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Amongst Women
Once an officer in the Irish War for Independence, Moran is now a widower, eking out a living on a small farm where he raises his two sons and three daughters. Adrift from the structure and security of the military, he keeps control by binding his family close to him. But as his children grow older and seek independence, and as the passing years bring with them bewildering change, Moran struggles to find a balance between love and tyranny.
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First published January 1, 1990
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About the author
John McGahern
51 books410 followersMcGahern began his career as a schoolteacher at Scoil Eoin Báiste (Belgrove) primary school in Clontarf, Ireland, where, for a period, he taught the eminent academic Declan Kiberd before turning to writing full-time. McGahern's second novel 'The Dark' was banned in Ireland for its alleged pornographic content and implied clerical sexual abuse. In the controversy over this he was forced to resign his teaching post. He subsequently moved to England where he worked in a variety of jobs before returning to Ireland to live and work on a small farm in Fenagh in County Leitrim, located halfway between Ballinamore and Mohill. His third novel 'Amongst Women' was shortlisted for the 1990 Man Booker Prize.
He died from cancer in Dublin on March 30, 2006.
He died from cancer in Dublin on March 30, 2006.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 520 reviews
November 13, 2025
Family life… The father is at the helm… He sets the rules…
So it goes, some men provide the victory and the others use the fruits of the victory…
The embittered father of the family is a despot and he tries to rule his children with the iron fist, he wants his sons to follow in his footsteps but they run away from despotism and go their own ways. In the end his daughters go their own ways as well… Such is a tragic sum total of the patriarchal tyranny…
Everyone prefers to be free and independent.
Many of them who had pensions and medals and jobs later couldn’t tell one end of a gun from the other. Many of the men who had actually fought got nothing. An early grave or the emigrant ship. Sometimes I get sick when I see what I fought for.
So it goes, some men provide the victory and the others use the fruits of the victory…
The embittered father of the family is a despot and he tries to rule his children with the iron fist, he wants his sons to follow in his footsteps but they run away from despotism and go their own ways. In the end his daughters go their own ways as well… Such is a tragic sum total of the patriarchal tyranny…
It was like grasping water to think how quickly the years had passed here. They were nearly gone. It was in the nature of things and yet it brought a sense of betrayal and anger, of never having understood anything much. Instead of using the fields, he sometimes felt as if the fields had used him. Soon they would be using someone else in his place.
Everyone prefers to be free and independent.
September 14, 2023
[Edited, spoilers hidden 9/14/23]
This tale of a curmudgeonly Irish father and his effect on his five children was short-listed for the Booker Prize in 1990. While reading it, at first I thought of A Man Called Ove, another curmudgeon. But Ove was not a father and Ove softened up over time. Michael, this father, did not. As the story went along I thought more of Stoner; even though no one would call Stoner a curmudgeon, but, I thought: this is his life, this is the way he is, this is the way things are, it is what it is, he’s not going to change, what did you expect?
The father, Michael, is a farmer. He has small pension from having been in the Irish Army, but money is tight. He spends his days in backbreaking work dawn to dusk on his family farm, bringing in hay, tending the animals, mostly cattle. We learn quickly that he is the master of his roost. His wife and three daughters wait on him. He is served food first at a separate table and the rest of the family eats together afterwards.
He is stern and has ‘black moods;’ “…silence and deadness would fall on them” when he walks into a room. If a dish is dropped in the kitchen everyone freezes and looks to him for his reaction. His wife feels “inordinately grateful when he behaves normally” and “inordinately grateful for the slightest goodwill.” Yet his girls and youngest boy love him especially in those rare moments when he might dance around the room. Perhaps he is manic depressive?
The father says grace before and after meals. He leads the family in Catholic prayer every evening – a full rosary on their knees. His blackest moods come about most often
The girls and his wives accept his dominance; the boys rebel. All his children will eventually leave home to get work. One daughter also rebels a bit as she gets older. She resents her father discouraging her from taking a scholarship to go to university.
The story is a wrap-around. It begins with the family gathering for what may be their last get-together with their father. It ends with that gathering, his death and funeral.
There’s good writing: “She was as far from ugliness as she was from beauty and she was young and strong and spirited.” There’s humor: When he lets his second wife set the wedding date, she notes that “…he was more like a man listening to a door close than one going toward his joy.” And “The man’s head was designed to keep his ears apart.”
Most of the story is told by an omniscient narrator with focus alternating on the characters. For example we get his courting of his second wife from her point of view (or, I should say her courting of him) and the young son’s escapades are told from his from his perspective.
The author has an easy, understated style of writing, quite a bit like his countryman, William Trevor. The story is slow at times and a few scenes get repetitive – such as too many weekend visits by the daughters. But all in all I thought it a first-class read. The Guardian considered Amongst Women one of the all-time 100 best novels in a 2015 list. McGahern’s first novel, The Dark, was banned in Ireland for its content related to family sexual abuse.
The geographical setting is in northwest Ireland near Sligo, near the coast and close to the border with Northern Ireland. This is near where the author (1934-2006) grew up, in Ballinamore, County Leitrim.
Top photo, Sligo, from cloudfront.net
Landscape painting by Charles J. McAuley from woolleyandwallis.co.uk
The author from /i.guim.co.uk/
Main street in Ballinamore, the author's home town, from wikimedia commons
This tale of a curmudgeonly Irish father and his effect on his five children was short-listed for the Booker Prize in 1990. While reading it, at first I thought of A Man Called Ove, another curmudgeon. But Ove was not a father and Ove softened up over time. Michael, this father, did not. As the story went along I thought more of Stoner; even though no one would call Stoner a curmudgeon, but, I thought: this is his life, this is the way he is, this is the way things are, it is what it is, he’s not going to change, what did you expect?
The father, Michael, is a farmer. He has small pension from having been in the Irish Army, but money is tight. He spends his days in backbreaking work dawn to dusk on his family farm, bringing in hay, tending the animals, mostly cattle. We learn quickly that he is the master of his roost. His wife and three daughters wait on him. He is served food first at a separate table and the rest of the family eats together afterwards.
He is stern and has ‘black moods;’ “…silence and deadness would fall on them” when he walks into a room. If a dish is dropped in the kitchen everyone freezes and looks to him for his reaction. His wife feels “inordinately grateful when he behaves normally” and “inordinately grateful for the slightest goodwill.” Yet his girls and youngest boy love him especially in those rare moments when he might dance around the room. Perhaps he is manic depressive?
The father says grace before and after meals. He leads the family in Catholic prayer every evening – a full rosary on their knees. His blackest moods come about most often
The girls and his wives accept his dominance; the boys rebel. All his children will eventually leave home to get work. One daughter also rebels a bit as she gets older. She resents her father discouraging her from taking a scholarship to go to university.
The story is a wrap-around. It begins with the family gathering for what may be their last get-together with their father. It ends with that gathering, his death and funeral.
There’s good writing: “She was as far from ugliness as she was from beauty and she was young and strong and spirited.” There’s humor: When he lets his second wife set the wedding date, she notes that “…he was more like a man listening to a door close than one going toward his joy.” And “The man’s head was designed to keep his ears apart.”
Most of the story is told by an omniscient narrator with focus alternating on the characters. For example we get his courting of his second wife from her point of view (or, I should say her courting of him) and the young son’s escapades are told from his from his perspective.
The author has an easy, understated style of writing, quite a bit like his countryman, William Trevor. The story is slow at times and a few scenes get repetitive – such as too many weekend visits by the daughters. But all in all I thought it a first-class read. The Guardian considered Amongst Women one of the all-time 100 best novels in a 2015 list. McGahern’s first novel, The Dark, was banned in Ireland for its content related to family sexual abuse.
The geographical setting is in northwest Ireland near Sligo, near the coast and close to the border with Northern Ireland. This is near where the author (1934-2006) grew up, in Ballinamore, County Leitrim.
Top photo, Sligo, from cloudfront.net
Landscape painting by Charles J. McAuley from woolleyandwallis.co.uk
The author from /i.guim.co.uk/
Main street in Ballinamore, the author's home town, from wikimedia commons
November 5, 2024
Si digo que John McGahern es irlandés seguro que ya me habré conquistado la atención de algún lector o alguna lectora. Si además les prevengo de que su segunda novela ofendió infinitamente al arzobispo de Dublín, el cual no cejó hasta conseguir echarlo de su puesto de profesor, es muy posible que más de uno y más de una quieran seguir leyendo este comentario. Pero si además les indico que McGahern fue comparado nada más y nada menos que con el Joyce de “Dublineses” y que es admirado por autores como Colm Toibin o John Banville, no me digan que la cosa no se pone de lo más interesante. Y ya, si anuncio que esta obra ganó el Irish Times Award, fue finalista del Booker Prize y dio pie a una miniserie en la BBC no serán pocos lo que estén ahora mismo descolgando el teléfono para llamar a su librero de guardia… porque aquí todos tenemos librero de guardia ¿o no?
Chiiiis, pues quietos paraos, que todavía no les he dicho todo.
Si llegan a leer la novela, estoy convencido de que a muchos de los que ya ostentan una cierta edad les resultará tan familiar como a mí el entorno rural de la Irlanda católica y patriarcal de los años 50 que aquí plasma el autor y que tanto se asemeja a la España cateta y beata de hace medio siglo. Cuantas cosas me son reconocibles en el retrato que McGahern hace de la figura de Michael Moran, el patriarca de la familia: el inmenso respeto a su autoridad, la mezcla de amor y temor que la figura del padre infunde, su concepción de la familia como una extensión de la propia identidad, de tal forma que cualquier rebeldía es sentida como si un miembro del propio cuerpo se negara a responder a su voluntad. También es recto, trabajador, nada hipócrita y muy religioso. La escena, muy repetida a lo largo de la novela, en la que todos los miembros de la familia leen el rosario de rodillas sobre hojas de periódico es imponente.
“Solo las mujeres pueden vivir con papá”, llega a decir uno de sus hijos. Afortunadamente ya no es el caso, o ya lo es menos, pero es llamativa la idolatría que sienten sus hijas y su mujer por él pese a sus continuos y extemporáneos cambios de humor, su violencia latente, su orgullo, su intransigencia, el férreo control de sus vidas, las frecuentes muestras de desprecio que en muchas ocasiones vienen seguidas de patéticas escenas de arrepentimiento y hasta de chantajes emocionales autocompasivos y victimistas.
“Ahora casi todo su placer y todo su sufrimiento pasaban por él. Cuando se hallaba en su presencia, se sentía siempre extrañamente excitada, como si fuese a suceder algo. Nada sucedía. Cuando él se portaba con normalidad, Rose se sentía tremendamente agradecida.”Por el contrario, a los hombres no les quedaba otra que agachar la cabeza o abandonar abruptamente la manada para intentar crear la propia, y no era raro que fuera creada en términos muy parecidos a la abandonada por muy lejos que se marcharan. No deja de ser una gran ironía que Moran, que luchó por la libertad de su tierra, no soporte la emancipación de los suyos y mucho más que tenga que aceptar que el país del que liberó al suyo los absorba.
Por último quiero compartir con ustedes algo que me resultó asombroso. La novela, de una tremenda sencillez, concisión y claridad, le tomó a su autor diez años de trabajo e incluso llegó a comentarle a un amigo que la novela estaba acabando con él (redujo hasta una sexta parte el manuscrito original). Esto me trajo a la memoria los comentarios de Flaubert sobre la tortura que significó para él escribir su Madame Bovary, no por nada el escritor francés era uno de los héroes literarios de McGahern y quizás por la misma razón la novela no ha llegado a entusiasmarme como todo parecía indicar.
Ahora sí, ahora, si así lo desean, pueden descolgar el teléfono... o lo que suelan hacer.
January 11, 2016
Did you read any great novels recently about a thoroughly decent man? A guy who wasn’t violent and treated everyone with humanity and tried to look on the bright side? No, me neither. That is why Ulysses is so great. Leopold Bloom is that guy, always trying the cheer up his fellow struggler, always looking on the bright side.
This is another – another – story about a patriarch and how his family must dance around him on hot coals fearing the wrath and looking lively whenever he bestoweth his glance. Boy do these daughters ever love and fear their dear deadly Daddy.
And haven’t we had our bellyful of these vast unpleasant fathers anyhow? What with Hamlet and his usurped ghost, and King Lear all done up like a kipper, and Mr Dombey wanting the daughter to be a boy, and Patrick Melrose absolutely hating on his father his whole life, and the ridiculous Anse Bundren hauling his dead wife around, and Mr Biswas boring everyone to death, and Edward Spencer in his crumbling hotel, and Lord Groan in his ghastly Gormenghast. And let’s not mention The Handmaid’s Tale.
Occasionally we are blessed with goodhearted fathers, how pleasant and delightful to meet them – Nariman Vakeel in Family Matters, Charles Pooter in the ineffable Diary of a Nobody, Pa Joad in The Grapes of Wrath.
But mostly, literature puts daddies through the wringer. That’s okay by me, I should say, mostly they deserve it. I shall be dancing in the street when patriarchy is overthrown. Isn’t it nauseating to see this world tossed around by these big daddies trying to out-penis each other? If it isn’t Saddam Hussein versus George Bush, it’s Vladimir Putin versus all comers (come on. I ain’t scared of any of ya). If it ain’t him it’s the next guy. So the macho dance goes on. None of those guys seem to have read these trenchant dissections of masculinity in all these novels. Did they not get Moby Dick? The clue is in the title.
Still, I could have done without this novel. The depredations of Michael Moran are ordinarily nasty, nothing to speak of, a trillion households will be like this, the daughters trembling and the sons fighting and leaving, who cares. In the end I didn’t care. Okay, the life of a small farmer in 40s to 60s Ireland (as far as I can guess) was prettily detailed, the author sure knows his haymaking and his rural ways. But quite why anyone would put this novel in any list of greatest 100 novels (Robert McCrum) is beyond me.
Blah blah blah 2.5 stars
This is another – another – story about a patriarch and how his family must dance around him on hot coals fearing the wrath and looking lively whenever he bestoweth his glance. Boy do these daughters ever love and fear their dear deadly Daddy.
And haven’t we had our bellyful of these vast unpleasant fathers anyhow? What with Hamlet and his usurped ghost, and King Lear all done up like a kipper, and Mr Dombey wanting the daughter to be a boy, and Patrick Melrose absolutely hating on his father his whole life, and the ridiculous Anse Bundren hauling his dead wife around, and Mr Biswas boring everyone to death, and Edward Spencer in his crumbling hotel, and Lord Groan in his ghastly Gormenghast. And let’s not mention The Handmaid’s Tale.
Occasionally we are blessed with goodhearted fathers, how pleasant and delightful to meet them – Nariman Vakeel in Family Matters, Charles Pooter in the ineffable Diary of a Nobody, Pa Joad in The Grapes of Wrath.
But mostly, literature puts daddies through the wringer. That’s okay by me, I should say, mostly they deserve it. I shall be dancing in the street when patriarchy is overthrown. Isn’t it nauseating to see this world tossed around by these big daddies trying to out-penis each other? If it isn’t Saddam Hussein versus George Bush, it’s Vladimir Putin versus all comers (come on. I ain’t scared of any of ya). If it ain’t him it’s the next guy. So the macho dance goes on. None of those guys seem to have read these trenchant dissections of masculinity in all these novels. Did they not get Moby Dick? The clue is in the title.
Still, I could have done without this novel. The depredations of Michael Moran are ordinarily nasty, nothing to speak of, a trillion households will be like this, the daughters trembling and the sons fighting and leaving, who cares. In the end I didn’t care. Okay, the life of a small farmer in 40s to 60s Ireland (as far as I can guess) was prettily detailed, the author sure knows his haymaking and his rural ways. But quite why anyone would put this novel in any list of greatest 100 novels (Robert McCrum) is beyond me.
Blah blah blah 2.5 stars
August 31, 2014
I thought that this was written superbly neat.
Really, this is a good polished book. A character study of an aging father (okay, like me). Then the women (thus, the title and of course with Ireland in the 60's as a setting, the man prays the rosary) around him. Michael Moran served as a guerrilla in an Ireland War of Independence and he is proud of it. Now that this glory days are gone, he is left in his old house with his second wife and his three daughters visit him occasionally. His two sons are distant from him, literally and figuratively.
Halfway in my reading, I thought that I was not relating to Moran. He is a soldier (I am not), he has sons (I don't have), he works in the field (I don't) but oh, the way he retreats to himself when faced with issues that he, for whatever reason, cannot confront. Honestly, I do that. Then I realized, looking back, some scenes just came rushing back to my mind... my father used to do that too. And my wife's father, and my friend's father. It's different when at work that you are compelled to face all the issues because that is your job like my job as a manager in the office. But not when things are personal and you don't have that wall to protect yourselves from pain or possibly for giving pain especially to your loved ones.
I like this kind of book. That when you are reading, it is as if you are not just holding a book but a mirror as well. Books that can make you realize who you are and how you sometimes behave that hurt other people. Moran in the story thinks that by retreating, issues are solved since people are unhurt. However, he (and me sometimes) is not aware that silence is also a statement. Silence does not always translate to tranquility. Silence or stillness can also mean turbulence.
That's what makes this book, unique. It's a simple book but it speaks to me personally as a man, as a father, as a friend.
Well done, McGahern. I will surely pick another book by you if I see one in our bookstores. Darn, why did I only know you now?
Really, this is a good polished book. A character study of an aging father (okay, like me). Then the women (thus, the title and of course with Ireland in the 60's as a setting, the man prays the rosary) around him. Michael Moran served as a guerrilla in an Ireland War of Independence and he is proud of it. Now that this glory days are gone, he is left in his old house with his second wife and his three daughters visit him occasionally. His two sons are distant from him, literally and figuratively.
Halfway in my reading, I thought that I was not relating to Moran. He is a soldier (I am not), he has sons (I don't have), he works in the field (I don't) but oh, the way he retreats to himself when faced with issues that he, for whatever reason, cannot confront. Honestly, I do that. Then I realized, looking back, some scenes just came rushing back to my mind... my father used to do that too. And my wife's father, and my friend's father. It's different when at work that you are compelled to face all the issues because that is your job like my job as a manager in the office. But not when things are personal and you don't have that wall to protect yourselves from pain or possibly for giving pain especially to your loved ones.
I like this kind of book. That when you are reading, it is as if you are not just holding a book but a mirror as well. Books that can make you realize who you are and how you sometimes behave that hurt other people. Moran in the story thinks that by retreating, issues are solved since people are unhurt. However, he (and me sometimes) is not aware that silence is also a statement. Silence does not always translate to tranquility. Silence or stillness can also mean turbulence.
That's what makes this book, unique. It's a simple book but it speaks to me personally as a man, as a father, as a friend.
Well done, McGahern. I will surely pick another book by you if I see one in our bookstores. Darn, why did I only know you now?
October 29, 2025
Amongst Women by John McGahern is an excellent look at a family’s life in rural Ireland in the 1960s. McGahern writes a quiet sort of novel and yet he address a number of important themes.
Moran is an old Republican whose life was forever transformed by his days of glory as a guerrilla leader in the War of Independence. Now in old age, living out in the country, Moran is still fighting but this time with his family, his friends and even himself.
I find John McGahern’s sense of time and place excellent and I find myself so drawn into his books and stories. I loved how McGahern hints at more than his narrative tells in the story and you are left filling in the gaps. This is a character driven novel and the plot takes a back seat.
The characters are so well depicted in this novel and especially that of Moran. Many people reading this novel will have known a “Moran” while growing up in 50/60s rural Ireland. A man who thinks the whole world is out to get him, who rarely shows emotion, who loves his family to the point of losing them and who must also be tiptoed around, his moods must always be weighed up and he must never be challenged for fear of upsetting him.
I really got drawn into this novel and its characters. McGahern’s novels are not for every reader, but I really enjoy his writing and his honest look at 50/60s rural Ireland.
Moran is an old Republican whose life was forever transformed by his days of glory as a guerrilla leader in the War of Independence. Now in old age, living out in the country, Moran is still fighting but this time with his family, his friends and even himself.
I find John McGahern’s sense of time and place excellent and I find myself so drawn into his books and stories. I loved how McGahern hints at more than his narrative tells in the story and you are left filling in the gaps. This is a character driven novel and the plot takes a back seat.
The characters are so well depicted in this novel and especially that of Moran. Many people reading this novel will have known a “Moran” while growing up in 50/60s rural Ireland. A man who thinks the whole world is out to get him, who rarely shows emotion, who loves his family to the point of losing them and who must also be tiptoed around, his moods must always be weighed up and he must never be challenged for fear of upsetting him.
I really got drawn into this novel and its characters. McGahern’s novels are not for every reader, but I really enjoy his writing and his honest look at 50/60s rural Ireland.
May 24, 2017
This is a short, austere and powerful story of a family dominated by a proud and petty tyrant. I remember seeing some of a bleak TV adaptation many years ago, which left me doubting whether I would enjoy the book, which I read as part of The Mookse and the Gripes group's latest project to discuss a historic Booker shortlist, this time 1990, which was the year when Possession won the prize.
Moran is a widowed veteran of the Irish wars of independence who runs a small farm with his five children. The opening part of the book introduces the family as they get together in his old age to try and revive his failing spirit. It is already clear in this section that he is a proud and difficult man to live with. The rest of the book is chronological, starting when his three daughters and youngest son are teenagers but the eldest son Luke has already left for London. He marries the self-effacing and saintly Rose, who has to do all of the running to get them together but soon forms a powerful bond with the three daughters. Moran's violent temper and unpredictable mood swings are oppressive even to the reader. The story follows Moran as his remaining children move away, with all but the estranged and unforgiving Luke returning to the farm frequently.
McGahern eventually succeeds in making you understand why the family tolerate and even love this monster, and by the end of the book one almost feels sorry for him. This is an eloquent and ultimately rather beautiful book.
Moran is a widowed veteran of the Irish wars of independence who runs a small farm with his five children. The opening part of the book introduces the family as they get together in his old age to try and revive his failing spirit. It is already clear in this section that he is a proud and difficult man to live with. The rest of the book is chronological, starting when his three daughters and youngest son are teenagers but the eldest son Luke has already left for London. He marries the self-effacing and saintly Rose, who has to do all of the running to get them together but soon forms a powerful bond with the three daughters. Moran's violent temper and unpredictable mood swings are oppressive even to the reader. The story follows Moran as his remaining children move away, with all but the estranged and unforgiving Luke returning to the farm frequently.
McGahern eventually succeeds in making you understand why the family tolerate and even love this monster, and by the end of the book one almost feels sorry for him. This is an eloquent and ultimately rather beautiful book.
November 3, 2011
Really top notch. I only say underrated (McGahern has won several noteworthy prizes) just because I hadn't heard of him and didn't think he'd gotten the recognition he deserves this side of the pond.
The writing is beautiful- humane, poised, distant, appraising, tender, complexly simple, Chekovian, minutely realized, lucid, almost translucent in its knowingness, and the characters are drawn as near to life as you can get. They have inwardness- McGahern shows, he doesn't tell, and you see them as they fluctuate amid each other.
The title is from the rosary, of course, but its also the quietly frustrated, occasionally bitter and abusive state of affairs of Moran, the main character. Moran is a widower but he is also an ex-IRA solider, a fine and intelligent one at that, whose war is over in everywhere but the arena of his bitterness. He's surrounded by women- his three daughters, the middle aged Rose who, undaunted by his gruff, irascible, brittle broodingness, forthrightly agrees to marry him. Indeed, Moran would be the last one to admit it, but she does him the favor of his life by not only making the first move but consistently and selflessly devoting herself to the attention, friendship, and responsibility of Moran's only castle- Great Meadow, his proud and distinctly distant home, and his family where he is equally loathed and respected. It's so true to life. How many times has a friendly, wise, personable woman decided to align herself with a man who is anything but? McGahern captures this real-life paradox with knowing distance (she's a pushover, more times than she should be) and gentleness (she knows there's a better man deep inside Moran, if she could only cull him from Moran's piety, repressed self-hatred, and murky piety). There are two sons, Luke and Michael, who each have warred with the man (figuratively and metaphorically) and found some struggle of tenuous peace. Peace, I should add, which does NOT come dropping slow...
What started to really take over for me, as a reader, and maintained its pull was how I read this novel with that sort of hazy clarity which reminds you of moments in your own life which you'd forgotten or repressed for one reason or another. I hate to quote a book blurb, but I really do have to hand it to John Updike's luminous praise, given as the chair of an award panel: "McGahern brings us the tonic gift of the best fiction, the sense of truth- the sense of a transparency that permits us to see imaginary lives more clearly than we see our own."
When Moran is angry, disappointed, emotionally wounded, or confused he does what so many men (especially in the era in which Amongst Women takes place, the 50's) automatically do: with stoicism and almost unconscious deliberation, they go to the "cave", as it were. Be it the den, the tool shed, the bar, the garden, the tv room, whatever- they do not run away so much as stomp around inside themselves, mending or fixing or sitting somewhere alone and staring off into space. Moran tends to the fields- it's his cave, it's where he goes to puzzle things out, let off steam. it's where his privacy won't be violated. It's of course the once place where he doesn't violate the privacy of others, which is his curse, but it's also where he takes people in.
It reminded me of my grandfather, a stoic, pleasant, repressed, uneducated first-generation Swede who never said much of anything by way of conversation and was maddeningly trite when he did. I think I literally had 2 or 3 5 minute plus conversations with him about anything, and I tried, as did my mother and siblings, in the thirty years I knew him. Not a bad man, or a hard one, as Moran certainly is, but inscrutably... ordinary . One day we were standing on the carpet next to the tv when he said, apropos of nothing, "want to look at my tools"? Uh, sure, let's go. We walked down into the cool, dry, mostly empty basement. He opened the door to his 'shop', pausing to nod at the newspaper clipping taped to the door of soldiers raising the flag at Iwo Jima. "I was there when they did that" he said, ambling towards the shelves. (He wasn't, I have on good authority) We stood there as he pointed out his plastic shelves of tiny screws, different lengths of nails, and so on. He showed me his saws, hammers, screwdrivers, one by one. He explained how long they were and how one fit with its proper tool. I didn't say anything- I didn't have anything to say. He turned at one point and said it was his favorite place. "You could get lost in here". That's it. We walked upstairs and that's all I remember.
Moran hides in his fields, in his solitude, because the country he fought for is taken over by "small minded gangsters", he refuses his government pension, he barks insults at the daughters whose futures he is frightened of and mistrusts. His constant insistence on praying the rosary is equally as intense as his "who cares, anyway" remark, which he makes on matters relating directly to him and to those around him. He's caught between an indifference he feels politically from the country he was proud of fighting for and has now somehow gone past him and the proud, sullen self-sufficiency he has spent a lifetime accumulating. He has the insecurity about appearances which equally, indelibly marks the intensely private and the deeply embarrassed (not the same thing). I don't know as much about 20th Century Irish politics as I ought to, but the point has been made to De Valerain Home Rule (enclosure, rural insularity, fetishization of old fashioned home and hearth).
It does seem interesting, going through the novels which came before, how true it indeed is that the best and brightest seem to feel it existentially necessary to get the hell out of the emerald isle. Exile is a literary theme (and, often enough, political necessity!) all over the 20th Century. I wonder- is Mother Ireland (old sow, farrow-devouring) a microcosm? Or a symptom?
The writing is beautiful- humane, poised, distant, appraising, tender, complexly simple, Chekovian, minutely realized, lucid, almost translucent in its knowingness, and the characters are drawn as near to life as you can get. They have inwardness- McGahern shows, he doesn't tell, and you see them as they fluctuate amid each other.
The title is from the rosary, of course, but its also the quietly frustrated, occasionally bitter and abusive state of affairs of Moran, the main character. Moran is a widower but he is also an ex-IRA solider, a fine and intelligent one at that, whose war is over in everywhere but the arena of his bitterness. He's surrounded by women- his three daughters, the middle aged Rose who, undaunted by his gruff, irascible, brittle broodingness, forthrightly agrees to marry him. Indeed, Moran would be the last one to admit it, but she does him the favor of his life by not only making the first move but consistently and selflessly devoting herself to the attention, friendship, and responsibility of Moran's only castle- Great Meadow, his proud and distinctly distant home, and his family where he is equally loathed and respected. It's so true to life. How many times has a friendly, wise, personable woman decided to align herself with a man who is anything but? McGahern captures this real-life paradox with knowing distance (she's a pushover, more times than she should be) and gentleness (she knows there's a better man deep inside Moran, if she could only cull him from Moran's piety, repressed self-hatred, and murky piety). There are two sons, Luke and Michael, who each have warred with the man (figuratively and metaphorically) and found some struggle of tenuous peace. Peace, I should add, which does NOT come dropping slow...
What started to really take over for me, as a reader, and maintained its pull was how I read this novel with that sort of hazy clarity which reminds you of moments in your own life which you'd forgotten or repressed for one reason or another. I hate to quote a book blurb, but I really do have to hand it to John Updike's luminous praise, given as the chair of an award panel: "McGahern brings us the tonic gift of the best fiction, the sense of truth- the sense of a transparency that permits us to see imaginary lives more clearly than we see our own."
When Moran is angry, disappointed, emotionally wounded, or confused he does what so many men (especially in the era in which Amongst Women takes place, the 50's) automatically do: with stoicism and almost unconscious deliberation, they go to the "cave", as it were. Be it the den, the tool shed, the bar, the garden, the tv room, whatever- they do not run away so much as stomp around inside themselves, mending or fixing or sitting somewhere alone and staring off into space. Moran tends to the fields- it's his cave, it's where he goes to puzzle things out, let off steam. it's where his privacy won't be violated. It's of course the once place where he doesn't violate the privacy of others, which is his curse, but it's also where he takes people in.
