Tag: book-review

In Turbulent Times

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excerpt

‘Susan, that’s unkind.’ Clifford considered Susan rather trying at times.
‘It’s also unkind of you two to get on to shop-talk when we’re out enjoying ourselves,’ Susan countered. ‘Ask her to join us. Let’s give her a good time.’
‘Maybe I will in a moment.’ Clifford took a thoughtful sip of his brandy.
‘I suppose Liam’s looking after the children,’ said Fiona.
‘Or Nora’s mother is,’ Clifford suggested.
‘You mean that pretty girl has children already?’ John could not conceal his surprise.
‘Two of them,’ Fiona answered. ‘A boy and a girl.’
‘She didn’t waste any time,’ Ian remarked.
‘They’re young, of course,’ said Fiona. ‘Four years and two and a half, I believe.’
‘Don’t look now, Ian Anderson,’ said John, ‘but Clifford has just gone to get you a woman: a dark beauty of black, remorseless tragedy.’
‘You’re drunk, John Simpson,’ Susan said. ‘How many sneakies did you have at the bar?’
‘Listen to her, Ian,’ John said. ‘Not a month married and she’s nagging the hell out of me already. Are you sure you really want a wife?’
‘Very sure,’ Ian replied firmly.
‘I don’t imagine that you would be nagging Julian, Catriona,’ John said, ‘when you are only a month into your marriage.’
‘I’d wait for two months,’ said Catriona. Like Ian’s, her voice too was richly seasoned with Fiona’s lost ‘oats and haggis.’
‘You’d better watch that one, Julian,’ John warned light-heartedly.
‘What Clifford didn’t tell you,’ Fiona began, leaning forward to speak in confidence, ‘is that he delivered that young lady—at her birth, I mean—when he was barely two months into his internship. It was a very difficult placenta previa delivery that required a C-section under the most primitive conditions. He almost lost the mother and the baby too.’
‘Good old Clifford,’ said John. ‘A born surgeon and one of the best we have in the country.’
‘But the sad result of Clifford’s first major surgery,’ Fiona said, ‘is that the mother was left unable to bear children. Clifford blames himself for that. Unfairly, I think. Given his age and inexperience at the time, he did well to save the lives of both the mother and her baby. But he rarely talks about it. He has received both high commendation and strong condemnation from the local doctors in the area.’

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Fury of the Wind

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usual from the heat and being on them all day, were propped on an
ottoman.
“I really am vexed with you, Will.”
“Oh?” Will did not look up from the prize list in his hand.
“Yes, you certainly were not using your head when you put that
Fielding woman to work in the same booth as Jean McKinnon.”
Will leaned over and switched on the lamp beside his chair.
“Damn it, Molly, I’m not in the mood to argue.”
“I don’t intend to argue,” Molly said in a tone Will recognized as
being sarcastically sweet, “because you must have realized by now
that you were in the wrong.”
Will looked at her over the top of his eyeglasses. “If giving the girl
a chance to get to know the town women was wrong, then I plead
guilty. As a matter of fact, now that you’ve mentioned Sarah, I’ll tell
you I’ve been thinking of asking her to join the Agricultural Association.”
His eyes twinkled mischievously. “With her background
she’ll make a great secretary.”
Molly’s mouth fell open then clamped shut with a click of her
dentures. “Will Andrews,” she gasped, “you wouldn’t dare.”
“Why wouldn’t I?’
“You know perfectly well why. Not one of the town women would
ever have anything to do with the Association again, and you know it.”
“Then it would be their loss, not mine.” He felt his bile rising.
“Anyway, none of you even know Sarah. What’ve you got against
her except that she married Ben Fielding?”
“Well, that’s it, isn’t it? She married Ben Fielding, and only a
coarse woman or a slut would have considered doing that.”
“Then,” said Will mildly, “there must have been sluts in Nimkus
long before Sarah arrived.”
Molly sprang to her feet, her lower lip trembling. Turning her
back to him she strode, with all the dignity she possessed, to the
bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Will watched her over
the top of his gold rims.
Oh drat, why wouldn’t she talk about it, even after all these years?
“Oh, you’re an old fool, Andrews,” he muttered under his breath.
He should know by now that needling her never got him anywhere.
He sighed and looked down at his papers.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

The Unquiet Land

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NINE
Finn MacLir lay in a plain wooden box in the dark, still winter of death. He wore his navy-blue fisherman’s jersey and trousers and his best black boots. Harry and Ted Robinson, the undertakers from Lisnaglass, had laid out the body and, with Michael’s help, had carried the heavy coffin down the stairs. It stood for three days on trestles in the sitting room where the sofas and chairs had been pushed aside to make room for it. Mother Ross and Finn’s twin daughters had held vigil over the corpse, with Finn’s closest friends in attendance. It was a quiet, solemn wake for one renowned—and excoriated—for his regular parties.
Now the coffin lay on two ropes beside the open grave where the two Robinsons and two of their assistants stood silently, heads bowed respectfully, hands clasped in front of them. Around the grave men stood in sombre suits and black ties, hats in their hands, their tanned faces clean and almost shining, like those of boys going to Sunday school. Some spoke to neighbours in hushed, reverent tones. A cool breeze blew in from the sea, shivering the short grass of the old graveyard behind the ruins of Killyshannagh church where sheep grazed unconcerned at a distance from the men assembled around the grave. A polished granite headstone bore the graved inscription, Roisin MacLir, neé Corrigan, 1858-1892. Finn’s name would be added later.
Dressed in a black suit with a knotted black tie, Clifford Hamilton stepped forward. “I have the duty and the honour of saying a few words about the man lying in death before us.” He glanced around at the faces of the forty or fifty men standing in front of him. He felt that the unfortunate Padraig, Finn’s adopted son, should have been here, making this farewell speech to his earthly father. Or Seamus Slattery or Ignatius Sweeney who had known Finn for so many years. Or the more experienced, respected Dr Starkey. “I say ‘honour’,” he continued reluctantly, “without hesitation or qualification. Because Finn MacLir was one of the greatest men it has been my honour to have known. He was a close friend of my father and my father’s family, but he was a friend of rich and poor. Whether a man was a lawyer, a banker, a farmer, or a fisherman made no difference to Finn.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

In Turbulent Times

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‘And Dervla?’
‘Thriving.’ Danny escorted Caitlin into the yard and closed the iron gate behind them. ‘Motherhood suits her. And every day this week she’s had her friend from the cottage visiting.’
Caitlin stopped walking. ‘Her friend from the cottage?’
‘Connie. She and Dervla go way back. They were at school together in Lisnaglass.’
‘Didn’t Connie go home to Belfast with Robert?’
‘No. Robert’s coming back on Monday, so Connie decided to stay in the cottage. Have a short holiday. I would have thought you knew.’
‘Michael must have forgotten to mention it.’ Caitlin turned to the back door of the farmhouse, a frown on her forehead. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Danny. Regards to Dervla.’
‘Thanks, Caitlin. Yes, tomorrow bright and early. Good evening to you.’
Caitlin entered the scullery, placed the eggs on a shelf, and started to make tea for her and Michael. She paused occasionally to look up the hillside, but she could not see the cottage from the scullery window.
Michael came in an hour later, greeted Caitlin with a kiss, and washed and dried his hands at the sink. ‘We’ll finish the shearing tomorrow,’ he said. ‘There’s only a few left in the catching pen.’
‘I don’t know why you don’t hire a professional shearing team,’ Caitlin remarked. ‘There are enough of them around.’
‘I’ve been shearing sheep since I was seventeen,’ said Michael. ‘I can handle it myself. And Danny’s good with the shears too. If we had a bigger operation I might build a shearing shed.’
‘You’ll be glad the shearing’s all done, though, won’t you?’ said Caitlin.
Michael filled a tin mug with water from the tap and leaned his haunches against the sink. ‘Ay, that I will.’ Then he drank thirstily.
‘Danny was tired when I met him on his way home.’
‘He’s worked hard this week.’
‘You didn’t tell me Connie was staying in the cottage on her own since Robert left on Wednesday.’
‘Didn’t I? Didn’t you see her in the loaney? She’s been going down to visit Dervla every day.’
‘I must have missed her,’ said Caitlin. ‘Anyway, let’s eat.’
If Caitlin had had any suspicions about Michael and Connie Hanlon, remembering how Connie had come on to him in the square in Corrymore on Tuesday, she did not show them. She wondered how she would react…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Savages and Beasts

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With the help of the two constables they placed the body
in a plastic bag and carried it to their car. Soon they drove away to
the lab. The two constables left in their cruiser after Ron promised
to come back next day for a more detailed examination. They
still had to find the knife in question. Soon as they left Sister
Gladys with the help of Mary cleaned up the floor off the blood
stains. Father Jerome advised everyone to go and lie down it was
a very hectic day full of sadness and the unexpected passing of
Father Thomas at the hands of a brute.
George the cook reached Anton’s house in five minutes
of a fast walk. Not wanting to risk waking up Anton’s parents he
walked to the back and knocked at the basement door. Anton
opened. He looked at the cook with surprise written on his eyes.
The cook walked inside and in one breath, as if he had recanted
in his mind the whole sentence many times he informed Anton
about Father Thomas’ killing and who the killer was and where
he along with his sister were this very moment.
Anton was dumbfounded. He knew the youth, Marcus,
would someday take revenge on the misfortunes and abuses him
and his sister suffered under the rules of the Residential School,
however he didn’t expected it to happen so soon.
George told him the youth had thrown the knife he took
from George’s kitchen in the water of Thompson River and asked
what they could do for the two youths. Anton didn’t know what to
do and looking at George he realized he didn’t have a clue either.
Then as if an epiphany struck Anton he said,
“Let’s go; I know where to take them,” and with that they
both got in Anton’s truck and drove back to George’s place. They
found the two youths who looked scared and cold.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

In Turbulent Times

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‘Oh I’m in for the long haul, Caitlin. I’ve signed up for twenty-five years. Army life suits me.’
‘You won’t go back to the fishing then?’
‘No,’ Tom replied. ‘The Drumard Maid, your father’s old boat, the one my father bought, she has long since gone. Sold for scrap and probably did her bit for the war effort. No, I’m going to stay in the army.’ Then he turned to his companion. ‘Do you remember Gerard Sweeney, Caitlin? I know you do, Seamus.’
‘I don’t know if I would have recognised you, Gerard,’ Caitlin declared. ‘You’ve been in America a long time.’
‘Not too long,’ said Gerard. ‘Ten years. I was eighteen. Finbar got the farm, and I got sent out to the colonies.’
‘Better not let any Yank hear you say that,’ Seamus warned light-heartedly. ‘You wanted to go to America, if I remember rightly.’
‘Best decision I ever made, Seamus. I love it out there. Married a beautiful woman. I’ve a son aged six and a daughter aged four, a house, a car, a good job when I go back. I’m one lucky guy.’
‘Gerard likes that chick that Michael’s dancing with,’ Tom said. ‘He wants an introduction.’
‘You’re married, Gerard Sweeney,’ Caitlin scolded mockingly. ‘And so is she.’
‘And she’s here with her husband,’ Seamus added.
Tom slapped his friend on the back. ‘Too bad, Gerry, old sod. You’ll have to wait till you’re back in California.’
‘Lots of time, Tommy, my bold soldier laddie,’ Gerard said. ‘As Caitlin has pointed out, this party could go on all night, and what chick can resist a man in uniform?’
‘You’re a reprobate, Gerard Sweeney.’ Tom looked at Caitlin. ‘Don’t listen to him, Caitlin. He’s big-headed like most Yanks. They think they’re God’s gift to humanity.’ Tom paused to pull a swig from his bottle of beer. ‘Well, we just came over to say hello. I’ll call up to the house, Caitlin, before I leave. Have a chat with you and Michael, if he ever let’s go of that girl. And I want to see Nora as well.’
‘She’ll be happy to see you, Tom. And bring Gerard with you.’
‘I don’t know if I should introduce Gerry to Nora. She’s much too pretty.’
‘She’s married too, Tom. Remember.’

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

The Circle

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It’s evening in Baghdad and Ibrahim is in his study talking to Rassan about what
they have to attend to the next day. Ibrahim is not feeling his best since the morning
and wonders why. He has finished taking the new drugs, it’s not the
side-effects that are bothering him, but he has not been his regular self since this
morning. Something is bothering him and he doesn’t know what.
The week has gone by. Talal and Emily have taken another trip to Falluza,
where Talal visited his family once more as promised and met with Aesha’s
fiancée and his grandfather. Emily had the opportunity to see the condition of
his family home; Talal showed her exactly where he found the charred bodies of
his mother and father in the spring of 2004, and she now has a better
understanding of what it means to lose both parents at the same time and Talal’s
reason to hate. She knows it comes to everybody quite naturally when they get
hurt. She loves Talal dearly and loves the idea of helping him in whatever way
possible, but she doesn’t know how. She only knows she wants to stay with him
as long as it lasts, no matter what.
They don’t plan to go anywhere for the next few days unless they go with
Rassan when he goes to do his shopping for the party Ibrahim has arranged for
Wednesday. They’re to leave for Los Angeles on Friday afternoon. Most of their
time is spent relaxing in lounge chairs in the sunshine, gathering rays, as Talal
says, or getting some tan, as Emily calls it. She looks forward to showing off her
tan to Cathy when they return home. She’s already a bit brown; somewhat darker
than the day she came to Iraq. Talal has warned her several times not to stay in
the sun too long, but she doesn’t listen to him; fortunately, the sun is not as
strong this time of year.
They have had their dinner a couple of hours earlier and are sitting on the
balcony enjoying the peaceful sounds of the night which is approaching slowly
like a dark shroud, covering the plains and sand dunes one by one. A feeling of
peace takes over the whole area; this is the peace that everyone wishes for and
wants to keep for the rest of their lives.
“Well, my sweet Emily, what’s on your mind?”
“Oh Talal, this has been the most beautiful holiday of my life. It truly has
touched me in a variety of ways; it is a different world here and a different way of
life. I just cannot express it in words.”
“Then you are happy we took this trip?”
“More than happy, I’m elated. I love you so much.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

In Turbulent Times

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Nora never let Joe know that they had been espied that night. She continued to write her long letters every week, letters in which she tried to hide her sadness and her melancholy and her bitter disappointment. Three months after Joe’s departure she was pregnant again, and that added to her bitterness. But she hid her gall from Joe. She did not want him to think she was accusing him of failing her. Joe wrote sad, serious letters with only an occasional light or amusing remark. But they were letters full of tenderness and love, like those he used to write before he learned of Nora’s marriage. It was almost as if the marriage had never happened, as if Joe and Nora were the lovers they had been before, with their own marriage to look forward to when the war was over. Nora realised that this was a fantasy to which Joe clung to help him through the bloody butcher days of war, the black, tense nights of watch and wait and pray. She gave him what he needed. She wrote what he wanted to read. She almost came to believe in it herself. Nor was it difficult. That they were both as deeply in love as ever was true and needed no deception. That they could ever enjoy that love outside of their passionate letters was where they lived in a soothing fantasy.
As time passed Joe’s letters became more morbid. He was losing his friends one by one but kept referring to a very old companion who was with him still, who never left his side. This old companion was never named, and it was some time before Nora realised who the companion was. In one of his letters Joe wrote:
He’s been with me since that day your father pulled me out of the harbour. He fought over me with Dr Starkey when I had pneumonia and he lost that time. He wants me to go with him somewhere, but I just turn to him and say, “I’m sorry, friend; but I have this girl back in Ireland and I’m going to her first. We have a lot to do, this girl and I. I hope you can wait a bit longer.” He’s waiting, my darling, but he’s becoming impatient. How long can this war last?’
Joe was excited about a posting to a Buckley-class frigate, the HMS Bullen. On 6 December 1944, the Bullen was torpedoed by U-Boat U-775, in the frigid waters of Pentland Firth, northwest of Scotland. The Bullen broke in two and sank in two hours. Of the one hundred and sixty-eight crew members on board, seventy-one went down with the ship. One of those lost was Chief Petty Officer Joseph Ignatius Carney. His turn had come. And this time there was no Michael Carrick to pull him out of the icy water.
A few weeks later Nora gave birth to a daughter whom she christened Josephine Siobhan.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

