere Ansichten, aber auf der Gefühlsebene verstehen wir uns. Finde es immer spannend, wenn so etwas passiert, also dass mir die Leute von vergangenen Zeiten wie tatsächliche Menschen vorkommen und nicht nur wie komisch gezeichnete Bilder mit gefühlt drei Farben. Ich bin hin und hergerissen, ob ich mehr oder weniger Sterne geben soll. Ich glaube, wenn ich Irin wäre, und ein größeres Interesse für Geschichte hätte, wäre es ein Hit gewesen. Aber ich bin Deutsche und Psychologin, also habe ich mir rausgepickt, was mich abgeholt hat und so sind es 7 von 10 Punkte für mich, also 4 Sterne. Sehr schönes goldfoliertes Cover by the way, zusammen mit dem Titel aber etwas irreführend.
August 2, 2023
I know I only finished uni a few months ago but reading this made me miss medieval Irish so much!
April 30, 2022
Not a fan (or rather have little knowledge of medieval Ireland) but this book brings you on a thematic ride through 5th-12th century Ireland while somehow seamlessly exploring modern issues and events during 2020 and the pandemic. Interesting read after 32 Words for Field as it offers a much more factual account of Irelands history and the dangers of misinformation or false remembering for nationalistic or personal reasonings/justification
March 24, 2023
The medieval Irish history was engaging and accessible. However the author’s memoir didn’t grasp me
November 24, 2024
Fierce Appetites - Lessons From My Year of Untamed Thinking by Elizabeth Boyle is structured in 12 chapters, each representing one month in the year 2020. Boyle manages to seamlessly blend elements of her own personal life with the stories and tales from her field of study as Head of Early Irish at Maynooth University and Anglo Saxon, Norse and Celtic Studies in which she has a doctorate from Cambridge University.
Drawing on Irish myths and sagas from 5th-12th centuries - part of the Middle Ages and medieval period - the 12 essay topics include: grief, journeys, inheritance, time, bodies, memory and more. From January to December, the author does mention the pandemic in order to touch on her living circumstances, the isolation of lockdown and the ways she manages to keep her students engaged, but this - thankfully - isn't a covid memoir.
Within each chapter, the author shares autobiographical information about herself, right alongside ancient stories and texts from medieval Ireland and somehow manages to make it work. Not your typical medieval historian, Elizabeth Boyle discloses to the reader many times that she left her child with her daughter's father in order to pursue her desire for knowledge and self fulfilment in another country. The separation and guilt she bears continues to surface in the essays and she boldly remains unafraid to share details of her alcoholism and sex life and the fact that she was 'the other woman'. In addition to her love of heavy metal music, I found these personal insights incongruous with her smooth and polished accent and method of delivery in the audiobook.
I imagine Dr Elizabeth Boyle is a favourite amongst her university students, despite - or perhaps a direct result of - her intimate disclosures. She's able to relate the challenges of our everyday lives in the present to medieval Irish mythology in a stimulating and nuanced way, making it easy to see why she's at the top of her field.
Fierce Appetites by Elizabeth Boyle is recommended listening for those who enjoy Irish history and memoir, a unique combination in this case.
Drawing on Irish myths and sagas from 5th-12th centuries - part of the Middle Ages and medieval period - the 12 essay topics include: grief, journeys, inheritance, time, bodies, memory and more. From January to December, the author does mention the pandemic in order to touch on her living circumstances, the isolation of lockdown and the ways she manages to keep her students engaged, but this - thankfully - isn't a covid memoir.
Within each chapter, the author shares autobiographical information about herself, right alongside ancient stories and texts from medieval Ireland and somehow manages to make it work. Not your typical medieval historian, Elizabeth Boyle discloses to the reader many times that she left her child with her daughter's father in order to pursue her desire for knowledge and self fulfilment in another country. The separation and guilt she bears continues to surface in the essays and she boldly remains unafraid to share details of her alcoholism and sex life and the fact that she was 'the other woman'. In addition to her love of heavy metal music, I found these personal insights incongruous with her smooth and polished accent and method of delivery in the audiobook.
I imagine Dr Elizabeth Boyle is a favourite amongst her university students, despite - or perhaps a direct result of - her intimate disclosures. She's able to relate the challenges of our everyday lives in the present to medieval Irish mythology in a stimulating and nuanced way, making it easy to see why she's at the top of her field.
Fierce Appetites by Elizabeth Boyle is recommended listening for those who enjoy Irish history and memoir, a unique combination in this case.
April 25, 2022
Elizabeth Boyle was a familiar name from my time doing research on early mediaeval Ireland, so when ‘Fierce Appetites’ came out, Amazon’s invasive algorithms were waterboarding me with ads.
The book weaves seamlessly between autobiography and historical exposition, as Boyle finds perennial learning in the writings and lived experiences of Irish poets, historians and religious figures from a millennium ago. In each chapter, Boyle recounts a stage of her life, candidly discussing matters such as personal loss, depression, familial disfunction, drugs, sex and alcoholism with a deft mixture of pathos and humour. As each anecdote circles back to something some 11th-century eccentric experienced or wrote, the reader is reminded about just how universal the human condition is.
Boyle combines the above personal exploration with shrewd political commentary on a variety of contemporary issues: statue removal, gender fluidity and the nostalgia-induced shift to the right in Britain and America to name a few. In each case, she uses historical precedent to dismantle inane ideas about ‘traditional values’ and the locus amoenus of a distant past that never really existed.
I’m sure there are other scholars out there who have toyed with the idea of telling their stories, and I hope Boyle’s work will impel at least some of them to do so.
The book weaves seamlessly between autobiography and historical exposition, as Boyle finds perennial learning in the writings and lived experiences of Irish poets, historians and religious figures from a millennium ago. In each chapter, Boyle recounts a stage of her life, candidly discussing matters such as personal loss, depression, familial disfunction, drugs, sex and alcoholism with a deft mixture of pathos and humour. As each anecdote circles back to something some 11th-century eccentric experienced or wrote, the reader is reminded about just how universal the human condition is.
Boyle combines the above personal exploration with shrewd political commentary on a variety of contemporary issues: statue removal, gender fluidity and the nostalgia-induced shift to the right in Britain and America to name a few. In each case, she uses historical precedent to dismantle inane ideas about ‘traditional values’ and the locus amoenus of a distant past that never really existed.
I’m sure there are other scholars out there who have toyed with the idea of telling their stories, and I hope Boyle’s work will impel at least some of them to do so.
August 9, 2022
4.5/5. This is an absolutely superb book. Boyle writes in the afterword about how she's working on three different temporal planes at once: describing 2020 when she wrote the book; describing her own life since the 80s; and describing the medieval past, mainly around a thousand years ago. Her approach to using each month of 2020 as a means to discuss a different theme made for an incredibly rich, thought-provoking, relatable and moving read, weaving a history of herself in among a history of the contemporary world and the more distant past.
I really loved how she could write openly, in depth and detail about some issues in her life while obfuscating others - and there is so much to admire in this. At times I didn't feel as though the different ideas and periods were pulled together completely successfully, and think it could have done with a little bit more editing, but I adored the ride Boyle took me on. Its imperfections are in-keeping with the whole tone of the book and the humanity it explores with such sensitivity and creativity. It was super wide-ranging and ambitious, and I lapped it up.
I really loved how she could write openly, in depth and detail about some issues in her life while obfuscating others - and there is so much to admire in this. At times I didn't feel as though the different ideas and periods were pulled together completely successfully, and think it could have done with a little bit more editing, but I adored the ride Boyle took me on. Its imperfections are in-keeping with the whole tone of the book and the humanity it explores with such sensitivity and creativity. It was super wide-ranging and ambitious, and I lapped it up.
August 13, 2025
This book is unlike anything I've read before. It combines very frank personal stories with short lectures on medieval Irish literature. So the first chapter is about her grief on her father's death and she examines how medieval texts dealt with grief. So it continues, but the topics of the chapters become less interesting as the book progresses and I really didn't care enough about the medieval literature and began scanning those sections. The first few chapters were full of emotion and I felt huge empathy for the writer, and the found the family relations during the covid lockdown with the blended families interesting, but as the book progressed I think she was struggling to come up with personal topics to cover each month and she lost the heart of the book. An intriguing concept but not one I'd rush to return to.
June 15, 2023
Took a long time to finish for various reasons but really enjoyed the history/biography/geography/confessions/politics/attitude that this book is full of. Unusual but really interesting, worth the effort.
June 21, 2024
Not quite what I was expecting. Still, interesting.
April 20, 2022
Heart achingly beautiful. I loved viewing the Irish medieval material through a contemporary expert lens alongside a life.
July 5, 2022
Enjoyed every minute of the brilliant book .. will share, gift & recommend widely. TU Elizabeth Boyle
June 16, 2022
One of the best books I've read this year. No idea how I ended up buying this book as I don't really remember picking it up, but obviously I did, and I am so happy that I have.
Amazing and brutaly honest at times, the author combines her life experiences and history knowledge to create narrative that is impossible to step away from.
Amazing and brutaly honest at times, the author combines her life experiences and history knowledge to create narrative that is impossible to step away from.
June 2, 2022
The intensely personal & passionate blend of modern life and medieval yarn that you didn't know you were missing.
August 24, 2023
I found about this book thanks to the An Post Irish Book Awards’ “non-fiction book of the year” shortlist. First, the title caught my attention, as it made me think of food, but when I noticed the illustration on the cover it took a comic turn that attracted me even more. However, what convinced me of reading Fierce Appetites were the first sentences of the description: “Every day a beloved father dies. Every day a lover departs. Every day a woman turns forty. All three happening together brings a moment of reckoning.” Since grief has been my literary obsession over more than a year now, I knew immediately I wanted to read Boyle’s reckonings.
And so, I started reading. To my surprise, the reckonings goes far beyond the death of Boyle’s father, her breakup with her partner, and her birthday. While these events are the driving force for many of Boyle’s reflections, the book is so much more than that. When I finished reading it, I felt that there were several books contained in one, because it deals with so many big issues such as family, education, nature, and memory—both in medieval and contemporary times—that it kept my mind going in so many different directions in a good way. Although a scope as broad as this could turn into a chaotic rant, Boyle manages to conduct her ideas in order and without losing focus.
The neatness in discussing each topic, I believe, is made possible because of two main factors: the book structure and the writing itself. Regarding the former, the book is divided in twelve chapters, one for each month of the year and one topic, for example, “January: Grief”, “February: Mothers”. In this way, Boyle is able to write at length about every topic while keeping each one self-contained and taking us as readers on a journey throughout the events of her life and the world as well as the thoughts that stem from those events in the span of a year. As well defined as each topic is, however, the book does not feel forcedly put together nor fragmented. There’s a cohesion between paragraphs and chapters that make the reading flow effortlessly.
