"Some moments stay with you for a lifetime"

Phoenix Park.

As I said in the previous post, I was already planning my April visit to Ireland in November or so. Hence, I received a thick lovely package of Irish novels as a Christmas gift. Half of them were well-known classics. When I opened the parcels and saw the covers, I could easily recognize the names, the faces, even predict the themes. But two of them were a real mystery to me! They were contemporary, needless to say. OK, at this point I have to confess I am – or have been – more of a reader of classics than of contemporary fiction. I am working to change this. It is essential to possess a well-grounded base; otherwise you cannot walk steadily on the contemporary Earth, because nothing will make sense. But if you do not pay enough attention to your surroundings, your contemporaries, you will be lost, too. But there are so many classics, and some of them so thick, and they sound so contemporary as well that I always end up caught up in a whirlwind within a labyrinth of melancholic trees from which I do not want to escape. Yeah, escapism, that's the word! But once outside the labyrinth I realise that labeling is always stupid. A book is a book.

Christmas 2011

However, I admit the first time I visited Ireland – last year – I was not able to recognize the name of any single Irish contemporary fiction author. Well, only Neil Jordan, but for his movies. That was another great discovery... Jordan the novelist! Anyway, that was very frustrating. But now that I think of it, maybe a contemporary novel can change your life more profoundly than a classic one. Its challenge is bigger. It has to both carry the weight of the past – the tradition – and provide feedback on the coexisting world, helping you find your place in the here and now. I don't know. I am just guessing. Having said that, let's mention the name of these previously mysterious men: Seamus Deane and Sebastian Barry. Okay, the first maybe 75% of a mystery – I knew him as a literary critic – but from the second one I only kept the surname when I started to read his novel. Silly me kept calling him “Stephen”. I deliberately did not want to google him, nor look at his picture, nor read his biography. You always work best when you are free. Thanks to my effort of keeping him Mr Mystery, my re-visit to Dublin some weeks ago was a bit uncanny! 

My room.

Well! The introduction took me longer than expected. And I even had to cut it down in two to add a lovely picture so that the paragraph is more reader-friendly. The reader, always the reader! After many years of academic claustrophobia, just let me announce to you that the introduction is over and that it is not necessary to include here a thesis. In a very Deane-esque style, I'll define with a word or phrase each paragraph. 

SPOILER-FREE - I have one essential rule before entering the reading process of any novel: both the back-cover or/and the introduction(s), if any, are to be read after the whole process is finished. You cannot imagine how many novels have lost part of its dazzling weight just because I accidentally read these sections first. Damn it! So, I have to say that I was so proud of myself as regards The Secret Scripture! It was just me and the text. With no intertexts whatsoever, no Barry bio, no reviews, no plot summary... no filters whatsoever. You know, the first time you pick up Ulysses, you inevitably know about Nora, about Lucia, about his exile, about his religious views. I think sometimes when dealing with authors like Joyce or Wilde you wish you knew less about their private lives. Prejudices increasing; imagination diminishing, no matter how much the author does to stimulate it. I just cannot stand critics and readers who are paranoid about finding the real-life parallelism to every single line of the novel. Having said that, if I had to choose one word to describe, not the novel, but my whole The Secret Scripture experience, I would choose *magic*. Roseanne more than once describes herself as a cailleach. 

Trees in Belfast.

"(…) as always not an easy task for an ancient cailleach like myself. A cailleach is the old crone of stories, the wise woman and sometimes a kind of a witch" (102) 

WH Smith, Dublin Airport.

I believe she is – she haunts me ever since. But also, her literary father does, Mr Barry. I received the book for Christmas. I chose to read it in February. In a couple of weeks. I chose to chew it slowly. Nevertheless, in April, that is, a couple of weeks ago, I realised the reading process was not finished at all. The final surprise was travelling to Dublin and find the author's name everywhere. In big, thick capital letters. Bestseller, Irish author of the month. I was so naïve, I thought that because of his unique, suave style, his nostalgic themes, he was a rather 'underground' writer, or rather an academic one, with his selected circle of readers. I am sorry, I was an irresponsible reader maybe. But as I've said before, I want to go through any book as naked as possible. But that was a happy surprise for me. How could I have forgotten, Dubliners know their literature! That was not Barcelona! Ha! Irish people read... Spaniards, do not (studies say so, not me!) After reading the novel I was so enchanted by it, I was so satisfied I needed no googling or external reviews. I knew the novel was not so new, but I did not bother to check out if he had new ones. I was already busy reading GB Shaw, if I remember correctly. 

DART to Sandycove.