It reminded me of my grandfather, a stoic, pleasant, repressed, uneducated first-generation Swede who never said much of anything by way of conversation and was maddeningly trite when he did. I think I literally had 2 or 3 5 minute plus conversations with him about anything, and I tried, as did my mother and siblings, in the thirty years I knew him. Not a bad man, or a hard one, as Moran certainly is, but inscrutably... ordinary . One day we were standing on the carpet next to the tv when he said, apropos of nothing, "want to look at my tools"? Uh, sure, let's go. We walked down into the cool, dry, mostly empty basement. He opened the door to his 'shop', pausing to nod at the newspaper clipping taped to the door of soldiers raising the flag at Iwo Jima. "I was there when they did that" he said, ambling towards the shelves. (He wasn't, I have on good authority) We stood there as he pointed out his plastic shelves of tiny screws, different lengths of nails, and so on. He showed me his saws, hammers, screwdrivers, one by one. He explained how long they were and how one fit with its proper tool. I didn't say anything- I didn't have anything to say. He turned at one point and said it was his favorite place. "You could get lost in here". That's it. We walked upstairs and that's all I remember.
Moran hides in his fields, in his solitude, because the country he fought for is taken over by "small minded gangsters", he refuses his government pension, he barks insults at the daughters whose futures he is frightened of and mistrusts. His constant insistence on praying the rosary is equally as intense as his "who cares, anyway" remark, which he makes on matters relating directly to him and to those around him. He's caught between an indifference he feels politically from the country he was proud of fighting for and has now somehow gone past him and the proud, sullen self-sufficiency he has spent a lifetime accumulating. He has the insecurity about appearances which equally, indelibly marks the intensely private and the deeply embarrassed (not the same thing). I don't know as much about 20th Century Irish politics as I ought to, but the point has been made to De Valerain Home Rule (enclosure, rural insularity, fetishization of old fashioned home and hearth).
It does seem interesting, going through the novels which came before, how true it indeed is that the best and brightest seem to feel it existentially necessary to get the hell out of the emerald isle. Exile is a literary theme (and, often enough, political necessity!) all over the 20th Century. I wonder- is Mother Ireland (old sow, farrow-devouring) a microcosm? Or a symptom?
January 21, 2020
I have read two books by Jon McGahern previous to this, The Barracks (1963) and in 2002, That They May Face the Rising Sun (US version of that book called ‘By The Lake’). I liked them a great deal. McGahern is a highly-respected Irish author (in its obituary the Guardian described him as 'arguably the most important Irish novelist since Samuel Beckett'). This book was well-written. It was somber – it was about a father and husband, Michael Moran, who was so angry about things that he took things out on his second wife (there was no mention as far as I could tell about his first wife other than she had died) and his four children. There was always an air of crisp tension throughout the book – you knew if he were in a good mood it would not last and you wondered when it would break or what would break it. Who he would verbally attack next? Early on in his second marriage he seemed to on purpose push the envelope with his second wife Rose so as to humiliate her and then to draw back when he knew he went too far (but he didn’t seem to be necessarily sorry that he went too far), and then he would say “I’m sorry” and would dial it back. He never hit her and I would hesitate to call it blatant verbal abuse, or that she was terrified of him. I think she loved him quite a bit, and was walking on eggshells around him, but I guess she derived something from their marriage. It might have been his 3 girls who she liked a lot as well as his younger son. His older son Luke had left the house after Michael Moran had given him a humiliating beating never to return.
Several quotes that resonated with me from the book:
He had not been able to go out and be at ease with people. What she did not know was that Moran, with his good looks and military fame, had once been king of these barn dances and now that he had neither youth nor fame would not take a lesser place. He would not take part at all.
About Rose… “Now most of her pleasure and all of her pain flowed through him. For her there was always a strange excitement in his presence of something about to happen. Nothing was ever still. She felt inordinately grateful when he behaved normally.”
After he humiliated Rose in front of his girls she quietly left the room. He went to her hours later… “I never heard such nonsense, he blustered ‘Are you taking everything up as serious as some of the other people in this house? Does every move have to be Judgment Day?” Rose: ‘I was told I was no use in the house. I couldn’t go on living in a place where I was no use,’ she spoke with the quietness and desperate authority of someone who had discovered they could give up no more ground and live. (JimZ: After this bullying episode by him, he never said such a harsh thing to her again…she had stood her ground. Incidentally I loved the way McGahern finished that sentence.)
The tension of being around him… “As looking down from great heights brings the urge to fall and end the terror of falling, so his very watching put pressure on them to make a slip as they dried and stacked the plates and cups.”
Several quotes that resonated with me from the book:
He had not been able to go out and be at ease with people. What she did not know was that Moran, with his good looks and military fame, had once been king of these barn dances and now that he had neither youth nor fame would not take a lesser place. He would not take part at all.
About Rose… “Now most of her pleasure and all of her pain flowed through him. For her there was always a strange excitement in his presence of something about to happen. Nothing was ever still. She felt inordinately grateful when he behaved normally.”
After he humiliated Rose in front of his girls she quietly left the room. He went to her hours later… “I never heard such nonsense, he blustered ‘Are you taking everything up as serious as some of the other people in this house? Does every move have to be Judgment Day?” Rose: ‘I was told I was no use in the house. I couldn’t go on living in a place where I was no use,’ she spoke with the quietness and desperate authority of someone who had discovered they could give up no more ground and live. (JimZ: After this bullying episode by him, he never said such a harsh thing to her again…she had stood her ground. Incidentally I loved the way McGahern finished that sentence.)
The tension of being around him… “As looking down from great heights brings the urge to fall and end the terror of falling, so his very watching put pressure on them to make a slip as they dried and stacked the plates and cups.”
April 2, 2019
The book and the movie had many mostly small differences. Some things left out, some things added in, some things in a different order, some things between characters different in the series than they were in the book. All of which added up to different stories, almost. Almost, but not quite.
Interesting Moran's idea of 'the family'. And 'the house'. It almost seemed like 'the house' was a character in and of itself. "Don't embarass yourself, and don't embarrass the house.", one of the children is told, when she goes out to a dance. (paraphrasing)
Interesting too, the way he accepts every one of the children's choices of spouse, "If it'll do you, it'll do me.", he says each time.
It seemed like alcohol was a sub-theme of the book. Moran doesn't drink anymore - he used to. He tells McQuaid when McQuaid (his old lieutenant from the war for independence) comes for Monaghan Day, that he can't drink anymore.
In many ways, the author makes clear, that Moran's need to hold himself separate from the rest of his community is not a common thing for the time, or for the place.
Anyway, interesting book.
------------
picked up from the library. ISBN # is 0140092552, or 978014092554, which is tied to this edition, but that cover isn't the book in my hand, the cover on this card is. The date on this card is wrong tho, it says 1991 published, copyright in book says 1990 ...
Anyway, this is the book I checked out. Interestingly, they mounted the paperback cover onto a hardcover cardboard, and then mounted the book inside. Kinda ingenious ...
Have already watched the BBC series, looking forward to reading the book now.
------------
My home library didn't have this title, but the state-wide catalog did - it also had a DVD series available, which I requested in addition to the book. The DVD arrived, still waiting on the book. The DVD is a "Parallel Films production for BBC Northern Ireland in association with RTÉ and Bord Scannán na hÉireann", according to the state-wide library catalog. On IMDB, it's described as a 4-episode television series. I normally don't like to 'watch' a book before I read the book, but ... I popped it in anyway. Watched episode one so far, it's really good!
Interesting Moran's idea of 'the family'. And 'the house'. It almost seemed like 'the house' was a character in and of itself. "Don't embarass yourself, and don't embarrass the house.", one of the children is told, when she goes out to a dance. (paraphrasing)
Interesting too, the way he accepts every one of the children's choices of spouse, "If it'll do you, it'll do me.", he says each time.
It seemed like alcohol was a sub-theme of the book. Moran doesn't drink anymore - he used to. He tells McQuaid when McQuaid (his old lieutenant from the war for independence) comes for Monaghan Day, that he can't drink anymore.
In many ways, the author makes clear, that Moran's need to hold himself separate from the rest of his community is not a common thing for the time, or for the place.
Anyway, interesting book.
------------
picked up from the library. ISBN # is 0140092552, or 978014092554, which is tied to this edition, but that cover isn't the book in my hand, the cover on this card is. The date on this card is wrong tho, it says 1991 published, copyright in book says 1990 ...
Anyway, this is the book I checked out. Interestingly, they mounted the paperback cover onto a hardcover cardboard, and then mounted the book inside. Kinda ingenious ...
Have already watched the BBC series, looking forward to reading the book now.
------------
My home library didn't have this title, but the state-wide catalog did - it also had a DVD series available, which I requested in addition to the book. The DVD arrived, still waiting on the book. The DVD is a "Parallel Films production for BBC Northern Ireland in association with RTÉ and Bord Scannán na hÉireann", according to the state-wide library catalog. On IMDB, it's described as a 4-episode television series. I normally don't like to 'watch' a book before I read the book, but ... I popped it in anyway. Watched episode one so far, it's really good!
February 3, 2021
Michael Moran is a hard case. He speaks in terse aphorisms when he isn't dripping in sarcasm. He expects allegiance. He is capable of violence, but as a proscribed punishment, never for its own sake, never in a rage. Above all for him, Family reigns.
This caused trouble with his two sons, with one irredeemably. Yet with the women it was different: three daughters and a second wife. For it was said that only women could live with Daddy.
I searched for clues how Moran came to be what he was. There was a conversational flashback to some horrors when he fought as an Irish Republican. And a look around at the current state - what we fought for - which could embitter a fella.
But I looked instead to the symbolism, how as an old man Moran would look out to his meadow, always to the exact same spot. And how haying that meadow they came upon a hen hidden by the high grass; she looked to be nesting. Only a closer look showed that the mower had cut her legs. That has to mean something, right?
There was no music in this novel; it was instead a painting, a painting of unintended consequences.
This caused trouble with his two sons, with one irredeemably. Yet with the women it was different: three daughters and a second wife. For it was said that only women could live with Daddy.
I searched for clues how Moran came to be what he was. There was a conversational flashback to some horrors when he fought as an Irish Republican. And a look around at the current state - what we fought for - which could embitter a fella.
But I looked instead to the symbolism, how as an old man Moran would look out to his meadow, always to the exact same spot. And how haying that meadow they came upon a hen hidden by the high grass; she looked to be nesting. Only a closer look showed that the mower had cut her legs. That has to mean something, right?
There was no music in this novel; it was instead a painting, a painting of unintended consequences.
November 10, 2020
I like controversial books, amongst other things. Not that this is, really, but I remember picking it up on a hot summer day in a book market, where the only thing I knew about McGahern, really, was that his books were considered controversial.
The other reason I was drawn to it is because my knowledge of Irish history is incomplete, to say the least. I had to spend some time researching what Monaghan Day actually was, amongst other things. I think it's also important that I mention here that my notes on this are about four years old, although that's neither here nor there. Another thing that I should mention is that I don't particularly like books about functional families. For one, I don't think every family is dysfunctional in its own way, not to sound like Tolstoy. For another, I just don't find them particularly fun to read.
Family is complicated. All relationships are. The same can be said for Moran and his family. Obviously this is by no means a justification of Moran's behaviour. I would not like him if I knew him in person, and I would definitely not make excuses for him. Perhaps, that is the charm of dysfunctional families in books. You don't have to justify their behaviour, and yet, you can still humanise them, somewhat. All of the books I've liked, that revolve around families, they have that in common. Dysfunction.
On this his wedding day he seemed strangely at peace. It was as if he needed this quality of attention to be fixed upon him in order to be completely silent.
I think the technical term to describe Michael Moran is "son of a bitch". He isn't what I would call a good person, although that doesn't necessarily make him a bad person either. He's difficult, although in his own difficult way, he does love his family. More than anything, he misses the good old days. And this is why he cherishes Monaghan Day, whence he gets to relive the days of glory. Or well at least, he did. Obviously, none of this is in defence of him being a son of a bitch, but then again, I don't really think you're supposed to like the man. I think he just is.
Like Blindness, a book I read at the same time as this one, McGahern doesn't really name all his characters. Only the ones that matter, the Morans. Rose's relatives, for instance are not described by name--only by title, as "the married sister" or the "tall, silent brothers". I think this is to further reiterate the importance of his family to Moran; after all, it is his story and his family. It is also possible, as it always is, that I could be reading too much into it. There are books that I enjoy because of the rich, evocative writing, and less often, books that I do for the opposite reason--simple words strung together to make simple sentences. Amongst Women definitely falls into the latter category, and that is the reason it works. Like Moran himself, the book is one of few words, curt and on-point. It's not very long either, and in this case, it doesn't, shouldn't have to be.
I don't know or think that the message of the book is the circle of life, or that there's any message at all. But it's nice, simple, clean to think so. Unlike life itself. The other lesson, of course, is that all writers that aren't American are just better at describing food on paper.
The other reason I was drawn to it is because my knowledge of Irish history is incomplete, to say the least. I had to spend some time researching what Monaghan Day actually was, amongst other things. I think it's also important that I mention here that my notes on this are about four years old, although that's neither here nor there. Another thing that I should mention is that I don't particularly like books about functional families. For one, I don't think every family is dysfunctional in its own way, not to sound like Tolstoy. For another, I just don't find them particularly fun to read.
Family is complicated. All relationships are. The same can be said for Moran and his family. Obviously this is by no means a justification of Moran's behaviour. I would not like him if I knew him in person, and I would definitely not make excuses for him. Perhaps, that is the charm of dysfunctional families in books. You don't have to justify their behaviour, and yet, you can still humanise them, somewhat. All of the books I've liked, that revolve around families, they have that in common. Dysfunction.
On this his wedding day he seemed strangely at peace. It was as if he needed this quality of attention to be fixed upon him in order to be completely silent.
I think the technical term to describe Michael Moran is "son of a bitch". He isn't what I would call a good person, although that doesn't necessarily make him a bad person either. He's difficult, although in his own difficult way, he does love his family. More than anything, he misses the good old days. And this is why he cherishes Monaghan Day, whence he gets to relive the days of glory. Or well at least, he did. Obviously, none of this is in defence of him being a son of a bitch, but then again, I don't really think you're supposed to like the man. I think he just is.
Like Blindness, a book I read at the same time as this one, McGahern doesn't really name all his characters. Only the ones that matter, the Morans. Rose's relatives, for instance are not described by name--only by title, as "the married sister" or the "tall, silent brothers". I think this is to further reiterate the importance of his family to Moran; after all, it is his story and his family. It is also possible, as it always is, that I could be reading too much into it. There are books that I enjoy because of the rich, evocative writing, and less often, books that I do for the opposite reason--simple words strung together to make simple sentences. Amongst Women definitely falls into the latter category, and that is the reason it works. Like Moran himself, the book is one of few words, curt and on-point. It's not very long either, and in this case, it doesn't, shouldn't have to be.
I don't know or think that the message of the book is the circle of life, or that there's any message at all. But it's nice, simple, clean to think so. Unlike life itself. The other lesson, of course, is that all writers that aren't American are just better at describing food on paper.
March 28, 2016
The central character of this story is central in the way a cloud is central to a storm. Michael Moran, father of five and widower remarried, draws people into familial connection through a dark and dangerous and magnetic moodiness. His daughters, and even perhaps his far away sons, have become trained to believe that this feeling of separateness and isolation that comes from being a part of a deeply dysfunctional family is actually a form of superiority. Moran's youngest son Michael has escaped perhaps the least harmed, as his sisters shielded him from his father for much of his childhood and he ran away not so long after they left. But Moran's eldest son, who left and never returned, leads a life very different from Moran's, but has an air of intensity and withdrawal that sadly hints at his father's.
One of the more painful conflictual moments of the book (though there are many) comes when Moran refuses to support his daughter Sheila after she gets accepted to university. If she were to go to university she would be come different and "better" than the family, it would keep all of the family from being on equal, "humble" terms, though Moran is far from humble and what he really means to do is control his daughters' every move. He needs to be the center of attention, and he refuses to be out-shined by any of his children, or to have them be so far from him they are no longer vulnerable to his whims. What Moran says and what Moran does are two very different things, and when he insists on the equality of family members, what he means is, well, everything else. There is a coded life being lived here in which all that is said means nothing in comparison to the tone set by Moran, dictatorial and insistent.
A goodreads reviewer posits an interesting theory, or, I will state it in the form of a question. Do we need another book with a shitty father? I don't know how to answer that. I don't tend to think in terms of repetition because I think books and themes are endlessly repetitive. I tend to read books on their own terms, not because every shitty father is different (and all good ones are the same?) in an oft misquoted or misdirected Tolstoyan way, but because each book with a shitty father is a different book. Unhappy or not, family relationships are part of larger equations. Some hint at fable-istic connections, and others resemble more mythical archetypes. This particular relationships is set up I think to show how the political is personal, the historical is personal, and it is also to a certain degree allegorical. Moran is a man who is disillusioned by the political reality. He fought a war with a certain idealism and what he learned was that all sides of the fighting were tied up in corruption. He cannot come to terms with his role as pawn, and so he becomes the master of his own kingdom, his little home, and refuses to let the outside world in except by way of his children who are allowed to bring little pieces of the outside world in, filtered as they are through the eyes of people he trained in how to see and what to say.
All of that said, there are ways in which every closed system fails to stay entirely closed, and this is true of Moran. It is not that he changes necessarily over time, but there is a certain mellowing of the rules after his children all leave, because there must be. It is either that, or he has to leave them all behind.
The damage that he has done to his family will clearly influence generations, people will be allying themselves with or against Moran and that will influence decision-making and quality of experience for years and years to come. Just so, the political conflicts that are going on, that have brought Moran so much misery, will shift and change but continue to influence life in Ireland on many levels.
And what of Moran's misery? Is he too idealistic? Too violent? Did an impractical idealism cause him to be so unhappy? What happens if this kind of idealism is lost? Then is every person for themselves? Is this novel asking us to call into question our deeply held beliefs about how the world should be run? Or are we to feel a certain solidarity with or compassion for Moran's desire to live in a less corrupt world?
This book had no plot to speak of and at first I was not drawn to it, but I found after thirty pages or so I couldn't put it down. It was not because I wondered what would happen. But I was drawn into the web of it. Curious to see how the three daughters and two sons, and how Rose, would continue to interact with Moran. It is like a locked-room mystery without the mystery (or the locked room). But it has that feeling of horror and air-less-ness. And yet there is lightness at certain moments too. To see how the siblings try to navigate their strange loyalties to their father and try to help each other escape him, all at the same muddled time. To see the rebellion and yet the inability to leave (they all take their father with them, whether they mean to or not.) And the specialness they feel because of their father's way of setting apart the family from others. That, in the end, may be the most damaging thing to their potential happiness.
It is interesting to me that I learned about the author because he wrote the introduction to "Stoner" which I read recently. There are certain tonal similarities between the two writers, but I never had the feeling of awe reading this that I did while reading Stoner. They both hone in on complex and disturbing family dynamics and intertwine them with the larger political landscape in small but poignant ways.
Rose, Moran's second wife, is an outsider who becomes an insider, but she's a curious figure in this book. I know there must be a lot to say about her dual role here. She is not as brain-washed and cowed as the Sheila, Mona and Maggie are, and she cares for and protects the children, but she still defends Moran in ways which are troubling. McGahern explores how loyalty works in a family in ways which are quiet and dark and sometimes lit up as by a lightning storm, with occasional bright flashes.
Here are some quotes from the book.
“These visits of his daughters from London and Dublin were to flow like relief through the house. They brought distraction, something to look forward to, something to mull over after they had gone. Above all they brought the bracing breath of the outside, an outside Moran refused to accept unless it came from the family. Without it there would have been an ingrown waiting. For the girls the regular comings and goings restored their superior sense of self, a superiority they had received intact from Moran and which was little acknowledged by the wide world in which they had to work and live. That unexamined notion of superiority was often badly shaken and in need of restoration each time they came home. Each time he met them at the station his very presence affirmed and reaffirmed again as he kissed them goodbye. Within the house the outside world was shut out. (93)
“It was like grasping water to think how quickly the years had passed here. They were nearly gone. It was in the nature of things and yet it brought a sense of betrayal and anger, of never having understood anything uch. Instead of using the fields, he sometimes felt as if the fields had used him. Soon they would be using someone else in his place. It was unlikely to be either of his sons. He tried to imagine someone running the place after he was gone and could not. He continued walking the fields like a man trying to see. (130)
“Tears slipped down their faces as they repeated the ‘Our Fathers’ and ‘Hail Marys’. Maggie had begun her Mystery when it grew clear that Moran was trying to speak. She stopped and the room was still. The low whisper was unmistakable: ‘shut up!’ They looked at one another in fear and confusion but Rose nodded vigorously to Maggie to ignore the whispered command and to continue. She managed to struggle back into the rhythm of the prayers when Mona cried out, ‘Daddy’s gone!’ They got up off their knees and stood over the bed. Weeping loudly Maggie and Sheila embraced one another and Mona ran angrily from the room, slamming doors on the way, shouting, ‘That doctor shouldn’t have been let give him that injection this morning.’ Rose turned to Maggie, ‘Would you mind going after Mona to see that she’s all right. I think that must be Michael’s car I hear turning in at the gate.
“Some of the anger at the death veered towards Michael as soon as he appeared in the hallway. Being left on the periphery of what was happening he had become bored and driven to town with his son. ‘You’re a nice gentleman. You couldn’t even manage to be in the house when Daddy was going.’ He did not realize at first what had taken place and put up his hands in jocose surrender to these fierce and impossible women but wen very pale and still as soon as he understood that his father had just died. Gently Rose opened the door to the room and he nodded silently to her and went in. The she took his son by the hand. The child and woman went from the room to room until they had stopped each clock in the house and covered every mirror.” (180)
“All through the night they kept vigil by his side. Time should have stopped with the clocks but instead it moved in a glazed dream of tiredness without their ticking insistence. Morning stole over the fields. The callers continued coming to the house throughout the day. At six the body would be taken to the church. As it drew closer to six the minutes seemed to race.
One of the more painful conflictual moments of the book (though there are many) comes when Moran refuses to support his daughter Sheila after she gets accepted to university. If she were to go to university she would be come different and "better" than the family, it would keep all of the family from being on equal, "humble" terms, though Moran is far from humble and what he really means to do is control his daughters' every move. He needs to be the center of attention, and he refuses to be out-shined by any of his children, or to have them be so far from him they are no longer vulnerable to his whims. What Moran says and what Moran does are two very different things, and when he insists on the equality of family members, what he means is, well, everything else. There is a coded life being lived here in which all that is said means nothing in comparison to the tone set by Moran, dictatorial and insistent.
A goodreads reviewer posits an interesting theory, or, I will state it in the form of a question. Do we need another book with a shitty father? I don't know how to answer that. I don't tend to think in terms of repetition because I think books and themes are endlessly repetitive. I tend to read books on their own terms, not because every shitty father is different (and all good ones are the same?) in an oft misquoted or misdirected Tolstoyan way, but because each book with a shitty father is a different book. Unhappy or not, family relationships are part of larger equations. Some hint at fable-istic connections, and others resemble more mythical archetypes. This particular relationships is set up I think to show how the political is personal, the historical is personal, and it is also to a certain degree allegorical. Moran is a man who is disillusioned by the political reality. He fought a war with a certain idealism and what he learned was that all sides of the fighting were tied up in corruption. He cannot come to terms with his role as pawn, and so he becomes the master of his own kingdom, his little home, and refuses to let the outside world in except by way of his children who are allowed to bring little pieces of the outside world in, filtered as they are through the eyes of people he trained in how to see and what to say.
All of that said, there are ways in which every closed system fails to stay entirely closed, and this is true of Moran. It is not that he changes necessarily over time, but there is a certain mellowing of the rules after his children all leave, because there must be. It is either that, or he has to leave them all behind.
The damage that he has done to his family will clearly influence generations, people will be allying themselves with or against Moran and that will influence decision-making and quality of experience for years and years to come. Just so, the political conflicts that are going on, that have brought Moran so much misery, will shift and change but continue to influence life in Ireland on many levels.
And what of Moran's misery? Is he too idealistic? Too violent? Did an impractical idealism cause him to be so unhappy? What happens if this kind of idealism is lost? Then is every person for themselves? Is this novel asking us to call into question our deeply held beliefs about how the world should be run? Or are we to feel a certain solidarity with or compassion for Moran's desire to live in a less corrupt world?
This book had no plot to speak of and at first I was not drawn to it, but I found after thirty pages or so I couldn't put it down. It was not because I wondered what would happen. But I was drawn into the web of it. Curious to see how the three daughters and two sons, and how Rose, would continue to interact with Moran. It is like a locked-room mystery without the mystery (or the locked room). But it has that feeling of horror and air-less-ness. And yet there is lightness at certain moments too. To see how the siblings try to navigate their strange loyalties to their father and try to help each other escape him, all at the same muddled time. To see the rebellion and yet the inability to leave (they all take their father with them, whether they mean to or not.) And the specialness they feel because of their father's way of setting apart the family from others. That, in the end, may be the most damaging thing to their potential happiness.
It is interesting to me that I learned about the author because he wrote the introduction to "Stoner" which I read recently. There are certain tonal similarities between the two writers, but I never had the feeling of awe reading this that I did while reading Stoner. They both hone in on complex and disturbing family dynamics and intertwine them with the larger political landscape in small but poignant ways.
Rose, Moran's second wife, is an outsider who becomes an insider, but she's a curious figure in this book. I know there must be a lot to say about her dual role here. She is not as brain-washed and cowed as the Sheila, Mona and Maggie are, and she cares for and protects the children, but she still defends Moran in ways which are troubling. McGahern explores how loyalty works in a family in ways which are quiet and dark and sometimes lit up as by a lightning storm, with occasional bright flashes.
Here are some quotes from the book.
“These visits of his daughters from London and Dublin were to flow like relief through the house. They brought distraction, something to look forward to, something to mull over after they had gone. Above all they brought the bracing breath of the outside, an outside Moran refused to accept unless it came from the family. Without it there would have been an ingrown waiting. For the girls the regular comings and goings restored their superior sense of self, a superiority they had received intact from Moran and which was little acknowledged by the wide world in which they had to work and live. That unexamined notion of superiority was often badly shaken and in need of restoration each time they came home. Each time he met them at the station his very presence affirmed and reaffirmed again as he kissed them goodbye. Within the house the outside world was shut out. (93)
“It was like grasping water to think how quickly the years had passed here. They were nearly gone. It was in the nature of things and yet it brought a sense of betrayal and anger, of never having understood anything uch. Instead of using the fields, he sometimes felt as if the fields had used him. Soon they would be using someone else in his place. It was unlikely to be either of his sons. He tried to imagine someone running the place after he was gone and could not. He continued walking the fields like a man trying to see. (130)
“Tears slipped down their faces as they repeated the ‘Our Fathers’ and ‘Hail Marys’. Maggie had begun her Mystery when it grew clear that Moran was trying to speak. She stopped and the room was still. The low whisper was unmistakable: ‘shut up!’ They looked at one another in fear and confusion but Rose nodded vigorously to Maggie to ignore the whispered command and to continue. She managed to struggle back into the rhythm of the prayers when Mona cried out, ‘Daddy’s gone!’ They got up off their knees and stood over the bed. Weeping loudly Maggie and Sheila embraced one another and Mona ran angrily from the room, slamming doors on the way, shouting, ‘That doctor shouldn’t have been let give him that injection this morning.’ Rose turned to Maggie, ‘Would you mind going after Mona to see that she’s all right. I think that must be Michael’s car I hear turning in at the gate.
“Some of the anger at the death veered towards Michael as soon as he appeared in the hallway. Being left on the periphery of what was happening he had become bored and driven to town with his son. ‘You’re a nice gentleman. You couldn’t even manage to be in the house when Daddy was going.’ He did not realize at first what had taken place and put up his hands in jocose surrender to these fierce and impossible women but wen very pale and still as soon as he understood that his father had just died. Gently Rose opened the door to the room and he nodded silently to her and went in. The she took his son by the hand. The child and woman went from the room to room until they had stopped each clock in the house and covered every mirror.” (180)
“All through the night they kept vigil by his side. Time should have stopped with the clocks but instead it moved in a glazed dream of tiredness without their ticking insistence. Morning stole over the fields. The callers continued coming to the house throughout the day. At six the body would be taken to the church. As it drew closer to six the minutes seemed to race.
August 12, 2012
A short book, but claustrophobic in its persistent domestic dysfunction, its unrelentingly dissatisfied central character, its unsympathetic disdain for chapter breaks. Irish Catholic patriarchs are a breed apart, but a specific breed nonetheless -- my childhood best friend's father was the living manifestation of Moran, at sea in a household of mostly women, who turned to him for direction and a sense of purpose, needing him to feel necessary and connected while at the same time resenting it. Moran's repeated refrain, that all of his children are equal, no one better or more accomplished than another, is both evenly democratic and coldly isolating. A belief that one's family defines one's station, but no one can rise above their station, is both a relief and an obstacle. One makes room for it, as most of Moran's family does, or denies it outright, like Luke, but there is no compromise.
I can see why McGahern was selected to write the forward for NYRB's edition of Stoner, even though McGahern is distinctly Irish and Williams is distinctly American, the writing in both is patient, lyrical, and meditative. A life is illustrated over decades, and no one great thing happens, but many small things, that add up to the influence of a man whose small circle has felt him deeply.
I can see why McGahern was selected to write the forward for NYRB's edition of Stoner, even though McGahern is distinctly Irish and Williams is distinctly American, the writing in both is patient, lyrical, and meditative. A life is illustrated over decades, and no one great thing happens, but many small things, that add up to the influence of a man whose small circle has felt him deeply.
January 2, 2015
I hadn't come across this book until I received it as a gift from a Goodreads friend, but I found it both a poignant and powerful read.