In Turbulent Times

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‘You’re too smart for them, Joe.’ Michael gulped a mouthful of tea that was still quite warm. ‘Your mother says you’ve been in America.’
‘Yes. I did a bit of travelling there.’
‘Must be a great country.’
‘Yes, it is. I loved what I saw of it. I told Nora that I was going to live in the States when the war was over.’
‘That’ll prepare her,’ Caitlin said in a heavy voice.
‘So you’re going to become a Yank, Joe?’ Michael said.
‘I think so.
‘Good for you. That’s where the future is, I’d say.’
‘Yes,’ Joe agreed. ‘That’s where the future is. In fact I’d say the future was already there.’
‘Grab your share of it, Joe. And good luck to you, son.’
҂
Nora waited anxiously as the days passed. She hoped heart and soul, more fervently than she had ever hoped for anything, that Joe had made her pregnant. She even prayed for it in church, pleading with God, who had robbed her of so much, to grant her this one compensating favour. And then she remembered that God did not reward sin but punished it. Would He punish her? Could He, who had already punished her so cruelly, continue to show only heartless vindictive ness towards her? The time of the month, as Nora reckoned it, had been most propitious for conception. The occasion itself, so beautiful, so transcendental, so highly infused with the passion of pure and overpowering love, could not have been other than providential. If she never had another possession in her life, Nora wanted Joe’s child with a ferocity that almost choked her.
‘If I can’t have him,’ she prayed, ‘allow me to have his son or his daughter, to love and care for as I would have loved and cared for Joe himself. Oh God Almighty, harden not Your heart this time. Wipe from Your mind all memory of the wrong we did to attain this end and give to our undying love, so true that only You could have inspired it, the divine consummation it deserves.’
Nora was tense, anxious, irritable and easily upset. She had a violent row with her mother that began with a purely innocent and casual remark from Caitlin about Owen Joe’s being too warmly dressed.
‘You’re one to be giving advice about looking after babies,’ Nora shouted heartlessly. ‘I’m surprised your incompetence as a mother didn’t kill me.’

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

In Turbulent Times

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…about his belief that there were two St Patricks. He has historical evidence that he says supports his theory. He won’t be home till tomorrow evening.’
Joe turned his head away from her in indecision and stared into the red-hot heart of the fire in the range.
‘Joe, I want to have your baby.’
His head jerked round, and he looked at her with confused incredulity in his eyes, unsure of himself. ‘Nora, think of Liam, your husband.’
‘Why must you be always so considerate of others, Joe?’ Nora asked. ‘Think of me now. I love you. I want to have your baby. I want something that is yours to hold on to and to cherish for the rest of my life, something that is part of you and part of me that will be a living memorial of our love. Please, Joe. I need this.’
He placed an open palm on each side of her face and looked into her deep, dark eyes where tears glimmered like raindrops on a leaf. He knew that what she was asking him to do was sinful, and part of him recoiled from it. But his moral reluctance was brushed aside by the strong, sexual urges of a twenty-nine- year-old male, more especially of a male who spent most of his time at sea. ‘All right, I’ll stay,’ he said quietly and kissed her on the forehead.
‘I’ll put Owen Joe in his cot and wet a pot of tea,’ Nora said. ‘You can sample the barmbrack I baked this afternoon. We even have home-churned butter to put on it. A gift from Janet’s mother.’
They sat quietly by the fire, Joe in the rocking chair, Nora at his feet, her back against his legs, a book open in her hands. Upstairs the baby slept in the cot at the foot of Nora and Liam’s bed. Outside, the sky was still bright, the setting of the sun delayed by the manipulation of the British war-time summer clock. The limpid blue of the daytime sky was gently suffused with a pale golden glow that spread from the west. A couple of early stars glittered in the east, and Venus shone with a steady gleam in the wake of the lowering sun.
‘You’re going to read me a bedtime story, are you?’ Joe gently stroked Nora’s soft black hair.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I want you to read to me.’
‘You do, do you?’ Joe said lightly. ‘What have you got there?’ He took the open book that Nora reached to him and flicked the cover over. ‘J.M. Synge.’
‘Yes. Poor Synge,’ Nora said sadly. ‘He was thirty-five when he fell in love with a girl of nineteen, an actress called Molly All good, the daughter of a “Dour Orangeman” who objected to his children’s being brought up…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270