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These stories bring to life a strange Dublin, full of pathos and wry humour. They uncover the workings of a variety of relationships between people, place and time as the characters negotiate their way through love, lust, anger, religious obsession, language and absence.
- GenresShort Stories
248 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2001
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
December 21, 2024
"A book to salute and treasure." Dermot Bolger, Sunday Tribune
"These flawlessly structured yarns are told in such lovingly crafted prose." The Times
"(These) stories are artful indeed - with a rolling, gathering cadence that is mesmerising. The circumstances he examines are wonderfully odd...a stylish, descriptive writer." The Economist
"A wry humour often informs Ridgway's writing and also a gentle understanding of the nuances of human relationships. He is undoubtedly a gifted writer." Irish Times
"Keith Ridgway's characters negotiate their way through love, lust, anger, religious obsession, language and absence, and their stories are told with a mastery of narrative and dialogue which makes this a refreshing, memorable and often very funny collection." From the back cover of the 2001 Faber and Faber paperback edition.
First things first, I don't know why but many reviewers on GR began reading this book under the impression it was a novel. I can't imagine why as the synopsis on the back of the book, see above, and on Amazon, GR and every other site including the publishers made clear this was a collection of stories. That there is a table contents listing the 12 stories should have been another giveaway. So let me be clear this is a collection of short stories, not a novel nor a collection of interlinked stories that form a novel.
The second point I need to make clear is that this review will have nothing but praise for this collection. I have reproduced some of the praise Mr. Ridgway has received to reinforce this praise because I can't remember the last time I read such a collection of, mostly, carping, dismissive, petty and just plain ignorantly stupid reviews as I encountered on GR before writing this review. Ignore them, or if you must, read them and then ignore them.
This is a collection of wonderful stories by a magnificent writer. The stories are everything you would want and some of them are just devastatingly beautiful, like 'Off Vico' or just devastating like 'Shame'. I will provide no details or spoilers, either you read them, and agree or disagree with me, or you don't. If the reviews and details I began this review with do not, along with my words of praise, enthuse you with a unquenchable desire to read these stories my dribbling out a few plot details won't make any difference.
It has taken me a long time to read Mr. Ridgway's story collection and novels although I know he has been publishing remarkable work for some time. I read his wonderful stories 'Graffiti' and 'Watling Street Bridge' in the Brian Finnegan's 1994 anthology 'Quare Fellas' (as far as I know those stories were not published elsewhere and provide two compelling reasons, along with the ten stories by other authors, to buy this anthology) and 'The Problem With German', in this collection, first appeared in A.S. Byatt's 1997 'New Writing 6' anthology. When I started this review I knew, that aside from praising the quality of Ridgway's stories, I would need to disabuse everyone of the idea that he was in any way, shape or form a 'gay' writer. Don't imagine that there are not gays in his stories or that gay sex does not happen nor are the rituals or traditions and habits of gay sex ignored. They are there as is the rising and setting of the sun; something that does not require remarking, explaining or justifying. These stories of Ridgway's from the 1990's reminded me of the stories 'The Colours of Man', 'Father' and 'The Mercyfucker' by, Micheal O Conghailie and the novel 'Snapshots' by Jarlath Gregory which were also published in the 90s.
Like O Conghailie and Gregory, Ridgway puts established American 'Gay' writers like Ethan Mordden, whose fourth 'Buddies' cycle novel 'Some Men are Lookers' came out in 1997, into the wastebin of literary history. The posturing navel gazing requirement of writers, like Mordden, to define, explain and justify being 'gay' is so out of date compared to Ridgway as to be embarrassing. I don't say that Irish writers like Ridgway are unique, I think he and many non American writers have simply moved on and in literature, as in so many others things, the USA is looking less like the future and more like, not so much a nightmare we a trying to escape, but a cul de sac we emerged from a long time ago.
I hope some of that helps to explain why Ridgway is so brilliant. I adore the short story form and Ireland has produced many masters of the genre and Keith Ridgway is amongst the best of Irish, or indeed European short story writers.
"These flawlessly structured yarns are told in such lovingly crafted prose." The Times
"(These) stories are artful indeed - with a rolling, gathering cadence that is mesmerising. The circumstances he examines are wonderfully odd...a stylish, descriptive writer." The Economist
"A wry humour often informs Ridgway's writing and also a gentle understanding of the nuances of human relationships. He is undoubtedly a gifted writer." Irish Times
"Keith Ridgway's characters negotiate their way through love, lust, anger, religious obsession, language and absence, and their stories are told with a mastery of narrative and dialogue which makes this a refreshing, memorable and often very funny collection." From the back cover of the 2001 Faber and Faber paperback edition.
First things first, I don't know why but many reviewers on GR began reading this book under the impression it was a novel. I can't imagine why as the synopsis on the back of the book, see above, and on Amazon, GR and every other site including the publishers made clear this was a collection of stories. That there is a table contents listing the 12 stories should have been another giveaway. So let me be clear this is a collection of short stories, not a novel nor a collection of interlinked stories that form a novel.
The second point I need to make clear is that this review will have nothing but praise for this collection. I have reproduced some of the praise Mr. Ridgway has received to reinforce this praise because I can't remember the last time I read such a collection of, mostly, carping, dismissive, petty and just plain ignorantly stupid reviews as I encountered on GR before writing this review. Ignore them, or if you must, read them and then ignore them.