As a regular reader of non-fiction, I was surprised by this cohesion, which I think is an influence of Boyle’s academic writing as a historian. The non-fiction I have read in the last couple of years, in English as well as in Spanish, is characterised by being fragmentary. Of course there is nothing wrong with that, since most of the times it is intentional and I enjoy that, but there is also something very reassuring in just being guided by the text and noticing the smooth transitions from one paragraph to the next one only after you realise that in just four pages you have read about the first time that the author tried drugs, her brother’s imprisonment, an eleventh century Irish poem that warns against “evil” habits, the pandemic, and how Boyle fell in love with Celtic studies.
Besides this ability to write, Boyle’s academic self is present in Fierce Appetites in the parts in which she explicitly addresses her career and with all her knowledge on medieval cultures and texts, mostly Irish and Welsh, but from other territories as well. The medieval myths, poems, traditions, and even some laws are the basis upon which Boyle draws parallels between her experiences and those from the characters and poetic personas of the texts that she tends to teach as a professor to her PhD students in the Maynooth University Department of Early Irish. This is not to say that the parts in which she shares her expertise on the medieval are complicated or boring, because they are not. Contrary to the stereotypical idea of a lecture or an academic essay, the language Boyle uses is unpretentious and her tone throughout is quite humorous, so even though I did not choose to read this book to have a laugh nor to learn about medieval texts, both things happened serendipitously along with the personal reflections I was expecting Boyle’s accounts to elicit from me.
One of my favourite aspects of the book was its humour—which I think is suggested by the illustration in the cover that I mentioned at the beginning—since it makes it very enjoyable even when the topics might be thorny or are usually considered arid without turning them trivial. I noticed this from the first pages I read, which were the “Glossary and guide to pronunciation” at the back of the book. I decided to start with it because, as a Mexican person who has not been able to grasp Irish pronunciation even though I’ve used Duolingo and took Irish classes for a semester, I thought it would be useful. It was, especially because it is a glossary of names and some words in Old and Middle Irish, and it also includes some of the best examples of Boyle’s humour. In Líadain’s (lee-a-then) entry, the summary of who she was reads “Torn between God and sex. Chooses God. Regrets it. A lesson for us all.” As you can see, it is not only funny but reflects Boyle’s stance towards history.
Without the relaxed approach that she has towards her field of study this book could not be possible. First, because I am sure that without the humour the book would not be as attractive to as many readers as it has been. Second, I think it is this casual approach that allows Boyle to establish a dialogue with the medieval texts in such a personal way. Throughout the book her experiences are intertwined with the poems and myths she has studied for years. Rather than seeing them as sacralised historic documents as some could do, Boyle discusses them due to their human qualities, because of what they reveal about human behaviours as if they were any other anecdote told by a friend and with which you find points in common to relate with.
As this way of alternating the past and her present and then finding the common ground of human experiences in both is what binds the whole book together, it became clear to me that, apart from all twelve topics, this book’s main concern is how we use others’ stories to help us make sense of our own. Boyle takes us on an apparent linear journey during a year of her life in which she deals with her grief and everything that happens in between, but the fact of it being an exact year actually creates a cycle that breaks the illusion. Her constant coming and going to and from the past is an example of the negotiation that we as humans make with pre-existent narratives of others and of ourselves as an attempt to try to come to terms with and understand our reality.
And so, I started reading. To my surprise, the reckonings goes far beyond the death of Boyle’s father, her breakup with her partner, and her birthday. While these events are the driving force for many of Boyle’s reflections, the book is so much more than that. When I finished reading it, I felt that there were several books contained in one, because it deals with so many big issues such as family, education, nature, and memory—both in medieval and contemporary times—that it kept my mind going in so many different directions in a good way. Although a scope as broad as this could turn into a chaotic rant, Boyle manages to conduct her ideas in order and without losing focus.
The neatness in discussing each topic, I believe, is made possible because of two main factors: the book structure and the writing itself. Regarding the former, the book is divided in twelve chapters, one for each month of the year and one topic, for example, “January: Grief”, “February: Mothers”. In this way, Boyle is able to write at length about every topic while keeping each one self-contained and taking us as readers on a journey throughout the events of her life and the world as well as the thoughts that stem from those events in the span of a year. As well defined as each topic is, however, the book does not feel forcedly put together nor fragmented. There’s a cohesion between paragraphs and chapters that make the reading flow effortlessly.
As a regular reader of non-fiction, I was surprised by this cohesion, which I think is an influence of Boyle’s academic writing as a historian. The non-fiction I have read in the last couple of years, in English as well as in Spanish, is characterised by being fragmentary. Of course there is nothing wrong with that, since most of the times it is intentional and I enjoy that, but there is also something very reassuring in just being guided by the text and noticing the smooth transitions from one paragraph to the next one only after you realise that in just four pages you have read about the first time that the author tried drugs, her brother’s imprisonment, an eleventh century Irish poem that warns against “evil” habits, the pandemic, and how Boyle fell in love with Celtic studies.
Besides this ability to write, Boyle’s academic self is present in Fierce Appetites in the parts in which she explicitly addresses her career and with all her knowledge on medieval cultures and texts, mostly Irish and Welsh, but from other territories as well. The medieval myths, poems, traditions, and even some laws are the basis upon which Boyle draws parallels between her experiences and those from the characters and poetic personas of the texts that she tends to teach as a professor to her PhD students in the Maynooth University Department of Early Irish. This is not to say that the parts in which she shares her expertise on the medieval are complicated or boring, because they are not. Contrary to the stereotypical idea of a lecture or an academic essay, the language Boyle uses is unpretentious and her tone throughout is quite humorous, so even though I did not choose to read this book to have a laugh nor to learn about medieval texts, both things happened serendipitously along with the personal reflections I was expecting Boyle’s accounts to elicit from me.
One of my favourite aspects of the book was its humour—which I think is suggested by the illustration in the cover that I mentioned at the beginning—since it makes it very enjoyable even when the topics might be thorny or are usually considered arid without turning them trivial. I noticed this from the first pages I read, which were the “Glossary and guide to pronunciation” at the back of the book. I decided to start with it because, as a Mexican person who has not been able to grasp Irish pronunciation even though I’ve used Duolingo and took Irish classes for a semester, I thought it would be useful. It was, especially because it is a glossary of names and some words in Old and Middle Irish, and it also includes some of the best examples of Boyle’s humour. In Líadain’s (lee-a-then) entry, the summary of who she was reads “Torn between God and sex. Chooses God. Regrets it. A lesson for us all.” As you can see, it is not only funny but reflects Boyle’s stance towards history.
Without the relaxed approach that she has towards her field of study this book could not be possible. First, because I am sure that without the humour the book would not be as attractive to as many readers as it has been. Second, I think it is this casual approach that allows Boyle to establish a dialogue with the medieval texts in such a personal way. Throughout the book her experiences are intertwined with the poems and myths she has studied for years. Rather than seeing them as sacralised historic documents as some could do, Boyle discusses them due to their human qualities, because of what they reveal about human behaviours as if they were any other anecdote told by a friend and with which you find points in common to relate with.
As this way of alternating the past and her present and then finding the common ground of human experiences in both is what binds the whole book together, it became clear to me that, apart from all twelve topics, this book’s main concern is how we use others’ stories to help us make sense of our own. Boyle takes us on an apparent linear journey during a year of her life in which she deals with her grief and everything that happens in between, but the fact of it being an exact year actually creates a cycle that breaks the illusion. Her constant coming and going to and from the past is an example of the negotiation that we as humans make with pre-existent narratives of others and of ourselves as an attempt to try to come to terms with and understand our reality.
Read
August 24, 2023I will start by admitting that it was the blurb that convinced me to read Fierce Appetites. I know blurbs are not to be trusted but there it was on the cover, none other than Hilary Mantel saying this book was “like nothing else you will read”, and I thought, okay, Hilary Mantel would never lie! All I knew about the book was that it had something to do with Irish history, a topic that I am really interested in since I’ve been living in Ireland for almost a year now, and although it was a very enjoyable and interesting read, I wouldn’t say it is super original in its topics or format. It actually reminded me of a couple of authors and books I love, like Rebecca Solnit’s The Faraway Nearby, because of how Boyle knits together her personal history with her academic discipline, and of the genre-defying works of Helen Macdonald, H is for Hawk and Vesper Flights. These comparisons are, of course, compliments.
The way in which the author tightly knits her personal history together with medieval history and the lore and myths she has studied for a great part of her life celebrates the freedom of the essay as a kind of literature that cannot be constrained. That being said, I found the balance to be more inclined towards self-exploration and identity than history or folklore, and in that way I think more of it as a memoir infused with some lore and history.
Fierce Appetites is mostly a first-person account of the life of the author, in which she gives herself the liberty to reflect on her past and present circumstances drawing parallels with the Middle Ages. All we have, she rightly acknowledges, are stories: whether they are the ones we tell ourselves about our own lives, the ones we learn in school about the places we live in, or the ones we pass on from generation to generation. This emphasis on the importance of storytelling both in everyday life and in academic practice (she is, after all, a historian) is probably my favourite aspect of the book. Boyle’s prose is also highly entertaining, not only because her anecdotes get wild, but also because she started writing in that infamous year, 2020.
The book is divided into twelve chapters, each of them devoted to a month in that fateful year when the world came to a standstill. Every month, too, reflects on a topic — grief, memory, and inheritance were among my favourites. In January we learn a bit about Elizabeth Boyle’s job as a professor in Medieval History, and soon she starts unravelling the thread of her life and the moments that haunt her, bringing to life the Irish myths she has spent decades studying. As the months advance and lockdowns, mayhem and fear arrive, the modern world begins to have more and more similarities with the uncertain times of death and plagues that the people of the Middle Ages faced, and Boyle points out how we might share more than we think we those people from the past whom we have unfairly labelled as unintelligent and brutish.
At many points along this riveting journey, we find Boyle reflecting on storytelling and what it means for her to be a medievalist and a historian. Another thing I enjoyed about the book was the fierce defence of what detractors have called “revisionist” history. One cannot, after all, realise that culture is primarily supported by stories without realising that history and national histories are still to be interpreted and reinterpreted, rather than set in stone. History is a work in progress: people keep discovering things about the past all the time, and bringing these stories forward is important, but so it is to revise those stories we take for granted and try to see them through different lenses.
Although the subject Boyle specialised in might seem outdated and dry to some, the parallels she manages to draw between the heroes and villains of Irish folklore and modern-day humans are enlightening. Her view of history is also very modern, as she constantly reminds the reader that history and the past are not the same: the past is set and gone, but history is the narrative we build about it with the resources we have— resources that, as time and technology advance, give us more tools to draw a wider picture and learn more about the existence of those who have lived before us.
My inner academic was very happy to read about language and discourse, and the roles they play in shaping our understanding of the past from a historian (especially because sometimes historians forget to question and revisit their discipline). The year of the pandemic, as Boyle recounts, was turbulent in other ways, and “official history” was called into question: Black Lives Matter took to the streets, statues were taken down and many people came forward to denounce police brutality and racial profiling. Amidst all this chaos and uncertainty, Boyle calls us to remember the importance of stories and language in helping us make sense of our lives. Whether they be stories we tell ourselves about the past, stories we as a community agree to believe about the world, or stories we regard as true from the past because they give us a sense of identity or belonging, our existence as humans and societies is fundamentally built on them.
Finally, I found it very interesting to see Boyle debunking some common myths about the Middle Ages by bringing forward not-so-popular stories about women who fought and loved fiercely, same-sex lovers and other amusing tales about monks and nuns, princes and queens, gods and monsters. It’s nice to remember that during the period we have unjustly called the Dark Ages, people have loved and lost and understood the world in terms not so different to how we do now.
All in all, I found Fierce Appetites a very interesting and entertaining read, both funny and moving, and will be on the lookout for other non-academic books Elizabeth Boyle writes in the future. I would recommend this book if you enjoy reading memoirs and learning about history. Also, if you want to read more non-fiction and don’t know where to start, this one is good!
The way in which the author tightly knits her personal history together with medieval history and the lore and myths she has studied for a great part of her life celebrates the freedom of the essay as a kind of literature that cannot be constrained. That being said, I found the balance to be more inclined towards self-exploration and identity than history or folklore, and in that way I think more of it as a memoir infused with some lore and history.
Fierce Appetites is mostly a first-person account of the life of the author, in which she gives herself the liberty to reflect on her past and present circumstances drawing parallels with the Middle Ages. All we have, she rightly acknowledges, are stories: whether they are the ones we tell ourselves about our own lives, the ones we learn in school about the places we live in, or the ones we pass on from generation to generation. This emphasis on the importance of storytelling both in everyday life and in academic practice (she is, after all, a historian) is probably my favourite aspect of the book. Boyle’s prose is also highly entertaining, not only because her anecdotes get wild, but also because she started writing in that infamous year, 2020.
The book is divided into twelve chapters, each of them devoted to a month in that fateful year when the world came to a standstill. Every month, too, reflects on a topic — grief, memory, and inheritance were among my favourites. In January we learn a bit about Elizabeth Boyle’s job as a professor in Medieval History, and soon she starts unravelling the thread of her life and the moments that haunt her, bringing to life the Irish myths she has spent decades studying. As the months advance and lockdowns, mayhem and fear arrive, the modern world begins to have more and more similarities with the uncertain times of death and plagues that the people of the Middle Ages faced, and Boyle points out how we might share more than we think we those people from the past whom we have unfairly labelled as unintelligent and brutish.
At many points along this riveting journey, we find Boyle reflecting on storytelling and what it means for her to be a medievalist and a historian. Another thing I enjoyed about the book was the fierce defence of what detractors have called “revisionist” history. One cannot, after all, realise that culture is primarily supported by stories without realising that history and national histories are still to be interpreted and reinterpreted, rather than set in stone. History is a work in progress: people keep discovering things about the past all the time, and bringing these stories forward is important, but so it is to revise those stories we take for granted and try to see them through different lenses.
Although the subject Boyle specialised in might seem outdated and dry to some, the parallels she manages to draw between the heroes and villains of Irish folklore and modern-day humans are enlightening. Her view of history is also very modern, as she constantly reminds the reader that history and the past are not the same: the past is set and gone, but history is the narrative we build about it with the resources we have— resources that, as time and technology advance, give us more tools to draw a wider picture and learn more about the existence of those who have lived before us.
My inner academic was very happy to read about language and discourse, and the roles they play in shaping our understanding of the past from a historian (especially because sometimes historians forget to question and revisit their discipline). The year of the pandemic, as Boyle recounts, was turbulent in other ways, and “official history” was called into question: Black Lives Matter took to the streets, statues were taken down and many people came forward to denounce police brutality and racial profiling. Amidst all this chaos and uncertainty, Boyle calls us to remember the importance of stories and language in helping us make sense of our lives. Whether they be stories we tell ourselves about the past, stories we as a community agree to believe about the world, or stories we regard as true from the past because they give us a sense of identity or belonging, our existence as humans and societies is fundamentally built on them.
Finally, I found it very interesting to see Boyle debunking some common myths about the Middle Ages by bringing forward not-so-popular stories about women who fought and loved fiercely, same-sex lovers and other amusing tales about monks and nuns, princes and queens, gods and monsters. It’s nice to remember that during the period we have unjustly called the Dark Ages, people have loved and lost and understood the world in terms not so different to how we do now.
All in all, I found Fierce Appetites a very interesting and entertaining read, both funny and moving, and will be on the lookout for other non-academic books Elizabeth Boyle writes in the future. I would recommend this book if you enjoy reading memoirs and learning about history. Also, if you want to read more non-fiction and don’t know where to start, this one is good!
August 17, 2022
The premise was great, but I was a bit disappointed. Liked the bits about medieval Ireland and some of the personal stuff but it felt like she was really trying to prove that she’s cool with repeatedly talking about the drinking and shagging etc. and some of the links to modern life felt a bit heavy handed. I prefer a more literary style but this wasn’t a bad read.
November 7, 2023
It just felt like too much 'over sharing'.