But I have been googling him often since I returned to Barcelona and I am so proud of him! :) Also, I just found out that the novel I kept seeing advertised in train stations and bookshops during my trip to Dublin came out in summer 2011....And I've just guessed by looking closely at one of my pictures that the ads were for the e-book and paperback edition – the one I got, ignorant as I was of the existence of the hardcover one! :) At the beginning of this paragraph I said I realised in Dublin that The Secret Scripture process wasn't finished. And that is when a (sublime) novel marks the difference. Its reading process never finishes. Keeps coming back to you. Anytime, anywhere. Also, it reads you. The textual desire for it never ends. Makes you come back to it any day any time and read a random quote. Even re-read the whole text. Haunts you, you are so charmed by it your daily life won't look as dull anymore. The text transcends the printed word and gets tattooed on your soul. Because Roseanne exists. Maybe because she is you. Or you are hers. So, needless to say, this review has no spoilers. Maybe just some hints that will sparkle your interest in case you have not read the novel yet. But that's all. I promise! 

Connolly Station

MYSTERY - As a general rule, I believe you cannot tell a book by its cover. But with this case in particular I allowed myself to be superficial. It was love at first sight. I saw the cover of the novel and I decided that was the last book I was going to read, out of the six I received. I wanted Roseanne's evading look to speak to me during the waiting. She received a preferential place in the bookshelf of my desk. There are many editions, of course, as the bestseller it is, but the lovely person who gave me this book chose the cover carefully. As you can see here, the match of deep red with the gold letters is a most beautiful combination. Adds a certain vintage aura to the book. Then, you have that haunting picture of the profile of a mysterious woman with melancholic eyes, hair nicely tied into a bun, and a simple necklace hanging down her neck. So evocative! But of what? Textual desire working at its best! Well, maybe I lied. I said before that the reading process had involved just me and the text, no external stuff. But there was another presence there. That poignant picture. There was that woman in the cover I modelled to be young Roseanne. I am totally against covers which show a clear picture of any face. Isn't that intimidating? Unless it is a picture of the real writer, or a real, historical person the book is dealing with, of course. But in this case, the picture leaves a lot to the imagination. As I've said, it is evocative, it is suggestive of many things which although heart-breaking, we are brave enough to go through. You can tell all that much by its cover. The neck, the bun, the eyes. Enchanting simplicity. Life. Goddess Earth. 

EASON - I was on Connolly Station and when reaching the platform of the DARTs to Sandycove, one of my travelling companions pointed me to Roseanne! There she was at the top of a big rolling ad of Barry's latest book, On Canaan's Side. Our heroine was there to remind people of her real existence and support her creator in his new literary adventure. Lovely. Ah, sure, here I need to mention it was my Roseanne, the one with the golden letters and the bun! How awesome is that? You have to understand, we do not get that in Spain. The ads you normally see on the transportation services are of movies like Battleship or Twilight. Or best-sellers like the Millenium or Harry Potter sagas. To sum up, in Spain good literature is the antonym of best-seller and the other way around! So, I thank Irish readers for making it possible for me to be haunted by Sebastian Barry during my last visit to Dublin. Speaking of Sligo – well, actually I haven't said anything about it yet, so maybe I should mention that this is where the novel takes place. And isn't Sligo the Yeats country? 

“Swift haunts me; he is always just around the next corner” W. B Yeats 

DART to Sandycove

Well, well, Mr Barry, I can just say the same thing about you! :). OK, so the next day: same station, different direction. Connolly to Howth. Barry on every single station. Oh, dear! Can this be real? Once again, there is the profile of an enigmatic female figure looking away from us with the following description: Some moments stay with you for a lifetime. FASCINATING. Back to Dublin in the afternoon I went straight off to O'Connell Street and there Eason made the rest. I was happy :) 

IMPROVISATION - Sebastian Barry is a spellbinding author. When I saw the cover it was love at first sight. When I read the book I became Roseanne. And since back from Dublin I cannot stop thinking about him. On Canaan's Side is now in the place that once belonged to Roseanne. Waiting, looking away from me. I still do not know her name. I know Mr Barry will send me his signal when he thinks I am ready. After all, he guarded me in my last visit to Ireland :) Oh, what to do, what to do? Shall this post just be an introduction to the post I had on mind? I wanted to talk about certain aspects of the novel, and make a comparison between Seamus Deane's Reading in the Dark and Barry's The Secret Scripture. I want this blog to be dynamic and with a strong oral quality. No limits or restrictions. Roseanne is a bit like that in her diary, ain't she? :) So I have to cut it down here. Off to daily life. Oh well.