Set in rural Ireland over a lengthy period in the mid 20th century, it tells the story of the family of Moran, a man who fought in the War of Independence as the head of a flying column, but was left behind by the bureaucrats once the struggle was won, and who now farms in the west of Ireland.
From the earliest point in the narrative, we see that Moran's relationship with his family is a complex one. His eldest child, Luke, has already become estranged from his father, and his three daughters, Maggie, Mona and Sinead and son, Michael, live in the shadow of his moods. A widower early in life, his contraryness is very much in evidence throughout his 'courtship' of Rose, who on marrying him becomes a rock in the house of Great Meadow.
As the years pass, McGahern does a great job in conveying how rural life really doesn't change that much, and emphasises the rigid routine within the family, yet is able to chart each member's life journey, children of whom Moran is proud, yet more often than not, children who are effected by his actions in negative ways. Despite this, the overriding feeling is one of a tight knit group, with particularly the females in the family being devoted to their patriarch to the very end.
This is a short but amazingly rich and complex novel. There are many stories of Irish men of Moran's generation who struggle to express themselves emotionally, but none that I've come across that do so as successfully. As a reader, I felt both distaste at many of Morgan's actions, yet compassion as his love for his family was evident throughout. While Moran is an extreme case, I'd say that there are few people who read this novel who grew up in any part of Ireland who haven't seen some of his traits in their own father.
Definitely a book that I'd recommend to others, and a great way to start my 2015 reading year.
Set in rural Ireland over a lengthy period in the mid 20th century, it tells the story of the family of Moran, a man who fought in the War of Independence as the head of a flying column, but was left behind by the bureaucrats once the struggle was won, and who now farms in the west of Ireland.
From the earliest point in the narrative, we see that Moran's relationship with his family is a complex one. His eldest child, Luke, has already become estranged from his father, and his three daughters, Maggie, Mona and Sinead and son, Michael, live in the shadow of his moods. A widower early in life, his contraryness is very much in evidence throughout his 'courtship' of Rose, who on marrying him becomes a rock in the house of Great Meadow.
As the years pass, McGahern does a great job in conveying how rural life really doesn't change that much, and emphasises the rigid routine within the family, yet is able to chart each member's life journey, children of whom Moran is proud, yet more often than not, children who are effected by his actions in negative ways. Despite this, the overriding feeling is one of a tight knit group, with particularly the females in the family being devoted to their patriarch to the very end.
This is a short but amazingly rich and complex novel. There are many stories of Irish men of Moran's generation who struggle to express themselves emotionally, but none that I've come across that do so as successfully. As a reader, I felt both distaste at many of Morgan's actions, yet compassion as his love for his family was evident throughout. While Moran is an extreme case, I'd say that there are few people who read this novel who grew up in any part of Ireland who haven't seen some of his traits in their own father.
Definitely a book that I'd recommend to others, and a great way to start my 2015 reading year.
June 25, 2020
"He stood in a cloud of moral injury.”
This is a very well-crafted character study of a 1950’s(ish) father in the Republic of Ireland. A former guerilla fighter in the Irish War of Independence, Michael Moran is unhappy with the outcome of his war. He is disappointed with his country, his family, his neighbors, and pretty much everything.
I’ll get something petty out of the way first: I didn’t like that there were no chapter divisions. This really bugs me. I like breathing space. I like to pause and think when I’m reading a novel, even a short one like this. And when you’re spending so much time with someone like Michael Moran, you really need breathing space.
Moran is an oppressive figure. You could consider him a tyrant. But though his two sons struggle to maintain a relationship with him, he is deeply loved by his daughters. It was so interesting to watch how the sons bristled against his overbearing will and the daughters bent to it.
“They were mastered, and yet they were controlling together what they were mastered by.”
I took this read very personally. When I was growing up, this type of man--the unyielding, dominating, miserable old so-and-so type was a very common figure. Maybe they are less common now. I hope so, yet still, I seem to have a soft spot in my heart for curmudgeons. Am I like the daughters, ready to excuse his bad behavior? And who was the stronger, really? The sons who refused to be controlled, or the daughters who absorbed the anger into themselves and gave it back as love?
This is a thoughtful read. You may be surprised when you’re done how much the characters have gotten under your skin.
This is a very well-crafted character study of a 1950’s(ish) father in the Republic of Ireland. A former guerilla fighter in the Irish War of Independence, Michael Moran is unhappy with the outcome of his war. He is disappointed with his country, his family, his neighbors, and pretty much everything.
I’ll get something petty out of the way first: I didn’t like that there were no chapter divisions. This really bugs me. I like breathing space. I like to pause and think when I’m reading a novel, even a short one like this. And when you’re spending so much time with someone like Michael Moran, you really need breathing space.
Moran is an oppressive figure. You could consider him a tyrant. But though his two sons struggle to maintain a relationship with him, he is deeply loved by his daughters. It was so interesting to watch how the sons bristled against his overbearing will and the daughters bent to it.
“They were mastered, and yet they were controlling together what they were mastered by.”
I took this read very personally. When I was growing up, this type of man--the unyielding, dominating, miserable old so-and-so type was a very common figure. Maybe they are less common now. I hope so, yet still, I seem to have a soft spot in my heart for curmudgeons. Am I like the daughters, ready to excuse his bad behavior? And who was the stronger, really? The sons who refused to be controlled, or the daughters who absorbed the anger into themselves and gave it back as love?
This is a thoughtful read. You may be surprised when you’re done how much the characters have gotten under your skin.
August 8, 2022
Well crafted, structured and layered book. Only 180 pages, but it had an intensity mostly the result of the indoor scenes that set the stage from the beginning and the way the elderly Moran dominated family life as he oppressed the air inside both the rooms and my consciousness at times.
This is a generational story, a transitional moment in modern times. We start in the 1950s, with Moran – a widowed civil war leader and operative and McQuaid his underling who visits every Monaghan Market day to sit, reminisce, drink whiskey while the teenage daughters move around making sure the day is a good one for him. Moran’s rigid catholic, rural, parsimonious world view gets aired early and regularly throughout. He refuses to take the IRA pension McQuaid reminds him he deserves. Some staunch gruff reasoning is provided.
But this book is about transitions, and for things to change there must be something there already, speaking of Moran, a neighbour describes him so:
”They say he’s one sort of person when he's out in the open among people – he can be very sweet – but that he’s a different sort of person altogether behind the walls of his own house.”
Though the story takes place on a farm, we rarely get to see the outdoors early on. Moran is a farmer - earning his farm with assistance from the IRA. He has five children. Three daughters still teenagers in the house and Luke who has left for England following an altercation and the very young Michael.
Rose, newly returned from working in Scotland for a family as a housekeeper accepts that Moran may be the one she marries late in life. Her effect on the oppressive house is transformative, as though all the children needed was an outlet for the hardness of life with just their father. Often we experience Moran’s methods with family and Rose through the threat of violence. If a matter is remotely tense, the children have learned to slip out of the room without being noticed.
Transformation is nicely done in this book. Everyone emerges as themselves over time as the 1950s give way to the 1960s and opportunities through education and migration to England arrive for all the children. And they take it because they're all smart. After all, old Moran was the brains behind many successful IRA civil war operations thirty years earlier. Yet he thinks politicians, doctors and priests sucked the value he got out of the war.
Moran can’t stop change, the influences of others on his insular being can’t be held back. He tries to be his same dour self - forged in poverty and war early in the century. But the world changes and he changes, as he perhaps abetted in changing it militarily. And it seems women have the largest role in all this and the males all take a back seat to change. The daughters Mona, Maggie and Sheila have the most to gain from change – jobs, education, decision making in marriage, and defining the idea of family and home.
”by the time Maggie had got back to London they had never felt closer n warmth, even happiness. The closeness was as strong as the pull of their own lives; they lost the pain of individuality within its protection.”
I find it interesting that the outdoors emerges late in the book with scenes of rural life like cutting and stacking the hay - an event described often as the greatest change in family circumstance happens – the daughters go off to Dublin and London once they finish school but return regularly and every summer when the hay cutting occurs on the right day when it’s expected to be dry. This makes for a lovely juxtaposition of the perennial and the modern. The scenes are described in detail, observed as though from afar in their deeply unchanged way – though machinery is used, the way family joins in the most important moment of the summer strongly expresses the central motif of family life.
Family is paramount, an entire society is geared towards and not much gets in its way:
”Such is the primacy of the idea of the family that everyone was able to leave work at once without incurring displeasure.”
This is a generational story, a transitional moment in modern times. We start in the 1950s, with Moran – a widowed civil war leader and operative and McQuaid his underling who visits every Monaghan Market day to sit, reminisce, drink whiskey while the teenage daughters move around making sure the day is a good one for him. Moran’s rigid catholic, rural, parsimonious world view gets aired early and regularly throughout. He refuses to take the IRA pension McQuaid reminds him he deserves. Some staunch gruff reasoning is provided.
But this book is about transitions, and for things to change there must be something there already, speaking of Moran, a neighbour describes him so:
”They say he’s one sort of person when he's out in the open among people – he can be very sweet – but that he’s a different sort of person altogether behind the walls of his own house.”
Though the story takes place on a farm, we rarely get to see the outdoors early on. Moran is a farmer - earning his farm with assistance from the IRA. He has five children. Three daughters still teenagers in the house and Luke who has left for England following an altercation and the very young Michael.
Rose, newly returned from working in Scotland for a family as a housekeeper accepts that Moran may be the one she marries late in life. Her effect on the oppressive house is transformative, as though all the children needed was an outlet for the hardness of life with just their father. Often we experience Moran’s methods with family and Rose through the threat of violence. If a matter is remotely tense, the children have learned to slip out of the room without being noticed.
Transformation is nicely done in this book. Everyone emerges as themselves over time as the 1950s give way to the 1960s and opportunities through education and migration to England arrive for all the children. And they take it because they're all smart. After all, old Moran was the brains behind many successful IRA civil war operations thirty years earlier. Yet he thinks politicians, doctors and priests sucked the value he got out of the war.
Moran can’t stop change, the influences of others on his insular being can’t be held back. He tries to be his same dour self - forged in poverty and war early in the century. But the world changes and he changes, as he perhaps abetted in changing it militarily. And it seems women have the largest role in all this and the males all take a back seat to change. The daughters Mona, Maggie and Sheila have the most to gain from change – jobs, education, decision making in marriage, and defining the idea of family and home.
”by the time Maggie had got back to London they had never felt closer n warmth, even happiness. The closeness was as strong as the pull of their own lives; they lost the pain of individuality within its protection.”
I find it interesting that the outdoors emerges late in the book with scenes of rural life like cutting and stacking the hay - an event described often as the greatest change in family circumstance happens – the daughters go off to Dublin and London once they finish school but return regularly and every summer when the hay cutting occurs on the right day when it’s expected to be dry. This makes for a lovely juxtaposition of the perennial and the modern. The scenes are described in detail, observed as though from afar in their deeply unchanged way – though machinery is used, the way family joins in the most important moment of the summer strongly expresses the central motif of family life.
Family is paramount, an entire society is geared towards and not much gets in its way:
”Such is the primacy of the idea of the family that everyone was able to leave work at once without incurring displeasure.”
December 11, 2016
Don't let them pull wool over your eyes. The war was the cold, the wet, standing to your neck in a drain for a whole night with bloodhounds on your trail, not knowing how you could manage the next step towards the end of a long march. That was the war: not when the band played and a bloody politician stepped forward to put flowers on the ground. (p.5)
It was like grasping water to think how quickly the years had passed here. They were nearly gone. It was in the nature of things and yet it brought a sense of betrayal and anger, of never having understood anything much. Instead of using the fields, he sometimes felt as if the fields had used him. Soon they would be using someone else in his place. It was unlikely to be either of his sons. He tried to imagine someone running the place after he was gone and could not. He continued walking the fields like a man trying to see. (p.130)
It was like grasping water to think how quickly the years had passed here. They were nearly gone. It was in the nature of things and yet it brought a sense of betrayal and anger, of never having understood anything much. Instead of using the fields, he sometimes felt as if the fields had used him. Soon they would be using someone else in his place. It was unlikely to be either of his sons. He tried to imagine someone running the place after he was gone and could not. He continued walking the fields like a man trying to see. (p.130)
June 15, 2007
My Irish Literature tutor at Trinity College (a.k.a., Hot Scottish Tutor Peter Mackay, who hopefully is not reading this) said that this book would have made a better short story than it does a novel. While I enjoyed McGahern's simple, unflashy prose, I'm inclined to agree. The story covers the same ground again and again, and while the monotony of Moran's life may be part of the point, it doesn't make for the most enjoyable read.
May 31, 2025
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2025...
“Ahora casi todo su placer y su sufrimiento pasaban por él. Cuando se hallaba en su presencia, se sentía extrañamente excitada, como si fuese a suceder algo. Nada sucedía. Cuando él se portaba con normalidad, Rose se sentía extrañamente agradecida”.
Esta cita encierra, yo diría, que el leitmotiv de la novela, la normalización de un comportamiento abusivo y tóxico y cómo la persona que lo soporta, acaba sintiéndose agradecida por unas migajas de normalidad. Encierra tanta complejidad, tanta profundidad psicológica este breve párrafo, tan sutil y al mismo tiempo tan clarificador, que por esto es por lo cual McGahern se queda ya en la memoria. Hace ya unos días que terminé esta novela y la verdad es que desde entonces he estado debatiendo entre las cuatro y las cinco estrellas, pero cuánto más tiempo pasaba, más subía en mi valoración. Creo que se debe sobre todo al estilo de McGahern que se apoya sobre todo en la economía del lenguaje que termina calando en el sentido de que obliga al lector a bucear entre las frases para encontrar las pistas escondidas y las hay, y muchas. Es muy sencillo a la hora crear las frases, directas y que al mismo tiempo nos van situando en el tiempo y lo que más me ha podido impactar es precisamente la información que va colando sin sonar dramático en ningún momento. La vida es un continuo fluir del día a día y este fluir diario va marcando las frases y la enorme carga emocional que encierran muchos momentos pero de una forma tan sencilla, que a veces el lector tiene que volver a releer para captar la tensión que encierran algunas de estas frases.
"No querían encontrarse con su mirada, ni siquiera respirar demasiado fuerte. Desde siempre, frente a la violencia, solo habían sabido replegarse."
Más que de información oculta, sus párrafos están repletos de emociones ocultas, y esto es precisamente lo que me ha maravillado de McGahern: "Aquel continuo volver a casa había sido una confirmación de esa presencia inquebrantable…" La presencia inquebrantable es la de Moran, el pater familias que ejerce un control monopolizador en torno a sus cinco hijos y su segunda esposa Rose, que incluso cuando estos hijos se han ido de casa y han conseguido independizarse, vuelven a la casa familiar casi todos los fines de semana, los lazos familiares, sobre todo los lazos de sangre, son demasiado sagrados como para desaparecer de esta fuerza poderosa que será la de su padre. Es una presencia tan inquebrantable y tan envolvente, que son las mujeres de su casa, sus tres hijas y su segunda esposa, las que llevan el peso del sometimiento a su voluntad, pero precisamente por esa educación patriarcal, la sumisión será una forma de evitar el conflicto familiar. Normalmente cuando tenemos a alguien cerca, familia, amigos, compañeros de trabajo que establecen un lazo de control, monopolizador y tóxico sobre nosotros, quedan dos caminos: o la sumisión para no entrar en ningún conflicto, o la rebelión, que supondrá directamente entrar en guerra y cortar por lo sano. Las hijas y la esposa de Moran llevan fuertemente enquistadas en su educación que no quieren entrar en conflicto y establecer un cisma familiar enfrentándose al hombre de la casa, lo mismo le ocurrirá a la sumisa Rose, así que durante años, se habrá establecido un acuerdo tácito y silencioso por soportar la tiranía de Moran.
"Él nunca había sido capaz de tratar con extraños. Solo había tenido que lidiar consigo mismo y con ese prolongamiento de su persona que matrimonios y coincidencias habían establecido que conformase su familia: pero nunca había tenido que salir del cascarón de sí mismo."
Durante la mayor parte de la novela se narrará este conflicto interno, subterráneo de los hijos que sabiendo ya las reglas, intentarán no sacar a su padre de sus casillas. El respiro le llegará a las hijas cuando su padre se casa por segunda vez con Rose, y a partir de entonces, la carga de su tiranía les será aliviada un poco. Moran es un ex-lider de la guerra de independencia irlandesa que nunca llegó a acostumbrarse a esa falta de brillo y brío posterior cuando se convierte en granjero en el oeste de Irlanda. Viudo y habiendo criado a sus hijos a la usanza militar, se podría decir, se convierte en un tipo irascible, amargado y tiránico, que no deja de ser la frustración de un hombre porque no se ve recompensado por un país al que le dedicó su vida, sus expectativas idealistas se vieron totalmente decepcionadas y de alguna forma su familia a partir de aquí es la que se convertirá en el receptáculo de su frustración. Moran está completamente aislado del mundo exterior, sus habilidades de comunicación social serán mínimas porque sigue encerrado en el cascarón de cuando era el héroe de una guerra que ya dejó de ser. El único contacto que tiene con el mundo exterior será a través de su familia, y McGahern nos narrará el continuo tira y afloja de sus hijos para llegar a conseguir sus fines, salir, entrar, estudiar, trabajar, bajo un control férreo de un padre extremadamente católico y que sin embargo, parece aferrarse a la religión como única via de escape a un mundo que ya no entiende.
"Todo el mundo estaba en guardia en la casa. Parecían moverse en un campo minado. La primera cosa que le había llamado la atención de Maggie fue ese aire suyo hermético y de superioridad. Pero en esta casa, esa actitud había desaparecido totalmente. Esa misma chica, que a él siempre le había parecido tan segura de sí misma, ahora se mostraba nerviosa, prudente, atenta a cada palabra y cada gesto".
Es cuando es consciente de que los hijos se van yendo de casa, cuando Moran entra en pánico porque apenas le quedará ya nadie a quién controlar. Rose, su esposa, se convierte en una especie de catalizador, y algunos momentos en los que Rose querrá estallar (silenciosamente) están prodigiosamente narrados por McGahern. Moran ya antes de que sus hijos abandonen el hogar, ha construido una especie de cordon umbilical invisible que impedirá que estos hijos nunca terminen de irse, y son sobre todo las hijas, Maggie, Sheila y Mona, las eternamente fieles a un padre que no perderán nunca de vista, aunque el lector haya sido testigo de que su padre le cortara las alas en algún que otro momento por ejemplo, impidiéndoles con su chantaje emocional, para que se dedicaran a lo que de verdad les gustaba, la medicina, por ejemplo. “Maggie consideró ese aislamiento que Moran había conseguido crear en torno a ellos como un signo de distinción y fuerza”. McGahern es sutil, discreto a la hora de narrar estos confictos emocionales sobre todo porque ellas cargaran con la cruz íntimamente, llevando el sufrimiento por dentro, y así y todo volverán una y otra vez al control paterno, justificándolo continuamente, porque es dificil desprenderse de esa presión patriarcal que las ha marcado por mucho que hayan considerado una cierta independencia, física que no emocional.
"Llena de agresividad reprimida, se mostraba maleable de una manera forzada, con miedo a dejar traslucir su firmeza y las consecuencias violentas que ello le acarrearía".
250 páginas de una prosa fluida, aparentemente sencilla y directa con una carga emocional que a primera vista no vemos, y que sin embargo, irá calando. Mcgahern narra con un intimismo muy a flor de piel la lucha por la independencia personal del individuo cuanto más difícil en la medida en que las tradiciones familiares, el sistema patriarcal, y la religión, suponen una presión continua en el día a día. Las escenas de trabajo en la granja, la naturaleza, las escapadas a la playa, suponen una salida a un enclaustramiento atmosférico continuo creando algunas escenas en la que la violencia de la naturaleza también se hace presente, la escena de la faisana en su nido durante la siega es de las escenas más hermosa que he podido leer, porque es un momento en el día a día en el trabajo en el campo, apenas marcado por una frase, pero será bestial en su significado. Lo que de verdad impacta también es que una vez terminada la novela, el retrato que ha creado Mcgahern de su personaje Moran, es tremendamente complejo porque aunque el lector a veces llegue a odiarlo, también hay momentos en que McGahern nos hace ver que es un hombre incapaz de comunicarse y solo es capaz de hacerlo a través de sus cartas ("Poseía un estilo desnudo y esencial: mientras escribía parecía capaz de despojarse del peso de su propia personalidad de una forma que nunca hubiese sabido hacerlo en persona"). Es la vida misma lo que se cuenta en esta novela magnífica.
“La vertiginosa laboriosidad estaba atravesada de sonrisas y palabras benévolas, mientras sobre todo el mundo se cernía la conciencia de la presencia vigilante de Moran, observando cada movimiento y la amenaza de que algo pudiera caerse y romperse, y atraer el peso de la desaprobación paterna. Cada gesto de ellas se basaba más en una costumbre o un instinto que en el temor a un eventual error, pero dicho error suponía, en todo caso, una sensación física tangible.”
♫♫♫ Failure - Swans ♫♫♫
“Ahora casi todo su placer y su sufrimiento pasaban por él. Cuando se hallaba en su presencia, se sentía extrañamente excitada, como si fuese a suceder algo. Nada sucedía. Cuando él se portaba con normalidad, Rose se sentía extrañamente agradecida”.
Esta cita encierra, yo diría, que el leitmotiv de la novela, la normalización de un comportamiento abusivo y tóxico y cómo la persona que lo soporta, acaba sintiéndose agradecida por unas migajas de normalidad. Encierra tanta complejidad, tanta profundidad psicológica este breve párrafo, tan sutil y al mismo tiempo tan clarificador, que por esto es por lo cual McGahern se queda ya en la memoria. Hace ya unos días que terminé esta novela y la verdad es que desde entonces he estado debatiendo entre las cuatro y las cinco estrellas, pero cuánto más tiempo pasaba, más subía en mi valoración. Creo que se debe sobre todo al estilo de McGahern que se apoya sobre todo en la economía del lenguaje que termina calando en el sentido de que obliga al lector a bucear entre las frases para encontrar las pistas escondidas y las hay, y muchas. Es muy sencillo a la hora crear las frases, directas y que al mismo tiempo nos van situando en el tiempo y lo que más me ha podido impactar es precisamente la información que va colando sin sonar dramático en ningún momento. La vida es un continuo fluir del día a día y este fluir diario va marcando las frases y la enorme carga emocional que encierran muchos momentos pero de una forma tan sencilla, que a veces el lector tiene que volver a releer para captar la tensión que encierran algunas de estas frases.
"No querían encontrarse con su mirada, ni siquiera respirar demasiado fuerte. Desde siempre, frente a la violencia, solo habían sabido replegarse."
Más que de información oculta, sus párrafos están repletos de emociones ocultas, y esto es precisamente lo que me ha maravillado de McGahern: "Aquel continuo volver a casa había sido una confirmación de esa presencia inquebrantable…" La presencia inquebrantable es la de Moran, el pater familias que ejerce un control monopolizador en torno a sus cinco hijos y su segunda esposa Rose, que incluso cuando estos hijos se han ido de casa y han conseguido independizarse, vuelven a la casa familiar casi todos los fines de semana, los lazos familiares, sobre todo los lazos de sangre, son demasiado sagrados como para desaparecer de esta fuerza poderosa que será la de su padre. Es una presencia tan inquebrantable y tan envolvente, que son las mujeres de su casa, sus tres hijas y su segunda esposa, las que llevan el peso del sometimiento a su voluntad, pero precisamente por esa educación patriarcal, la sumisión será una forma de evitar el conflicto familiar. Normalmente cuando tenemos a alguien cerca, familia, amigos, compañeros de trabajo que establecen un lazo de control, monopolizador y tóxico sobre nosotros, quedan dos caminos: o la sumisión para no entrar en ningún conflicto, o la rebelión, que supondrá directamente entrar en guerra y cortar por lo sano. Las hijas y la esposa de Moran llevan fuertemente enquistadas en su educación que no quieren entrar en conflicto y establecer un cisma familiar enfrentándose al hombre de la casa, lo mismo le ocurrirá a la sumisa Rose, así que durante años, se habrá establecido un acuerdo tácito y silencioso por soportar la tiranía de Moran.
"Él nunca había sido capaz de tratar con extraños. Solo había tenido que lidiar consigo mismo y con ese prolongamiento de su persona que matrimonios y coincidencias habían establecido que conformase su familia: pero nunca había tenido que salir del cascarón de sí mismo."
Durante la mayor parte de la novela se narrará este conflicto interno, subterráneo de los hijos que sabiendo ya las reglas, intentarán no sacar a su padre de sus casillas. El respiro le llegará a las hijas cuando su padre se casa por segunda vez con Rose, y a partir de entonces, la carga de su tiranía les será aliviada un poco. Moran es un ex-lider de la guerra de independencia irlandesa que nunca llegó a acostumbrarse a esa falta de brillo y brío posterior cuando se convierte en granjero en el oeste de Irlanda. Viudo y habiendo criado a sus hijos a la usanza militar, se podría decir, se convierte en un tipo irascible, amargado y tiránico, que no deja de ser la frustración de un hombre porque no se ve recompensado por un país al que le dedicó su vida, sus expectativas idealistas se vieron totalmente decepcionadas y de alguna forma su familia a partir de aquí es la que se convertirá en el receptáculo de su frustración. Moran está completamente aislado del mundo exterior, sus habilidades de comunicación social serán mínimas porque sigue encerrado en el cascarón de cuando era el héroe de una guerra que ya dejó de ser. El único contacto que tiene con el mundo exterior será a través de su familia, y McGahern nos narrará el continuo tira y afloja de sus hijos para llegar a conseguir sus fines, salir, entrar, estudiar, trabajar, bajo un control férreo de un padre extremadamente católico y que sin embargo, parece aferrarse a la religión como única via de escape a un mundo que ya no entiende.
"Todo el mundo estaba en guardia en la casa. Parecían moverse en un campo minado. La primera cosa que le había llamado la atención de Maggie fue ese aire suyo hermético y de superioridad. Pero en esta casa, esa actitud había desaparecido totalmente. Esa misma chica, que a él siempre le había parecido tan segura de sí misma, ahora se mostraba nerviosa, prudente, atenta a cada palabra y cada gesto".
Es cuando es consciente de que los hijos se van yendo de casa, cuando Moran entra en pánico porque apenas le quedará ya nadie a quién controlar. Rose, su esposa, se convierte en una especie de catalizador, y algunos momentos en los que Rose querrá estallar (silenciosamente) están prodigiosamente narrados por McGahern. Moran ya antes de que sus hijos abandonen el hogar, ha construido una especie de cordon umbilical invisible que impedirá que estos hijos nunca terminen de irse, y son sobre todo las hijas, Maggie, Sheila y Mona, las eternamente fieles a un padre que no perderán nunca de vista, aunque el lector haya sido testigo de que su padre le cortara las alas en algún que otro momento por ejemplo, impidiéndoles con su chantaje emocional, para que se dedicaran a lo que de verdad les gustaba, la medicina, por ejemplo. “Maggie consideró ese aislamiento que Moran había conseguido crear en torno a ellos como un signo de distinción y fuerza”. McGahern es sutil, discreto a la hora de narrar estos confictos emocionales sobre todo porque ellas cargaran con la cruz íntimamente, llevando el sufrimiento por dentro, y así y todo volverán una y otra vez al control paterno, justificándolo continuamente, porque es dificil desprenderse de esa presión patriarcal que las ha marcado por mucho que hayan considerado una cierta independencia, física que no emocional.
"Llena de agresividad reprimida, se mostraba maleable de una manera forzada, con miedo a dejar traslucir su firmeza y las consecuencias violentas que ello le acarrearía".
250 páginas de una prosa fluida, aparentemente sencilla y directa con una carga emocional que a primera vista no vemos, y que sin embargo, irá calando. Mcgahern narra con un intimismo muy a flor de piel la lucha por la independencia personal del individuo cuanto más difícil en la medida en que las tradiciones familiares, el sistema patriarcal, y la religión, suponen una presión continua en el día a día. Las escenas de trabajo en la granja, la naturaleza, las escapadas a la playa, suponen una salida a un enclaustramiento atmosférico continuo creando algunas escenas en la que la violencia de la naturaleza también se hace presente, la escena de la faisana en su nido durante la siega es de las escenas más hermosa que he podido leer, porque es un momento en el día a día en el trabajo en el campo, apenas marcado por una frase, pero será bestial en su significado. Lo que de verdad impacta también es que una vez terminada la novela, el retrato que ha creado Mcgahern de su personaje Moran, es tremendamente complejo porque aunque el lector a veces llegue a odiarlo, también hay momentos en que McGahern nos hace ver que es un hombre incapaz de comunicarse y solo es capaz de hacerlo a través de sus cartas ("Poseía un estilo desnudo y esencial: mientras escribía parecía capaz de despojarse del peso de su propia personalidad de una forma que nunca hubiese sabido hacerlo en persona"). Es la vida misma lo que se cuenta en esta novela magnífica.
“La vertiginosa laboriosidad estaba atravesada de sonrisas y palabras benévolas, mientras sobre todo el mundo se cernía la conciencia de la presencia vigilante de Moran, observando cada movimiento y la amenaza de que algo pudiera caerse y romperse, y atraer el peso de la desaprobación paterna. Cada gesto de ellas se basaba más en una costumbre o un instinto que en el temor a un eventual error, pero dicho error suponía, en todo caso, una sensación física tangible.”
♫♫♫ Failure - Swans ♫♫♫
November 9, 2025
Incredibly realized scenes of daily life in a troubled family; a difficult portrayal of the way one person can shape the lives of the people around them by their attitude through life’s difficulties.
Five star writing, but I read this on a flight and could hardly stay awake—a better read for a slow, contemplative study than for an engaging one.
Five star writing, but I read this on a flight and could hardly stay awake—a better read for a slow, contemplative study than for an engaging one.
