Customer Reviews

The Deposition of Father McGreevy

5 star:		(5)
4 star:		(7)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

This is an original and fascinating story of an isolated Irish village which suffers a series of tragedies during the early forties that leads to its demise. A caring priest tells the tale of a terrible winter during which the five young women of the village die. This tragedy casts suspicions on the occupants of the village from the larger community at the bottom of the mountain, suspicions which continue to be fed by the primitive behavior of a damaged young man. The destruction and cruelties that result from innuendo and rumor build and begin to impact the good men of the village. An absorbing, wonderfully written story set in a bleak but fascinating time and place.

A hauntingly beautiful mystery, with page-turning suspense, detailing the death of an Irish village and the unfolding of scandalous secrets. O'Doherty is a master, who has written a book of unsurpassed eloquence, laced with wisdom and wit. Wonderful characters, etched with extraordinary psychological insight and sympathy. An homage to the beauty of language, as well as an extremely important slice of history. While specific to a particularly fascinating time and place, O'Doherty reveals the human condition in all of its complexity, with a tenderness so often lacking in contemporary literature--the sensibility at work in this book is one of its most attractive features. The book is a work of art--a cliche O'Doherty would never employ.

This book puts a dagger close to the heart of old Ireland. It's as sure in that as the roads and by-passes that now saw through the towns and villages of the Republic: Dev is truly dead. O'Doherty's book is riveting as a story and a piece of poetic prose writing. Whoever imagined describing a face as "like vinegar"? Its real coup, however, is in the way it neatly captures the past and slays it before our very eyes. Sure, there's a certain amount of wish-fulfilment in the events described in the book. The doomed village is an uneasy metaphor for old Ireland and the portraits of the distant clergy are made to look wise by the more recent shenanigans we have read about ad nauseum and much to our mirth. But there is a lot to enjoy not least the often comic, sometimes heroic and ultimately flawed Fr McGreevy. He is supported by three or four very credible and strong support acts not the least of whom is his surreal housekeeper Biddy McGurk. Occasionally, O'Doherty strains to capture the essence of his thoughts which do centre around the passing of time and place. I was reminded of "The Butcher Boy" and, going back, some of the short stories from my youth. So, three cheers for the book and a couple of Hail Marys wouldn't go amiss either.

The sad, inexorable decline of a tiny, remote village of the Dingle Peninsula on the southern tip of Ireland is the framework for this affecting and engrossing Booker Award nominee. Setting his novel in one of the most inhospitable places on earth for farming, with its almost bare, rocky outcroppings, a thin cover of grass, and slopes more easily negotiated by mountain goats than men, O'Doherty presents tough villagers coping with the most basic problems of life, death, and survival. Father McGreevy, the local priest to a congregation of fewer than twenty people, is being deposed as part of an investigation into the deaths of all five wives and one of the men in the village during a particularly harsh winter, which completely isolated the village from the town. Long-standing conflicts between village and town are obvious.

In fluid, almost lyrical, prose O'Doherty creates characters the reader cares about, while showing their limitations and "blemishes," as they deal with the conflicts. The suspense becomes almost palpable as details of the harsh winter are revealed, and rumors spreading throughout the town stretch the patience of the villagers to the breaking point. As events spiral to their inevitable conclusion, the reader becomes trapped in the same whirlwind that sweeps up the practical villagers and experiences their same sense of desolation and loss. This is a sensitive portrayal of the harshest of lives, and at the conclusion the reader is uncertain whether any single event could have changed the outcome. Mary Whipple

Set amidst a backdrop of turmoil in Europe, Father McGreevy toils with the unrest prevailing in his mountain top village. All aspects of Irish life are revealed as the women mysteriously perish during the harsh winter of 1939. Tuberculosis was plentiful in Ireland and although it is not confirmed, the reader is left in no doubt that this is the cause of their deaths. Young men leave the village to pursue a better standard of living in towns and to find a wife as mirrored in real-life Irish society. The 'Old Biddy' housekeeper of the priest manages to bring out a characteristic not usually seen in members of the cloth as he fights his abhorrent dislike of her. She constantly quotes pagan superstitions that juxtapose his Christian beliefs but his hatred for her stems from her abuse of the young boy made stupid from an injury to his head. An intrinsic part of the novel lies in the Irish mountain men using sheep to satisfy their needs may cause a stir to an Irish reader. However, it must be remembered that this is a novel of fiction albeit with many accurate and factual denotations and should be enjoyed as a fabrication of O'Doherty's mind.

The catalyst of this novel is a wild goose by the name of William Maginn, an émigré Irish Literary editor who resides in 1950s London. A visit to The Antelope pub has him hear mention of his hometown, and an intriguing story besides. Since Maginn is a professional literary editor, he has no option but to follow the story by doing his own research. A little digging reveals that he's related to the main star of the show, a certain Father Hugh McGreevy. And a wee bit of thievery reveals Father McGreevy's deposition.

