Just get on with it

Septembers are productive when it comes to my book-reading and it was no different this September, even more so because it had two long foreign trips to complete and they tend to sharpen my bookworm acumen.

Anne Enright's "The Gathering", the 2007 Booker, was among my Septemeber choices, a bleak, unforgiving account of a troubled childhood in a large Irish family by Veronica, one of the surviving daughters. She brings her uneasy memories forward as she goes about organising her brother's funeral and the wake after Liam commits suicide by throwing himself into the sea. With twelve children, the Hegartys never managed to create an ideal growing-up environment, with their mother clearly giving privilege to the boys, their father exerting cold and strict authority, in particular in religious and sexual matters, and all the siblings trying to find their own way quickly, however erroneously, rather than supporting each other.

Bruised and scarred for life, Veronica goes on to start a family of her own, with two lovely daughters, a prosperous husband and a neat house, but she continues to be plagued by insecurities and phobias, all rooted in her early life. At the deepest and most traumatic, she harbours the scene she witnessed as a little girl in her granny's house when a family friend, a regular guest there, sexually molested her brother Liam, a young boy then. Barely established in her mind's eye, this distressing picture provides evidence and explanation for his disorientation and instability in later life. Except for Victoria, no one is aware of what happened then in the grandma's house and, to make matters worse, no one seems interested in digging out these old wrongs. In Victoria's judgement, that eventful day triggered what later came to become a failed fate of her beloved brother, including his suicide.

It's dark literature, full of hurt and unhealed grievances, some of which may strike a reader as possibly over the top, but what this book portrays is a troubled psychology of an adult woman in search of her unsettled childhood. Almost by definition, it has to carry a load of distrust and paranoia. I found this focus on individual experience, however aching and troubling, a true advantage and a nice change from other, overgeneralised books I've recently read. It reads like a cathartic confession, a well-hidden diary of a person who is looking for a vent for too much she's been through.

In fairness, it's not just memories of injustice and neglect, but a handful of happier moments or simply daily chores as well, which makes it easier to follow and identify with.

Lots of language worth remembering, but unluckily I missed my notebook most of the time. Parts of what I noted down:
+ I can't for the life of me remember,
+ a flu jab,
+ to hump may mean to fuck,
+ Are you on roaming?,
+ a peaked cap,
+ You get your bloods done = You have your blood test done,
+ You smoke roll-ups,
+ You pass people on the streets,
+ You leave your baby with a child-minder,
+ This is a button fly and this is a finger-stall.