February 16, 2012
Powerful Irish novel on family and country. Couldn't put it down.
March 24, 2016
Харесва ми да съм в ирландски семейства, колкото и да не приличат на българските семейства, колкото и да са смразяващи отношенията понякога. Разбира се като се замисля повече, предпочитам да ги наблюдавам отстрани, през книгите, не реално да съм член от тях…
Още в началото на този роман започнах да се питам: докога ще се налага на мъжете да са най-често в черупки? Постепенно с изравняването на половете ще се стигне ли и до по-еднаква емоционалност, способност за изразяване, не за задържане… Или не е нормално да очаквам такива неща? Да, Моран е загубил близък човек, бил е на война (Независимостта на Ирландия), след това човек рядко може да е способен да възвърне изцяло някогашната си ведрост, отвореност (ако ги е имал).
Не са малко книгите, в които се пренасям директно в някоя сцена, като влизане във филм, но тук беше особено „реално“: вървях със сватбеното шествие към черквата или поне надничах като любопитна съседка иззад някое перденце; продължих с Моран, Роуз и децата и след прибирането, в първите часове и дни в новия (заради новото присъствие) дом. Чувах тежестта на тишината в някои напрегнати моменти, виждах каква точно е кухнята, как шетат предпазливо дъщерите; младото, но вече свито сърце и на малкия Майкъл. „Тези опити за нежност неизменно притесняваха момчето повече от внезапната бащина грубост.“
Особено тежко ми се виждаше положението на несигурност - да мълчиш, за да има мир, в други моменти да дърдориш какво ли не, за да се замаскира обтегнатата обстановка. Хем е толкова характерен образът на Моран (мъж „темерут“ – не от лошотия, а от познатата мъжка стиснатост на емоции, неспособност за преодоляване на минали душевни болки…), хем пак ми беше много интересен.
Съчувствието ми към него постоянно се мяташе нагоре-надолу. В началото наистина повече го възприемах като човек, претърпял загуба, живял в неблагоприятна консервативна среда… Към средата си казвах – какъв недоволник, какъв мърморко. „Въпрос на възпитание, но каква полза да очакваш възпитание в тая къща“ (дори му подвикнах – нали ти си ги възпитавал?!). И още хленчене „Кой го е грижа вече? – промърмори на себе си. – Кое го е еня? Кой го е грижа вече?“
Вече при „случая“ със солницата нямаше как да го наричам просто кривльо и мърморко, идваше ми да се развикам – човек с комплекси! „Така и на куче не се подава сол. Даваш ли си сметка на кого подаваш солта? … Не, разбира се, ти просто я подхвърли на кучето.“
И все пак Моран имаше огромна притегателна сила (как не - безусловната любов към родителите, особено ако е останал един рожден родител). На мен сякаш по-трудно ми беше с шегичките му, в моментите на оправяне на настроението му. Ако бях до него в такива моменти, нямаше да зная как да реагирам. Но тогава всички около него бяха единодушни: “Кой каквото ще да казва, татко може да бъде чудесен“ или „Когато е мил, е просто невероятен. Друг такъв няма.“ / „Те се бяха научили да го приемат във всичките му настроения: бяха благодарни за всичко, стига да не изпаднеше в най-лошата си ярост, бяха ненормално благодарни и за най-мъничкото доказателство за добра воля, което не биха и помислили да приемат от връстниците си.“
Може би само за Роуз всичко продължаваше да се клати с разклатения му, уж стабилен мъжки характер: „Когато Моран се държеше нормално, Роуз беше ненормално благодарна.“ Но и: „Щеше да ѝ беше по-лесно, ако се беше разбеснял или беше започнал да мърмори.“ (не е ли правилното „щеше да ѝ бъде…“).
В края на краищата всичко по белия свят свършва по един и същи начин…
Ако в книгите на Джак Харт добре се вижда ролята на „менгемето“ Църква, тук изпъква ролята на семейството в Ирландия. “Шила го изпепели с поглед. Той беше допуснат в семейството чрез нея, но това не значеше, че е член на семейството. На никой пришълец не се разрешаваше да се присмива на тая светая светих, нейното семейство.“ / „За нея стената, която баща й беше изградил около семейството, означаваше сила и положение. Тайничко си мислеше, че Роуз малко изпростява с многобройните си познанства.“
Впечатляваща е ролята на Роуз като „мек помирител“ – успяваше едновременно да не бъде дълбоко наранена от честото остро и непредсказуемо отношение (може би), естествено да постигне стабилното си място в семейството, да разведрява по един много уместен начин, винаги с точните изречения… Не ме накара да си мисля „как може да го търпи този.“ Имаше си някакъв собствен душевен мир – по отношение на семейството, на градчето.
Замислих се какво е да си на остров. Как всички се стремят към Англия. И веднага се сетих – самата Англия също е на остров. Но сякаш Ирландия е „остров към острова“. Ирландецът Люк го изрази като някакво освобождаване, откъсване. „Излязох от Ирландия преди много време.“
Разбирах желанието им да се махнат (аз един Добрич едвам изтърпях до 11 клас – явно island/mainland няма чак толкова голямо значение) – консерватизъм, ограничения, ниска образованост. Но не е толкова просто – до кога, до последния млад човек ли? Все пак (както и в книгите на Джак Харт) ме успокояваше това, че са минали доста десетилетия и вече е по-различно в затънтените села/градчета на Ирландия?
На такива места често се използват едни думички (най-често от родители за поведението на деца), които вече ми звучат смешно. Разбира се Моран искаше децата му да се държат „прилично“ – не знам носи ли такава отсянка на консерватизъм и на английски език тази думичка – иска ми се да знам коя е използвана точно… А също и „..да не се изложите…“
При споменаването на Curlew и Sligo обаче се зарадвах като на познати места, вече ми е по-близка сякаш Ирландия чрез книгите (предимно на Джак Харт). Корицата – по принцип харесвам кориците на Алтера. Тази също ми харесва. Само ръката в едър план ми е леко неприятна. Но пък подхожда на особняшката атмосфера в семейството.
Всъщност всичко беше въпрос на отношения. Нямаше обичайните тежки драми, действителни загуби (злополуки, смърт, война…), основно заминаванията бяха загубите. И безвъзвратната липса на нежност, която пък може би сближаваше сестрите. А всичко Моран правеше от добро (по собствените си критерии)… Ненормално беше може би положението и накрая. Сигурно е вярно, като се казва, че грижата винаги трябва да е от големия към малкия, започнат ли децата да обгрижват родителите си като деца, с техния дух явно е свършено. Тогава отново си зададох въпроса за "правилната" степен на обвързаност с родното семейство, след като вече децата имат свои нови семейства.
Накрая имах усещането като за пет звезди. Един поток от мисли, които ще спестя, не защото са тайна, а защото няма защо да занимавам никого с моя ТАТКО. Последната страница 239 - най-силната (за мен), друга картина, в която присъствах „реално“. А самият край, последните изречения, ми бяха като за 10 звезди. Светлинката винаги е хубаво нещо! И: мъже-жени! :)
Още в началото на този роман започнах да се питам: докога ще се налага на мъжете да са най-често в черупки? Постепенно с изравняването на половете ще се стигне ли и до по-еднаква емоционалност, способност за изразяване, не за задържане… Или не е нормално да очаквам такива неща? Да, Моран е загубил близък човек, бил е на война (Независимостта на Ирландия), след това човек рядко може да е способен да възвърне изцяло някогашната си ведрост, отвореност (ако ги е имал).
Не са малко книгите, в които се пренасям директно в някоя сцена, като влизане във филм, но тук беше особено „реално“: вървях със сватбеното шествие към черквата или поне надничах като любопитна съседка иззад някое перденце; продължих с Моран, Роуз и децата и след прибирането, в първите часове и дни в новия (заради новото присъствие) дом. Чувах тежестта на тишината в някои напрегнати моменти, виждах каква точно е кухнята, как шетат предпазливо дъщерите; младото, но вече свито сърце и на малкия Майкъл. „Тези опити за нежност неизменно притесняваха момчето повече от внезапната бащина грубост.“
Особено тежко ми се виждаше положението на несигурност - да мълчиш, за да има мир, в други моменти да дърдориш какво ли не, за да се замаскира обтегнатата обстановка. Хем е толкова характерен образът на Моран (мъж „темерут“ – не от лошотия, а от познатата мъжка стиснатост на емоции, неспособност за преодоляване на минали душевни болки…), хем пак ми беше много интересен.
Съчувствието ми към него постоянно се мяташе нагоре-надолу. В началото наистина повече го възприемах като човек, претърпял загуба, живял в неблагоприятна консервативна среда… Към средата си казвах – какъв недоволник, какъв мърморко. „Въпрос на възпитание, но каква полза да очакваш възпитание в тая къща“ (дори му подвикнах – нали ти си ги възпитавал?!). И още хленчене „Кой го е грижа вече? – промърмори на себе си. – Кое го е еня? Кой го е грижа вече?“
Вече при „случая“ със солницата нямаше как да го наричам просто кривльо и мърморко, идваше ми да се развикам – човек с комплекси! „Така и на куче не се подава сол. Даваш ли си сметка на кого подаваш солта? … Не, разбира се, ти просто я подхвърли на кучето.“
И все пак Моран имаше огромна притегателна сила (как не - безусловната любов към родителите, особено ако е останал един рожден родител). На мен сякаш по-трудно ми беше с шегичките му, в моментите на оправяне на настроението му. Ако бях до него в такива моменти, нямаше да зная как да реагирам. Но тогава всички около него бяха единодушни: “Кой каквото ще да казва, татко може да бъде чудесен“ или „Когато е мил, е просто невероятен. Друг такъв няма.“ / „Те се бяха научили да го приемат във всичките му настроения: бяха благодарни за всичко, стига да не изпаднеше в най-лошата си ярост, бяха ненормално благодарни и за най-мъничкото доказателство за добра воля, което не биха и помислили да приемат от връстниците си.“
Може би само за Роуз всичко продължаваше да се клати с разклатения му, уж стабилен мъжки характер: „Когато Моран се държеше нормално, Роуз беше ненормално благодарна.“ Но и: „Щеше да ѝ беше по-лесно, ако се беше разбеснял или беше започнал да мърмори.“ (не е ли правилното „щеше да ѝ бъде…“).
В края на краищата всичко по белия свят свършва по един и същи начин…
Ако в книгите на Джак Харт добре се вижда ролята на „менгемето“ Църква, тук изпъква ролята на семейството в Ирландия. “Шила го изпепели с поглед. Той беше допуснат в семейството чрез нея, но това не значеше, че е член на семейството. На никой пришълец не се разрешаваше да се присмива на тая светая светих, нейното семейство.“ / „За нея стената, която баща й беше изградил около семейството, означаваше сила и положение. Тайничко си мислеше, че Роуз малко изпростява с многобройните си познанства.“
Впечатляваща е ролята на Роуз като „мек помирител“ – успяваше едновременно да не бъде дълбоко наранена от честото остро и непредсказуемо отношение (може би), естествено да постигне стабилното си място в семейството, да разведрява по един много уместен начин, винаги с точните изречения… Не ме накара да си мисля „как може да го търпи този.“ Имаше си някакъв собствен душевен мир – по отношение на семейството, на градчето.
Замислих се какво е да си на остров. Как всички се стремят към Англия. И веднага се сетих – самата Англия също е на остров. Но сякаш Ирландия е „остров към острова“. Ирландецът Люк го изрази като някакво освобождаване, откъсване. „Излязох от Ирландия преди много време.“
Разбирах желанието им да се махнат (аз един Добрич едвам изтърпях до 11 клас – явно island/mainland няма чак толкова голямо значение) – консерватизъм, ограничения, ниска образованост. Но не е толкова просто – до кога, до последния млад човек ли? Все пак (както и в книгите на Джак Харт) ме успокояваше това, че са минали доста десетилетия и вече е по-различно в затънтените села/градчета на Ирландия?
На такива места често се използват едни думички (най-често от родители за поведението на деца), които вече ми звучат смешно. Разбира се Моран искаше децата му да се държат „прилично“ – не знам носи ли такава отсянка на консерватизъм и на английски език тази думичка – иска ми се да знам коя е използвана точно… А също и „..да не се изложите…“
При споменаването на Curlew и Sligo обаче се зарадвах като на познати места, вече ми е по-близка сякаш Ирландия чрез книгите (предимно на Джак Харт). Корицата – по принцип харесвам кориците на Алтера. Тази също ми харесва. Само ръката в едър план ми е леко неприятна. Но пък подхожда на особняшката атмосфера в семейството.
Всъщност всичко беше въпрос на отношения. Нямаше обичайните тежки драми, действителни загуби (злополуки, смърт, война…), основно заминаванията бяха загубите. И безвъзвратната липса на нежност, която пък може би сближаваше сестрите. А всичко Моран правеше от добро (по собствените си критерии)… Ненормално беше може би положението и накрая. Сигурно е вярно, като се казва, че грижата винаги трябва да е от големия към малкия, започнат ли децата да обгрижват родителите си като деца, с техния дух явно е свършено. Тогава отново си зададох въпроса за "правилната" степен на обвързаност с родното семейство, след като вече децата имат свои нови семейства.
Накрая имах усещането като за пет звезди. Един поток от мисли, които ще спестя, не защото са тайна, а защото няма защо да занимавам никого с моя ТАТКО. Последната страница 239 - най-силната (за мен), друга картина, в която присъствах „реално“. А самият край, последните изречения, ми бяха като за 10 звезди. Светлинката винаги е хубаво нещо! И: мъже-жени! :)
May 3, 2015
This is a wonderfully written account of a family that lives a brittle, tense existence due to a father who feels marginalised, bitter, an outsider. The way his unpredictable moodiness (which seems almost bi-polar) infects the house, stressing the women (his wife, daughters) and breaking his relationships with his sons, treads the same ground that John McGahern's The Dark did with such aplomb- in fact I think The Dark is a better book, although there is very little in it.
I particularly liked the way the author dealt with the idea of separateness- the fact that Moran keeps himself apart from the rest of the village and expects his new wife and kids to do the same- and togetherness- Moran believes his family is an extension of himself. This was, essentially, the way I was brought up, so it was quite emotional reading the story. Yes, there are issues of power-play; of unaware, out-of-control ego on display, but there is also the sad depiction of an outsider, a man who never allows himself a long stretch of happiness because he feels (the echo of) the working-class fear of the workhouse. He insists on the solidarity of the family but it is on his own terms and, as such, will only lead to all his children getting as faraway from him as they can.
A devastating portrait of a family and eminently readable.
I particularly liked the way the author dealt with the idea of separateness- the fact that Moran keeps himself apart from the rest of the village and expects his new wife and kids to do the same- and togetherness- Moran believes his family is an extension of himself. This was, essentially, the way I was brought up, so it was quite emotional reading the story. Yes, there are issues of power-play; of unaware, out-of-control ego on display, but there is also the sad depiction of an outsider, a man who never allows himself a long stretch of happiness because he feels (the echo of) the working-class fear of the workhouse. He insists on the solidarity of the family but it is on his own terms and, as such, will only lead to all his children getting as faraway from him as they can.
A devastating portrait of a family and eminently readable.
May 4, 2023
I couldn't give a roasted fart for what the judges said: this was the novel that should have won the 1990 Booker.
At less than 200 pages, its simple-seeming prose and compressed wisdom make it the crowning achievement of McGahern's distinguished career.
I divide people into those who have read it and those who should.
At less than 200 pages, its simple-seeming prose and compressed wisdom make it the crowning achievement of McGahern's distinguished career.
I divide people into those who have read it and those who should.
May 31, 2024
"Сред жени", автор Джон Макгахърн, изд. Алтера, превод Аглика Маркова. Книгата има номинация за Букър през 1990.
Книгата ни среща с един мъж на средна възраст и семейството му. Първо ще започна с препоръки за кого е тази книга- ако харесвате „Стоунър“ и по- специално може да разберете защо човек не иска да се промени и остава физически и емоционално прикован на едно място, препоръчвам да прочетете историята. Все пак обаче, неминуемо мога да видя от къде Бакман може да е черпил вдъхноведие за „Човек на име Уве“, защото приликите между двата персонажа са поразителни и за мен разликите идват по- скоро от порядките на обещството и средата, в която са израстнали. Дори след прочита на „Сред жени“ се връщах мислено към Уве и си дадох сметка, че има леко позитивна нотка в Уве и неговото виждане за живота и общуването, докато при Макгахърн, типично по ирландски ни е спестил и е оставил Моран просто да съществува такъв какъвто е, което прави персонажа реалистичен за мен, защото в живота рядко (дори невъзможно) тесногръдието и емпатията се развиват на късна възрастл
Моран е фермер и ветеран, „алфа“ в дома си, който се труди от сутрин до вечер във фермата си, в неговата душа и разбиране за света е дълбоко вкоренено, че мъжа е господар на дома и останалите членове на семейството следва да уважават подобаващо усилията, които полага и всичко, което подсигурява. Той е човек силно подвластен на настроенията, те опраделят дори начина му на общуване с околните и може да се каже, че са задължителен елемент, което семейството трябва да съобрази преди да "дръзне" да общува с него. Дъщерите на Моран са развили силна чуствителност към това и дори усещат настроението на баща си във въздуха. За разлика от дъщерите обаче, той не е успял да доминира над синовете си и това му носи изключетелен душевен дискомфорт и често е подови за скандали.
В историята има намесен „любовен елемент“, доколкото може събирането на две емоционално бедни души да се нарече любов. Роуз се появява в живота на Морън, но за разлика на розовите романи с щастлив край тя не става катализатор за пробуждане на емоции като любов и съпречастност, напротив тя просто става заден фон на този сив пейзаж.
Автора е свършил за мен брилятно изграждане на Макъл, защото макар книгата да не е с голям брой страници и стилът на писане да е достъпен аз успях да разбера защо в показаните ситуации той ставаше затворен и какво пазеше от околните, било то, дори и най- близките му. Тази емоционална незрялост често пъти се маскира зад дебели стени на агресия, което вероятно на много от нас е до болка познато, защото ежедневно слещаме подобни модели на поведение. Интересно за мен е как макар Иралния е България да нямат исторически досег имат толкова много съвпадения по отношение на социолни модели и изграждане на личностите в макро общностите.
Този тип социални романи започват все повече да излизат като предпочитани за читателският ми вкус. Харесва ми книгите да бъдат едно огледало, в което може (или поне да се опитаме) да рефлектираш над собствените модели на общуване, че защо не дори да ги познаеш сред другите и по този начин през разбирането да отвориш пътя си към хората. .... ни показва колко много може да каже мълчанието и как умението да виждаме и усещаме енергията зад тишината е безценно.
Книгата ни среща с един мъж на средна възраст и семейството му. Първо ще започна с препоръки за кого е тази книга- ако харесвате „Стоунър“ и по- специално може да разберете защо човек не иска да се промени и остава физически и емоционално прикован на едно място, препоръчвам да прочетете историята. Все пак обаче, неминуемо мога да видя от къде Бакман може да е черпил вдъхноведие за „Човек на име Уве“, защото приликите между двата персонажа са поразителни и за мен разликите идват по- скоро от порядките на обещството и средата, в която са израстнали. Дори след прочита на „Сред жени“ се връщах мислено към Уве и си дадох сметка, че има леко позитивна нотка в Уве и неговото виждане за живота и общуването, докато при Макгахърн, типично по ирландски ни е спестил и е оставил Моран просто да съществува такъв какъвто е, което прави персонажа реалистичен за мен, защото в живота рядко (дори невъзможно) тесногръдието и емпатията се развиват на късна възрастл
Моран е фермер и ветеран, „алфа“ в дома си, който се труди от сутрин до вечер във фермата си, в неговата душа и разбиране за света е дълбоко вкоренено, че мъжа е господар на дома и останалите членове на семейството следва да уважават подобаващо усилията, които полага и всичко, което подсигурява. Той е човек силно подвластен на настроенията, те опраделят дори начина му на общуване с околните и може да се каже, че са задължителен елемент, което семейството трябва да съобрази преди да "дръзне" да общува с него. Дъщерите на Моран са развили силна чуствителност към това и дори усещат настроението на баща си във въздуха. За разлика от дъщерите обаче, той не е успял да доминира над синовете си и това му носи изключетелен душевен дискомфорт и често е подови за скандали.
В историята има намесен „любовен елемент“, доколкото може събирането на две емоционално бедни души да се нарече любов. Роуз се появява в живота на Морън, но за разлика на розовите романи с щастлив край тя не става катализатор за пробуждане на емоции като любов и съпречастност, напротив тя просто става заден фон на този сив пейзаж.
Автора е свършил за мен брилятно изграждане на Макъл, защото макар книгата да не е с голям брой страници и стилът на писане да е достъпен аз успях да разбера защо в показаните ситуации той ставаше затворен и какво пазеше от околните, било то, дори и най- близките му. Тази емоционална незрялост често пъти се маскира зад дебели стени на агресия, което вероятно на много от нас е до болка познато, защото ежедневно слещаме подобни модели на поведение. Интересно за мен е как макар Иралния е България да нямат исторически досег имат толкова много съвпадения по отношение на социолни модели и изграждане на личностите в макро общностите.
Този тип социални романи започват все повече да излизат като предпочитани за читателският ми вкус. Харесва ми книгите да бъдат едно огледало, в което може (или поне да се опитаме) да рефлектираш над собствените модели на общуване, че защо не дори да ги познаеш сред другите и по този начин през разбирането да отвориш пътя си към хората. .... ни показва колко много може да каже мълчанието и как умението да виждаме и усещаме енергията зад тишината е безценно.
March 5, 2017
A narratively straightforward story about family and understanding guided by emotion.
Boring? I don't think so. What I like about this book is that I'm able to think back to moments within and fail to see any relevancy toward a specific arched plot. It is much like one would look back on their own life and just see events for what they were: experiences that just happened and solidified who you were, are, and will be into the future. The tragedy, if there is one, is that life moves on and the simple, flawed, normal things we hold dear, often times without knowing it, eventually fade away in their own ways.
Not much amazing or intriguing here. But it is that simplicity that I, as a reader, found beauty and compassion in.
This was the last book I was supposed to read for a class on British and Irish novels, and I can see why. It has a culminating feeling, one where you're left with not much to talk about other than to say, "Well, this is it." It both sums up things and leaves them open.
Boring? I don't think so. What I like about this book is that I'm able to think back to moments within and fail to see any relevancy toward a specific arched plot. It is much like one would look back on their own life and just see events for what they were: experiences that just happened and solidified who you were, are, and will be into the future. The tragedy, if there is one, is that life moves on and the simple, flawed, normal things we hold dear, often times without knowing it, eventually fade away in their own ways.
Not much amazing or intriguing here. But it is that simplicity that I, as a reader, found beauty and compassion in.
This was the last book I was supposed to read for a class on British and Irish novels, and I can see why. It has a culminating feeling, one where you're left with not much to talk about other than to say, "Well, this is it." It both sums up things and leaves them open.
December 26, 2025
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONEEE!!! 🎄🎅🎁
Shoutout to @Gregisdead121 for suggesting this work of art... A fitting follow-up after John William's Stoner... And I can attest to that.
Amongst Women brought out a lot of childhood memories to me back to when my father rules the entire household of 5 (and he still is). But as time passes by, as the chapter unfolds as well from the novel, the father slowly loses his gripe from his children growing up. That is when the magic of connection moulds its rigid shape and is developed by love, trust, and togetherness.
Although the primary focus of the account is centered on Moran growing old at the start, McGahern slowly relates the life of his daughters and sons and his new beloved. Connecting the web as if it emphasizes the importance of each individual living under the roof.
"Apart, they could be breathtakingly sharp on the others’ shortcomings, but together, their individual selves gathered into something very close to a single presence."
Especially during these holiday seasons, there's nothing more rewarding than spending the wonderful days with our loved ones that we are still with them, and while it is complete. All rough edges can be set aside for a moment, as we take in the basic and wonderful things that draw us initially with them.
Love you all! 💖✨️
4.00 ⭐️ (12/25/25)
Shoutout to @Gregisdead121 for suggesting this work of art... A fitting follow-up after John William's Stoner... And I can attest to that.
Amongst Women brought out a lot of childhood memories to me back to when my father rules the entire household of 5 (and he still is). But as time passes by, as the chapter unfolds as well from the novel, the father slowly loses his gripe from his children growing up. That is when the magic of connection moulds its rigid shape and is developed by love, trust, and togetherness.
Although the primary focus of the account is centered on Moran growing old at the start, McGahern slowly relates the life of his daughters and sons and his new beloved. Connecting the web as if it emphasizes the importance of each individual living under the roof.
"Apart, they could be breathtakingly sharp on the others’ shortcomings, but together, their individual selves gathered into something very close to a single presence."
Especially during these holiday seasons, there's nothing more rewarding than spending the wonderful days with our loved ones that we are still with them, and while it is complete. All rough edges can be set aside for a moment, as we take in the basic and wonderful things that draw us initially with them.
Love you all! 💖✨️
4.00 ⭐️ (12/25/25)
February 23, 2012
Ireland has produced many fine novelists - William Trevor, Brian Moore, Colm Toibin, John Banville, Jennifer Johnston, Maeve Binchy and John Boyne, to name just some. And here is another (hitherto unknown to me) to add to the list: John McGahern. McGahern died in 2006, having produced 6 novels and 4 short story collections. On the evidence of this gem of a book, it is a great shame that he did not write more.
Amongst Women is an excellent novel. It is a sort of Tennessee Williams play, transported to rural Ireland of the 1950s. It tells the story of Michael Moran, who had fought in the War of Independence and in the Irish Civil War in the 1920s. The story opens with his imminent demise. Then in a series of flashback narratives (without any chapter headings or structure of that sort), the novel tells the story of this controlling, sometimes violent but always family-oriented man and of his relationship with his second wife, Rose, and with his three daughters and two sons. Moran can be both verbally and physically abusive. There is one chilling scene in which his teenage son Michael runs away rather than experience the corporal punishment that his father is about to hand out to him for missing school to spend time with his girlfriend. The story ends with Moran's death.
Amongst Women is a quiet, unostentatious novel that addresses a number of important themes. These include: the power struggle between parents and children as the latter grow older and become adults themselves; family loyalties; and the role of women in society generally and, in particular, in the family structure. It is written in beautifully clear prose. The characterisation and sense of time and place are spot on. And it is a story in which the reader cares about all the characters - including the often angry, unpredictable but strangely likeable Moran. This brilliant novel is well worth reading - as, I imagine, on this evidence, is the rest of McGahern's small oeuvre. 10/10.
Amongst Women is an excellent novel. It is a sort of Tennessee Williams play, transported to rural Ireland of the 1950s. It tells the story of Michael Moran, who had fought in the War of Independence and in the Irish Civil War in the 1920s. The story opens with his imminent demise. Then in a series of flashback narratives (without any chapter headings or structure of that sort), the novel tells the story of this controlling, sometimes violent but always family-oriented man and of his relationship with his second wife, Rose, and with his three daughters and two sons. Moran can be both verbally and physically abusive. There is one chilling scene in which his teenage son Michael runs away rather than experience the corporal punishment that his father is about to hand out to him for missing school to spend time with his girlfriend. The story ends with Moran's death.
Amongst Women is a quiet, unostentatious novel that addresses a number of important themes. These include: the power struggle between parents and children as the latter grow older and become adults themselves; family loyalties; and the role of women in society generally and, in particular, in the family structure. It is written in beautifully clear prose. The characterisation and sense of time and place are spot on. And it is a story in which the reader cares about all the characters - including the often angry, unpredictable but strangely likeable Moran. This brilliant novel is well worth reading - as, I imagine, on this evidence, is the rest of McGahern's small oeuvre. 10/10.
July 8, 2017
I read this as part of The Mookse and the Gripes visit to the Booker shortlist from 1990.
Amongst Women is a carefully drawn study of local community and an insular family (the Morans).
There's lots to applaud, and my only reservation is that I don't feel that McGovern brings any deeper or original insight to the realities and dynamics of close knit family life than the great D.H. Lawrence did in many of his classic works some seventy years before.
There are some memorable descriptions of Michael Moran , a misanthropist though and through:
"Moran was neither rich nor poor, but his hatred of poverty meant that he was never poor but that he and all around him would live as though they were paupers "(10)
"his aversion to the past was as strong as ever" (173)
There are a number of references to customs and traditions that alternately charm and amaze (this is from a time less than thirty years ago, and I'm conscious that local traditions may well still be honoured today)
* selling turf door to door to pay for a trip to the seaside
* the wren-boys
* recitals of the Rosary, the Decade
* covering mirrors, and stopping clocks as a sign of mourning.
Irish lore is endlessly fascinating, and its no surprise that so many great writers and poets come from Ireland, and continue to do so.
A great read for those looking for a considered appreciation of Ireland and the Irish.
Amongst Women is a carefully drawn study of local community and an insular family (the Morans).
There's lots to applaud, and my only reservation is that I don't feel that McGovern brings any deeper or original insight to the realities and dynamics of close knit family life than the great D.H. Lawrence did in many of his classic works some seventy years before.
There are some memorable descriptions of Michael Moran , a misanthropist though and through:
"Moran was neither rich nor poor, but his hatred of poverty meant that he was never poor but that he and all around him would live as though they were paupers "(10)
"his aversion to the past was as strong as ever" (173)
There are a number of references to customs and traditions that alternately charm and amaze (this is from a time less than thirty years ago, and I'm conscious that local traditions may well still be honoured today)
* selling turf door to door to pay for a trip to the seaside
* the wren-boys
* recitals of the Rosary, the Decade
* covering mirrors, and stopping clocks as a sign of mourning.
Irish lore is endlessly fascinating, and its no surprise that so many great writers and poets come from Ireland, and continue to do so.
A great read for those looking for a considered appreciation of Ireland and the Irish.
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