This is a collection of wonderful stories by a magnificent writer. The stories are everything you would want and some of them are just devastatingly beautiful, like 'Off Vico' or just devastating like 'Shame'. I will provide no details or spoilers, either you read them, and agree or disagree with me, or you don't. If the reviews and details I began this review with do not, along with my words of praise, enthuse you with a unquenchable desire to read these stories my dribbling out a few plot details won't make any difference.
It has taken me a long time to read Mr. Ridgway's story collection and novels although I know he has been publishing remarkable work for some time. I read his wonderful stories 'Graffiti' and 'Watling Street Bridge' in the Brian Finnegan's 1994 anthology 'Quare Fellas' (as far as I know those stories were not published elsewhere and provide two compelling reasons, along with the ten stories by other authors, to buy this anthology) and 'The Problem With German', in this collection, first appeared in A.S. Byatt's 1997 'New Writing 6' anthology. When I started this review I knew, that aside from praising the quality of Ridgway's stories, I would need to disabuse everyone of the idea that he was in any way, shape or form a 'gay' writer. Don't imagine that there are not gays in his stories or that gay sex does not happen nor are the rituals or traditions and habits of gay sex ignored. They are there as is the rising and setting of the sun; something that does not require remarking, explaining or justifying. These stories of Ridgway's from the 1990's reminded me of the stories 'The Colours of Man', 'Father' and 'The Mercyfucker' by, Micheal O Conghailie and the novel 'Snapshots' by Jarlath Gregory which were also published in the 90s.
Like O Conghailie and Gregory, Ridgway puts established American 'Gay' writers like Ethan Mordden, whose fourth 'Buddies' cycle novel 'Some Men are Lookers' came out in 1997, into the wastebin of literary history. The posturing navel gazing requirement of writers, like Mordden, to define, explain and justify being 'gay' is so out of date compared to Ridgway as to be embarrassing. I don't say that Irish writers like Ridgway are unique, I think he and many non American writers have simply moved on and in literature, as in so many others things, the USA is looking less like the future and more like, not so much a nightmare we a trying to escape, but a cul de sac we emerged from a long time ago.
I hope some of that helps to explain why Ridgway is so brilliant. I adore the short story form and Ireland has produced many masters of the genre and Keith Ridgway is amongst the best of Irish, or indeed European short story writers.
October 14, 2011
When I started reading Irish writer Keith Ridgway's Standard Time, I was stumped. The first chapter considered a diabolical break-up plan involving abandonment in a foreign city. Then there was something about a drinker who made his income from a wealthy gentleman seeking to vicariously satisfy his murderous impulses. I was confused by the mention of a tallow candle, and had to flip back a few pages to make sure I hadn't misread the bit where two characters fly in an airplane. It was only when the next section turned to a working class mother and son drinking in a Dublin pub that it hit me: this isn't a novel, it's a short story collection.
My confusion may actually be a credit to Ridgway. Standard Time is all over the place in many respects, but it wants to maintain themes - and the fact that I continued to believe that such diverse characters in such different times would actually all be woven together into a novel is a measure of success on that count.
Unfortunately, that's not enough.
There are some strong pieces in here, good short stories which hinge on the quirks of a character or a nifty little plot twist. The final one, an intriguing little quasi-mystery, even borders on great. But for the most part, Standard Time is dull. Most pieces plod along for a few too many pages and end, nothing ventured nothing gained. The ambitious effort to employ such diversity of characters falls flat, because no matter the superficial differences and the author's intention to do otherwise, they each share a similar internal dialogue and worldview. The one constant is the setting, which is Dublin, but for a writer who seems so enthralled to the city, Ridgway utterly fails to create a sense of place in his work.
What most turned me off, however, was the writing itself. His style reminds me of a teenage poet tackling deep dark subject matter. Ridgway refuses to link phrases, resulting in short sentences meant to evoke a sense of drama but coming across as amateurish. 'I knew. I knew it. I knew what he was. He was dead.' that kind of thing works once in awhile, but using it right off the bat through to the end is just plain annoying. Ridgway may come up with some decent stories to tell, but his weakness is the way in which he tells them. And when it comes to writing, there's no weakness more malignant.
My confusion may actually be a credit to Ridgway. Standard Time is all over the place in many respects, but it wants to maintain themes - and the fact that I continued to believe that such diverse characters in such different times would actually all be woven together into a novel is a measure of success on that count.
Unfortunately, that's not enough.
There are some strong pieces in here, good short stories which hinge on the quirks of a character or a nifty little plot twist. The final one, an intriguing little quasi-mystery, even borders on great. But for the most part, Standard Time is dull. Most pieces plod along for a few too many pages and end, nothing ventured nothing gained. The ambitious effort to employ such diversity of characters falls flat, because no matter the superficial differences and the author's intention to do otherwise, they each share a similar internal dialogue and worldview. The one constant is the setting, which is Dublin, but for a writer who seems so enthralled to the city, Ridgway utterly fails to create a sense of place in his work.
What most turned me off, however, was the writing itself. His style reminds me of a teenage poet tackling deep dark subject matter. Ridgway refuses to link phrases, resulting in short sentences meant to evoke a sense of drama but coming across as amateurish. 'I knew. I knew it. I knew what he was. He was dead.' that kind of thing works once in awhile, but using it right off the bat through to the end is just plain annoying. Ridgway may come up with some decent stories to tell, but his weakness is the way in which he tells them. And when it comes to writing, there's no weakness more malignant.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews