Grimly Compelling: The Good People

The Good People by Hannah Kent

Picador

Pp. 380

Set in 1825 in South-West Ireland, this novel explores liminal spaces and inexplicable things. In this world many follow the ‘old’ beliefs that children (and adults) could be stolen (swept) by the fairies to be replaced by changelings. Folklore and superstition are important here; herbs and flowers have healing and harmful powers; each chapter is named for one and begins with a botanical pen and ink drawing.

Nóra is caring for her daughter’s child, Micheál, after her own daughter has died. The boy has a disability which prevents him from speaking or walking and, after her husband Martin’s mysterious death at a crossroads (a place of magic), rumours abound that something may be not quite right with child. Nóra hires a servant girl, Mary, to help her to care for Micheál, and when Mary hears gossip from the women at the well that Micheál may be a changeling, she and Nóra enlist the help of Nance, the wise woman in the woods, who is believed to consort with the fairy folk, or the Good People, as they are also known.

This is a traditional battle between female and male energy, where women with knowledge are punished as witches, while men and priests hold all the power. There are glimpses of domestic violence and mental and physical cruelty in the community as the women cower to their husbands. Nóra is isolated in this society and, when there is cold and hunger, she is the last to be considered, leaving her to make wild choices.

We first meet Nance when she turns up at Martin’s wake and begins keening. The new priest, Father Healy, takes an instant dislike to Nance and lectures, against “the old ways that keep Irishmen at the bottom of the pile. ’Tis a new age for Ireland and for the Catholic Church. We’re to be paying our pennies to the Catholic campaign, not to unholy keeners.” Depending on who’s telling the story, Nance is either the “handy woman” or the “interfering biddy” who believes in the potency of the old ways and receives several visitors “mainly the men... who did not trust the doctor or could not afford his labelled tinctures” to whom she supplies herbal remedies.

Brimming with Hardy-esque pathetic fallacy, the novel credits the seasons with paramount importance in an agricultural community. Life is cyclical in its natural rhythms: Nóra and Nance both believe that all is connected in ways the Catholic Church doesn’t encompass. Under the instruction of Nance and with the reluctant assistance of Mary, Nóra tries to return the changeling child to the fairy world by submerging it in the river.

The novel is based on a true story of infanticide in 1826 where an old woman of advanced years known as Anne/Nance Roche was indicted for the wilful murder of Michael Kelliher/Leahy, who had been drowned in the river Flesk. In this version, the final chapters take place in a courtroom, which opens a completely new world, and exacerbates the claustrophobic nature of the valley community. The characters are trapped in crucible of superstition, poverty and geography, with no way out except for torturous ordeals of fire and water.

Hannah Kent writes a grim and atmospheric tale with a compelling style. Both deeply sad and historically interesting there is a lot to appreciate, preferably when read by a warm fire with a tot of strong drink to keep out the cold weather and the bleak spirits.

Friday Five: My Week in Theatre

This has been a busy week. Theatres are back and I'm thrilled! It does mean that all the shows are coming along at once, so here are some brief notes on the things I have seen in the last six days.

1. In Their Footsteps - Ashley Adelman and Infinite Variety Productions, Courtyard Studio: The blurb for this play reads, ‘Based on the true accounts of five extraordinary women, In Their Footsteps explores the experiences of women working in war zones, their struggles to be recognised heroes, their loss of faith, and the friendships they forget in the face of trauma. More than anything, it reminds us of the histories we hear… and importantly, the ones we don’t.’ The five women are engaging and sympathetic with their verbatim accounts of their service in different capacities from nursing to morale boosting (donut dollies) to intelligence work and librarians. Even though the accents are greatly variable (I'm pretty sure one of them isn't even trying), it is still poignant and powerful. We will remember them.
2. Fly By Night - ANU Musical Theatre Collective, Kambri Drama Theatre: I’ve never even heard of it before, but, due to a friends' involvement, I went along to see it. The musical is set around the incident of the mass black-out on the northeast of the USA and Canada in 1965. The structure is based on a narrator who makes several false starts with the story and skips back and forth through time to tell the tale of a love triangle within a circular orbit. It's quite cute and charming and achingly self-aware with songs about becoming a star... or not. Of course I'm biased but my friend (Samuel Farr) was superb and his number, Cecily Smith, about how he met his dear departed wife is a highlight of the show. "Life is not the things that we do; it's who we're doing them with."

3. Keating! - Queanbeyan Players, Belconnen Community Theatre: So, I don't particularly like musicals and I don't know a lot about Australian politics, having moved here in 2012 (all I knew about Paul Keating was that he 'inappropriately' touched the Queen in 1992), so I'm probably not the target market for this. But I loved it. Sarah Hull directs a deceptively simple character-driven cabaret-style show with each performer hitting all the right notes, and my goodness, I could even hear all the words, which is rare enough in a play these days, let alone a musical. From rock to rap, jazz to hip-hop and tango to calypso, the band plays to perfection and the genres and styles are all delivered with respect and ridicule in equal measure. Steven O'Mara oozes charisma and miasma as the titular role, and all the rest of the cast play the supporting and undermining ensemble with chutzpah and panache. This is bloody brilliant!
4. Swansong - Canberra Theatre Centre, Courtyard Studio: Andre de Vanny delivers a powerful performance as Austin 'Occi' Byrne, the illegitimate child of a single mother in the Catholic west of 1960s Ireland. The one-man show draws the audience into his world of explosive emotion and violence. Written by Conor McDermottroe and directed by Greg Carroll, the drama reeks of misplaced testosterone. It is deeply uncomfortable as the audience is encouraged to side with Occi, a man who stalks and punches women, and callously commits murder because he doesn't like a name he is called. The brutal bravado is tempered with charm, humour, and severe undiagnosed mental health issues. Andre de Vanny is excellent at telling his story, but it's not one that should have any excuses.

5. Ruthless! - Echo Theatre Company, The Q, Queanbeyan: What a delight to see a musical featuring six strong roles for women, who each get to shine and compete for the limelight. Eight-year-old Tina Denmark (Jessy Heath) has talent and she is desperate to use it. Her mother Judy (Jenna Roberts) is horrified when she discovers the lengths to which her daughter will go to secure a part in the school play (aided by talent-spotter Sylvia St. Croix played by Dee Farnell), until she discovers it's not just a part; it's the lead! Director Jordan Best brings out the high camp and stereotypical bitchiness of musical theatre performance in this dark comedy homage which is as fun as it is twisted. The vibrant set design by Ian Croker makes us feel like we're in a 1950/60s pop art/ TV sitcom, but there is nothing canned about this laughter. The vocals are stunning; the choreography humorously self-aware; the harmonies are on point; and the Bechdel Test is passed with flying colours.
6. The Wider Earth - Dead Puppet Society, Trish Wadley Production and Glass Half Full Productions, The Playhouse: Charles Darwin's voyage of biological and self discovery aboard HMS Beagle (begun in 1831) is stunningly portrayed in this outstanding production. The ensemble cast moves the story and the scenery forward with aplomb as offices, ships, jungles and downs are conjured up with projections and simple on-stage effects. Finches, giant Galapagos tortoises, fireflies, butterflies, iguanas, turtles, sharks, shoals of fish and a scene-stealing armadillo are represented by skeleton puppets with incredible personality. Tom Conroy leads the cast as the young Charles Darwin full of questioning wonder and wrestling with the science and/or faith dichotomy which still continues to trouble civilization. This is a thoroughly engaging and immersive theatrical experience: highly recommended as a spectacle for all ages to enjoy. 

The Wider Earth

Gently Hurling: After She Left

After She Left by Penelope Hanley

Impact Press

Pp. 337

This novel focusses on three generations of women and in particular the mother/ daughter relationship, but the characterisation is shadowy and they all blend into one. Penelope Hanley obviously has things that she wants to say about Irish immigrants, illegitimacy, art, Sydney, politics, and the Women’s Liberation Movement but the forced plot and the unnatural dialogue does her story a great disservice. The granddaughter, Keira, is trying to do a photo essay project on her grandmother (Deirdre Wild)’s art, but her mother, Maureen, resists saying much about her, creating a sense of mystery. It transpires she had an illegitimate child after an affair with a married man; this is not a scandal today and the consequences of it then aren’t covered well enough for it to merit the supposed shock.

There are ways of blending historical detail seamlessly into a novel, which Penelope Hanley ignores. She uses newspaper articles to fill in details, or clunky discussions about conscription and the Vietnam War; Whitlam’s speeches are transcribed. Neither does the author follow the advice given to every aspiring author of ‘show; don’t tell’. The description of Deirdre’s peripatetic lifestyle reads like a route map, and rather than trying to weave the effect of the artworks into the narrative, Hanley chooses to describe Deidre’s art in a mock newspaper review; a three-page long account of the paintings and the artistic style supposedly from the Sydney Morning Herald.

Queen Elizabeth II officially opening the Opera House on 20th October 1973

Characters discuss sexism in art, and the architecture and politics of the Opera House in a way which is simply unrealistic. Keira won’t go to the opening, because the author wants to shoehorn in her opposition to the monarchy. The frequent discussions about gender roles and how women do all of the “domestic stuff” even when they have a paid job too, are clearly important, but are presented as daughters and mothers lecturing each other with full speeches. It plays to the gallery so strongly I feel as though I’ve been hit over the head with a pop-up placard. Earnest debates about apathy and change read more like a social history textbook, and the writing is turgid as no noun is left with an adjective; no verb without an adverb. “When she let herself in, Lady, in a quick dash of woolly curls and wagging tail, hurled herself gently at Keira, barking ecstatically, her paws on Keira’s thighs.” – can a dash be anything but quick? Can one hurl gently?

Depth is implied through what the characters are reading, perhaps hoping their knowledge and ideas might be inferred; all books are mentioned from Iris Murdoch and Erica Jong to Germaine Greer and Simone de Beauvoir. Apparently constant mention of characters’ outfits is also a substitute for giving them any personality. This could have been an interesting tale but it is submerged in layers of overblown prose, excessive detail, stilted dialogue and indistinguishable characters.

Menacing McCabe

Hello and Goodbye by Patrick McCabe

(Quercus) Pp. 272

The two stories, Hello Mr Bones and Goodbye Mr Rat, share many similar themes and horror tropes. They can be read in either order and they meet in the middle, both literally and metaphorically.  Hello Mr Bones concerns a man who was abused as a boy and later becomes a Christian Brother, only to still be haunted by the undead spirit of his former tormentor. In Goodbye Mr Rat a woman takes the ashes of a man back to his hometown in Ireland to be met by a very unwelcoming committee who cannot forgive his perceived deception and execute their revenge on the hapless woman.

The tales are both narrated by the unhappy dead, who are pursuing and tormenting the living; they have selective, ‘convenient amnesia’ and are highly unreliable. Religion, priests and angels also feature prominently – these are Irish tales, after all. Naturally where there are angels, there is evil and abuse. In Goodbye Mr Rat, Beni Banikin is raised Amish; her mother warns her, “Beware of rogue angels”, and then she meets Gabriel King, former IRA soldier. But although they are heavy on religion, the stories are light on faith: bad things happen to good people for no reason. People act ‘out of character’ and are ‘influenced’ by an evil presence.

Childhood innocence is destroyed through physical abuse, and the perversion of innocent pop culture references. The image of the evil clown and the malignant puppet is equated with the torture of children and Ian Brady. From Sooty and Sweep to Toy Story, the puppets are pulled by strings of malevolence. In a nightmare relating to previous traumatic event, Beni sees grimacing figures as though in masks, “As the commedia dell’arte pictures began to form.”

Shannon Valentine escapes Ireland to live in Manchester in Hello Mr Bones, where he works as a teacher and tries to rebuild his life. Gabriel King heads to America where he lives until dying of prostate cancer in Goodbye Mr Rat. But one can never leave the past behind. Gabriel is warned that ‘A frightful fiend doth close behind him tread’. Poetry from Coleridge, Milton, and particularly Yeats runs through both narratives. 

In mid-life, Yeats became obsessed with Japanese Noh, a form of theatre which utilises a dialogic process between reality and illusion, the living and the dead, artifice and nature, and he adopted this style to reinterpret Celtic myths and ancient symbols. After her mentor explains how, “Noh plays often focus on ghosts seeking release from passionate sins or errors of judgement committed when living”, Beni writes a successful drama based on Yeats’ Noh plays.

The masks of Noh theatre are a recurring theme, and the sense of paranoia is pervasively chilling. Gabriel writes, “There indeed can be few sensations to compare with that of being watched.” Beni is watched by the people inside her head and those who break into her room; Valentine Shannon is watched by Balthazar Bowen, both when he was alive and now he is dead. Balthazar killed himself after Shannon informed on him, Gabriel turned informant, and there is a terror in coming forward and telling the truth.

McCabe is certainly macabre. These tales are as psychologically disturbing as his novel, Winterwood. It seems that he has an extremely bleak outlook on life, so it is calculated and creepy when he expresses, “What a magnificent place, I really have to say, this wondrous world in which we all wander.”

A Stranger Comes to Town

Astray by Emma Donoghue

(Picador)

Emma Donoghue’s collection of fifteen short stories is all about changing situations; leaving places and immigration. In her afterword she explains, “By long tradition, Irish writers emigrate. Not always, of course, not nowadays – but still, many of us fly the coop. It’s a small island, after all. It’s rare to find Irish writers who haven’t spent at least a few years abroad or who don’t pass half of their time at foreign universities.”

Whether it is the elephant handler in Man and Boy who has to take his charge from a zoo in England to a performing circus in America, or the woman in The Widow’s Cruse who pretends her husband is dead and presents his will, allowing her to come into a fortune and emigrate as a widow; all of these characters explore new worlds. 

All of these people, and they are usually women, remain outcasts in their new country. In Last Supper at Browns a white woman in Texas kills her abusive husband and goes on the run with her slave. In The Long Way Home a nomadic woman returns straying husbands to their wives who are trying to raise their families.

A man is tortured by paranoid hallucinations in The Lost Seed, and accuses others of lewd acts in a puritan community (Cape Cod 1639) in which he is despised. A boy becomes a ‘man’ in The Hunt when he is forced to rape a girl he has befriended as a casualty of war. Emma Donoghue explains the dual meaning of her collection: “Straying has always had a moral meaning as well as a geographical one, and the two are connected. If your ethical compass is formed by the place you grow up, which way will its needle swing when you’re far from home?”

All of the tales are based on true records, whether from diaries, letters, or newspaper cuttings, from the bunch of counterfeiters whose party is infiltrated by an undercover agent when they break into Lincoln’s tomb in The Body Swap, to the woman in The Gift who gives her child into what she thinks of as foster care until she can afford to support her, but meanwhile the family with whom she is placed adopt her as their own. No one wins in this heartbreaking situation, told through letters to the agency from both sides.

Emma Donoghue explores all these disparate tales and draws them together with themes of belonging, alienation and difference. Everyone is a traveller through life; we are all a little bit strange; and we all deserve compassion and to grant it to others. We may all be straying sheep, biblical or black, but hopefully there is a welcoming fold for all of us.

Friday Five: Not at home

It was St Patrick's Day earlier this week. If you live in an English-speaking country, you will have noticed by the plethora of plastic Paddies pouring into and stumbling out of fake Irish bars. It is romantic to claim Irish ancestry and to hark back to the Emerald Isle. Statistically, many more people have English heritage, and yet they don't bang on about it as it isn't trendy, and far fewer people know the date of England's patron saint Day. 

Don't get me wrong; there are a lot of true Eireann folk out there (or here) and they do indeed celebrate their national day, as well they should, but they are the ones who don't wear stupid hats exhorting strangers to kiss them by dint of their ethnicity, or put green food dye into everything. The population of Ireland is apparently 6.3 million, but there are an estimated 80 million people around the world with Irish forebears. In Australia, those of Irish descent are of a higher percentage of the population than in any other country.

Similarly, when hordes of uncouth Aussies drape themselves in flags while overseas and insist  that their country is the best in the world, one wonders why they are all working in pubs in London then. Brits abroad also have a terrible reputation for boorish behaviour. There seems to be a need to flee your own country and then assert its supposed superiority elsewhere. While this is admittedly highly annoying, it is worth remembering that many of these people were originally displaced due to horrific events such as famine, conflict, poverty and persecution.

When I became a New Zealand citizen, I did not have to renounce my British citizenship. I wouldn't have done that. Other nationalities (particularly those from African countries) did have to relinquish their birth nationality for their chosen abode. For them this must have been a huge deal as they stood solemnly in national dress and took an oath of fidelity, investing in their new future. 

I respect their decision and their dignity and can only imagine how hard it must be to leave a country irrevocably behind. I am forever grateful that I did not have to and I may travel the world with my citizenship unquestioned. I know that my decision to travel is based on choice rather than necessity, and I do not have to shout this from the rooftops.

At a co-ordination meeting on international migration in 2012, Jean Christophe Dumont delivered a paper entitled Global profile of diasporas. These figures relate to that paper.

5 Highest percentage rates of emigration in OECD countries:

1. Jamaica (32.8%)
2. Albania (26.5%)
3. Trinidad & Tobago (23.3%)
4. El Salvador (20.1%)
5. Ireland (16.2%)

NB: Puerto Rico, although not in the OECD had a 30.2% rate of emigration, and New Zealand comes in at ninth with 12.2%