April 24, 2023
This 3 stars is more for my personal response to the book than to the actual content and quality of the book. I am not overly interested in early medieval history, (5th to the 12th centuries) in myths and stories of old Ireland and while I found the way the author weaves her own life story into the stories of old, I found some of her own memoir pieces unnecessarily confessional, and struggled at times to see how they were linked to the stories of old.
Saying that, it is very clear how knowledgeable the author is about history and how passionate she is about scholarship, research and adding to the body of existing history by bringing untold stories and texts to life. It was this aspect I admired most, how she could use her area of expertise to understand and make sense of her own lived experiences.
The book is structured in the 12 months of the year, the year in question being 2020, the year of the pandemic when she wrote the book. She begins the book by telling of her fathers final words, “Happy New Year”, which begins January and how she dealt with his death later on that day, and ends also with her father’s words “Happy New Year”, as wishes to her readers, as she wraps up the year in the month of December. The use of the months, each with its own concern, ie Inheritance, offers a clear structure and is a clever structural device and helps to organise the content for the reader too.
It was a very well researched book, and the passion of the author for her subject shines through. I found certain elements of her memoir writing interesting, and in no way do I feel she holds back. The way she dealt with anxiety for example and how she overcame it, insofar as one can, I found interesting and relatable. In another chapter which dealt with aging, I liked how she mentioned about growing more sturdy and substantial, and how she weaved this into depictions of aging from past sources. I found this reassuring, hopeful and hope that this is true of me also, like a tree, whose roots grow deeper with age.
She also looks at current politics, especially identity politics, ideas of racism and how she never previously would have classed herself a racism, with such a multicultural family and circle of friends, but how she came to learn that unless she actively refuted the status quo re race and race relations, and actively fought against any suggestion of white supremacy, she is a racist. I found this interesting, and admired her willingness to learn from those around her, by really listening, by hearing their story. She also talks about gender politics, how society is so quickly changing, her own views around this and uncovered a myth about a priest who became a woman and travelled to a high priest who fell in love with him, together marrying and having seven children, and living as normal until he was turned back into a man, and considered the whole thing a dream, except the children lived on. This is why some of the myths completely elude me…! I can’t seem to make any sense of them or how they can serve as allegories, although I know they do in most cases.
Another interesting question that stuck with me was when she was asked by one of her students what was the point in learning about history, it had already happened and was in the past. She offered him a response that also would have come to my mind, something along the lines of history informing the present and changing according to past mistakes etc. However, she wishes she had responded differently which was interesting to me. She wishes she said it’s important to study history to change history, by adding to the body of knowledge by uncovering and interpreting ancient texts, by researching subjects on a deeper level and creating new knowledge.
Overall it was an interesting, very well-written book, perhaps too revelatory about the author’s own story for my taste but who am I to say where the line is between revealing too much and holding back? The author is the agent of her own life and I also respect that as a reader. I found the historical content hard to follow at times, but that is true of all history for me…my brain seems to disengage at a certain point. The way the author wove her own story through the stories of the past did provide me with enough interest to keep reading and the structure of the book was clear and worked very well. It is a very fine work and for anyone interested in this period of history, I’m sure they would really enjoy this book.
Saying that, it is very clear how knowledgeable the author is about history and how passionate she is about scholarship, research and adding to the body of existing history by bringing untold stories and texts to life. It was this aspect I admired most, how she could use her area of expertise to understand and make sense of her own lived experiences.
The book is structured in the 12 months of the year, the year in question being 2020, the year of the pandemic when she wrote the book. She begins the book by telling of her fathers final words, “Happy New Year”, which begins January and how she dealt with his death later on that day, and ends also with her father’s words “Happy New Year”, as wishes to her readers, as she wraps up the year in the month of December. The use of the months, each with its own concern, ie Inheritance, offers a clear structure and is a clever structural device and helps to organise the content for the reader too.
It was a very well researched book, and the passion of the author for her subject shines through. I found certain elements of her memoir writing interesting, and in no way do I feel she holds back. The way she dealt with anxiety for example and how she overcame it, insofar as one can, I found interesting and relatable. In another chapter which dealt with aging, I liked how she mentioned about growing more sturdy and substantial, and how she weaved this into depictions of aging from past sources. I found this reassuring, hopeful and hope that this is true of me also, like a tree, whose roots grow deeper with age.
She also looks at current politics, especially identity politics, ideas of racism and how she never previously would have classed herself a racism, with such a multicultural family and circle of friends, but how she came to learn that unless she actively refuted the status quo re race and race relations, and actively fought against any suggestion of white supremacy, she is a racist. I found this interesting, and admired her willingness to learn from those around her, by really listening, by hearing their story. She also talks about gender politics, how society is so quickly changing, her own views around this and uncovered a myth about a priest who became a woman and travelled to a high priest who fell in love with him, together marrying and having seven children, and living as normal until he was turned back into a man, and considered the whole thing a dream, except the children lived on. This is why some of the myths completely elude me…! I can’t seem to make any sense of them or how they can serve as allegories, although I know they do in most cases.
Another interesting question that stuck with me was when she was asked by one of her students what was the point in learning about history, it had already happened and was in the past. She offered him a response that also would have come to my mind, something along the lines of history informing the present and changing according to past mistakes etc. However, she wishes she had responded differently which was interesting to me. She wishes she said it’s important to study history to change history, by adding to the body of knowledge by uncovering and interpreting ancient texts, by researching subjects on a deeper level and creating new knowledge.
Overall it was an interesting, very well-written book, perhaps too revelatory about the author’s own story for my taste but who am I to say where the line is between revealing too much and holding back? The author is the agent of her own life and I also respect that as a reader. I found the historical content hard to follow at times, but that is true of all history for me…my brain seems to disengage at a certain point. The way the author wove her own story through the stories of the past did provide me with enough interest to keep reading and the structure of the book was clear and worked very well. It is a very fine work and for anyone interested in this period of history, I’m sure they would really enjoy this book.
January 22, 2023
This was a lovely read. A sort of vade mecum through the fiercest year of the covid pandemic, 2020, along with reflections from Boyle's whole life, leavened with examples of medieval Irish thinkers and poets and their thoughts and beliefs, contrasting to now. Boyle is cheerfully blunt and has no shibboleths, either mythical or factual - Queen Maeve is "an idiotic bitch" and St Patrick, as presented by his writings, "insufferable". She is as unsparing on herself, describing her decision to leave her husband and daughter to pursue a career in Ireland as one made by "a selfish arsehole."
Boyle's writings are in the style of Emilie Pine but she goes further than Pine in that she encompasses more in her personal reflections (and boy, they get unrepentantly personal!) and incorporates more of her scholarly work.
She has a gift for condensing what must be hours, days and months of intense study into readable anecdotes without sacrificing depth of interpretation. I really felt like I was in the hands of a consummately gifted lecturer, someone who knew how to summon back a student's wandering focus with an attention-grabbing story. It's clear she enjoys her work, and more importantly, knows the limits of her understanding. The unreliability of the text is a constant focus. She compares herself to the early saint Mary of Egypt, who forsook a life of prostitution to become a desert anchorite, and in contrast to the arrogant monk Zozimus whom St Mary meets en route, who purports to know all the answers.
Boyle does not know all the answers, either personally or professionally, and does not pretend to. By her own admission she lives a life that is personally turbulent and a bit chaotic, repenting of some of her vices, cheerfully embracing others (alcohol.) The extra stress of lockdown acts as a crucible for this turbulent life, and the turbulent times of the period she is studying, to make this book. An entertaining, thoughtful, erudite and well-written read.
One criticism that has more to do with my values than any merit in the text: there was an early section of fear of flying and how she overcame it that then blithely refers to climate change in the country she is visiting. The unquestioning pleasure of returning to air travel and the refusal to link it to climate change are rare moments of lack of personal insight in a memoir that is steeped in uncompromising self-understanding. It is my belief that climate change is the business of all of us. With that one negative, this is still a wonderful book and it doesn't affect my review rating.
Boyle's writings are in the style of Emilie Pine but she goes further than Pine in that she encompasses more in her personal reflections (and boy, they get unrepentantly personal!) and incorporates more of her scholarly work.
She has a gift for condensing what must be hours, days and months of intense study into readable anecdotes without sacrificing depth of interpretation. I really felt like I was in the hands of a consummately gifted lecturer, someone who knew how to summon back a student's wandering focus with an attention-grabbing story. It's clear she enjoys her work, and more importantly, knows the limits of her understanding. The unreliability of the text is a constant focus. She compares herself to the early saint Mary of Egypt, who forsook a life of prostitution to become a desert anchorite, and in contrast to the arrogant monk Zozimus whom St Mary meets en route, who purports to know all the answers.
Boyle does not know all the answers, either personally or professionally, and does not pretend to. By her own admission she lives a life that is personally turbulent and a bit chaotic, repenting of some of her vices, cheerfully embracing others (alcohol.) The extra stress of lockdown acts as a crucible for this turbulent life, and the turbulent times of the period she is studying, to make this book. An entertaining, thoughtful, erudite and well-written read.
One criticism that has more to do with my values than any merit in the text: there was an early section of fear of flying and how she overcame it that then blithely refers to climate change in the country she is visiting. The unquestioning pleasure of returning to air travel and the refusal to link it to climate change are rare moments of lack of personal insight in a memoir that is steeped in uncompromising self-understanding. It is my belief that climate change is the business of all of us. With that one negative, this is still a wonderful book and it doesn't affect my review rating.
August 25, 2022
There were five star bits when she was talking about medieval Ireland and when she spoke about her own life. Her writing at times could be stunning. The linking up of the past and the present was genuinely thought-provoking. I'd fly through those bits, wishing I could write as well as her.
But then she'd make it so obvious that she's addicted to Twitter, with some really basic, populist opinions about the modern world designed to show herself off as progressive and a bit holier-than-thou. It reminded me of why I was glad I left Twitter. I mean, Summer 2020, and her daughter's off at marches and the pair of them head off to France for a holiday. Back when international travel wasn't really recommended and residents in nursing homes were locked up away from their family members for months and months and months. Then she talks about how difficult the pandemic was. She travelled, continued to work and had her family around her, actually give me a break. We all experienced the pandemic, I can't be arsed reading reflections on something we've all been through as though it's unique.
She speaks about on the inequality of the pandemic, how it disproportionately impacted on ethnic minorities, which yes, it absolutely did, and that should be a sense of shame for us as a society, but while she's patting herself on the back for bringing this up, she's forgetting that 91% of people who died from Covid were in that 65+ age bracket, and most of them still had years left that were stolen due to Covid. But they're less popular victims on Twitter, I guess, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to ignore the group impacted the most by Covid while moralizing to the rest of us about your general social-awareness. It's so common too, and when that cohort do get a mention there's this kind of belief that they were dying anyway so it doesn't matter, which like, they weren't and it does?
So sure, there were bits I really liked, but the bits I didn't like really put me off the rest of it. It's a shame, after the first two chapters it was actually heading towards a five-starrer for me.
But then she'd make it so obvious that she's addicted to Twitter, with some really basic, populist opinions about the modern world designed to show herself off as progressive and a bit holier-than-thou. It reminded me of why I was glad I left Twitter. I mean, Summer 2020, and her daughter's off at marches and the pair of them head off to France for a holiday. Back when international travel wasn't really recommended and residents in nursing homes were locked up away from their family members for months and months and months. Then she talks about how difficult the pandemic was. She travelled, continued to work and had her family around her, actually give me a break. We all experienced the pandemic, I can't be arsed reading reflections on something we've all been through as though it's unique.
She speaks about on the inequality of the pandemic, how it disproportionately impacted on ethnic minorities, which yes, it absolutely did, and that should be a sense of shame for us as a society, but while she's patting herself on the back for bringing this up, she's forgetting that 91% of people who died from Covid were in that 65+ age bracket, and most of them still had years left that were stolen due to Covid. But they're less popular victims on Twitter, I guess, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to ignore the group impacted the most by Covid while moralizing to the rest of us about your general social-awareness. It's so common too, and when that cohort do get a mention there's this kind of belief that they were dying anyway so it doesn't matter, which like, they weren't and it does?
So sure, there were bits I really liked, but the bits I didn't like really put me off the rest of it. It's a shame, after the first two chapters it was actually heading towards a five-starrer for me.
June 25, 2023
This book is more than just a history book, more than ‘he said, then she said, and they did, and this happened at this time, and then that happened at that time….’ The author has been able to do what all good history teachers try with their students, bridge the gap between the past and the present, to make meaning more meaningful, to open a space between the stories of the past and our own experiences, to bring alive the memories and concerns of those long gone and plant them before us, to give them life again. This book is a joy to read. Boyle’s wit and willingness to make herself vulnerable by offering up her own stories as a connecting point between our more common concerns with those who lived thousands of years ago. I think it was a lucky thing that this book was not available in audible or digital versions in the U.S. It forced me to slow down. I worried that I no longer had the muscle memory to hold a physical book open for a long time. I recommend not to read too fast. A chapter a morning would do just nicely so that there is the rest of the day to contemplate and explore within each topic.
November 21, 2022
It has been an honour and a privilege to read this book. The author shares so much of herself with the reader, and offers her own personal experience of the COVID pandemic, within the context of her full lived experience, as she makes sense of it through Medieval Irish literature. It is quite unlike anything else I have read, and I feel wiser and smarter and stronger as a result of reading it.
It has offered me a lot of inspiration to live my life more bravely. It has given me a useful perspective on 2020 which is helping me understand the ways in which that year affected me and how I can move on from it. It offers many levels of insight into many areas of life; love, family, friendship, motherhood, academia, trauma, addiction, memory, words and language and communication.
I wasn't sure what to expect from this book but was intrigued by the quote from Hilary Mantel on the cover ('Like nothing else you will read') and I have been surprised by how much I have taken from it. I'm deeply indebted to Dr Boyle for creating this thing of beauty, it has truly enriched my life.
It has offered me a lot of inspiration to live my life more bravely. It has given me a useful perspective on 2020 which is helping me understand the ways in which that year affected me and how I can move on from it. It offers many levels of insight into many areas of life; love, family, friendship, motherhood, academia, trauma, addiction, memory, words and language and communication.
I wasn't sure what to expect from this book but was intrigued by the quote from Hilary Mantel on the cover ('Like nothing else you will read') and I have been surprised by how much I have taken from it. I'm deeply indebted to Dr Boyle for creating this thing of beauty, it has truly enriched my life.
January 6, 2024
Much of the medieval Irish content interested me; so, too, did Boyle's incisive comments on history, historiography and the past, native enslavement of natives, and on misplaced pride in nationality, largely an accident of birth. I appreciated her demolition of modern myths of medieval apathy in the face of personal loss or hardship. Unfortunately, in choosing to view these through the lens of her experience, both personal and professional, she treats the reader to much supererogatory disclosure. On the author's own admission, it might have been worse: 'I have not told you many of the worst things. In part, this is because you are not my therapist: I am being paid to tell you a story, I am not paying you to heal my wounds.' In withholding more of the same, she has apparently deferred to the publisher's well-founded fear of libel, and the possible effect on her own family. While other readers may have welcomed further intimacies, I remain grateful for what we did not receive: 'For this relief much thanks.'
March 11, 2023
Positively surprised me. At first, I was not convinced by the form and I'm not a huge fan of Medieval literature either. But I found the idea about reading history to understand the present inspiring, and the author does it so well. The book is far from being a dry scientific work of literary criticism. It read like a conversation with a friend who is passionate about something and tries to share that passion with you.
One of the other reviewers said: can't decide if the author is "brave or foolhardy" because she discusses her private life in so much detail while being a public person (university professor and lecturer). I was also thinking the same, but reading this passage made me change the way I perceived it:
"Should I flay myself and display my viscera to you in the image of a martyred apostle? Do you want to read my confession? That wouldn't get you very far: the confessor is always in control of their narrative."
One of the other reviewers said: can't decide if the author is "brave or foolhardy" because she discusses her private life in so much detail while being a public person (university professor and lecturer). I was also thinking the same, but reading this passage made me change the way I perceived it:
"Should I flay myself and display my viscera to you in the image of a martyred apostle? Do you want to read my confession? That wouldn't get you very far: the confessor is always in control of their narrative."
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