From the start, we know what's going to happen in the end - we know what will become of Father McGreevy. Yet, once we become embroiled in Father McGreevy's narrative, we forget all that and concentrate on his story. Father McGreevy is a priest of a mountain community in County Kerry that is always cut off by the snows of winter. However, this winter has been particularly bad, and a disaster sucks the life out of the community, as one by one, all the women die. The men of the village are also afflicted by the same mystery illness, but recover. Due to the hardness of the frozen land, none of the men can bury their wives until the thaw comes. No one from the town below can reach them, and there isn't any way of communicating their plight. It's just as well that the one woman who remains, Biddy McGurk, is well used to tending to the dead. The thaw brings some relief and some grief also, for it is decided by a county doctor that the women's bodies must be disinterred for an inquest. The medical authorities are fearful of a virus that kills only women, and memories are still haunted by the 1918 flu epidemic. Father McGreevy intervenes on the behalf of his small community, for he knows only too well how the men would react. So it is that Father McGreevy first assumes the role of protector. It's not long before he's called upon his duty once more, as the Bishop desires to avoid a repetition of the last winter by having Father McGreevy's community broken up and brought down to the town. So it is that Father McGreevy pleas a stay of execution for just one year, and sets in motion a dramatic series of events. But is Father McGreevy really the best guardian of his community?

One of the things that have whittled away McGreevy's community is the disease of the diaspora. The young people have an overwhelming desire to leave. The opportunities for long-range travel have been drastically reduced by the coincidence of the Second World War. The good Father listens to his radio hoping that the English will win, but also that they will have a good beating. He would be justified in thinking that his own community has had its share of misery. But then he witnesses a beastly sin which sickens him to the core, and which he cannot ignore. Here I think is where O'Doherty is at his bravest, since the novel could have descended into some cheap sheep joke (indeed, Doctor McKenna cannot help but chuckle when Father McGreevy goes to him for advice). This is where O'Doherty's choice of priest as narrator/protagonist really shines, since it allows a very controversial subject to be dealt with in all its ramifications without ever becoming crude.

It would also seem of a necessity that William Maginn and Father McGreevy be related, since both are greatly interested in the traditions of Irish literature - it is just as well that Maginn is a literary editor. This poetic theme has retreats as well as victorious advances however. Maginn, who remarks that the policeman who has the patience to jot down the priest's tale must be very green indeed, openly admits the artifice of Father McGreevy's deposition. O'Doherty seems conscious of this flaw, which is no doubt why he invented Maginn in the first place. I have to admire O'Doherty for doing this, and I suspect it's just the kind of thing that I would do in his place - to have any criticisms of the novel already articulated within the text. Maginn does describe his footnotes in the text as "intrusions", and it does seem very much at times as though the literary editor is trespassing. I had a personal reason for disliking the footnotes, since I tend to see myself as a proactive reader who likes to look up references for myself. I'm not one of the "slothful and careless readers" that Maginn has expected to read Father McGreevy's narration.

Yet without the footnotes, you probably wouldn't appreciate the poetic theme that culminates in Muiris' dream. The aisling form runs throughout this carefully constructed novel: the vision of Ireland as woman visiting the poet, offering a message of hope. Father McGreevy seems determined to hold onto the old world, but recognises a superior storyteller in Muruis. Muruis, for his part, whilst still keeping the stories of the past, cannot but help adapting them in the face of stony reality.

Until now, I was convinced that O'Doherty, whilst providing a most poetic narrative, hadn't yet produced that vital spark to really get me drawn into his tale. But then I began to wonder about William Maginn. I discovered that Maginn was an Irish writer who had contributed to the legendary Blackwood's magazine. That made me curious, so I did some further research on Fraser's Magazine. I found the connection in an article about a writer who I've studied much recently, the Reverend Francis Sylvester O'Mahony, the one and only 'Father Prout' - it turns out that William Maginn founded Fraser's Magazine in 1830. And considering that he must he 150 years old by the time that he stumbles upon Father McGreevy's deposition, William Maginn's not that bad as a narrator at all. He certainly got me hooked by the end.

The beginning got me excited, and I was sure that there would be a worthwhile story to follow. I pushed on, depite increasing boredom, but was disappointed at the end. It's a pity because Brian O'Doherty's prose is excellent and, if he could pick a better subject (more content and less waffle) I'm sure he'd end up with a best-seller. The footnotes were annoying. I wasn't sure whether to go for two stars or three. On balance, I think two is fair.

The Deposition of Father McGreevy is the story of the collapse of a small village in Ireland at the start of WWII and in a larger sense represents the disappearance of the old Ireland to be replaced by a new more urban Ireland. As is typical of a novel which was on the Booker shortlist it can be read on many levels.

On the surface the story of a village's dissolution after a disease kills only the women is a dark, gothic and relentless tale of loss and suffering. It is also shows the weakening of the influence of the Roman Catholic Church, the increasing urbanization of Ireland and numerous human follies. During Father McGreevy's relentless deposition the reader sees that in spite of his earnest, if sometimes naive, efforts the village is going to fail. The reader knows that the good Father has been defrocked and that something disastrous has happened to the village but the novel details his futile efforts to prevent what the reader knows is inevitable. There are signs early in the novel that indicate Father McGreevy's power is not as great as one might think. For instance, there is a reference to an event years earlier involving the IRA when Father McGreevy is told not to interfere in what turns out to be the execution of a captured English army officer. How could a Christian man especially a priest turn his back on such an atrocity? This incident also brings to mind his attitude towards the English. During the Battle of Britain Father McGreevy and the other residents want the English to win but don't mind seeing them get their noses bloodied a little in the process. Did they not think that innocent men, women and children were dying in the process?

The story is relentless, tragic and well written. However, there are some flaws. There are noticeable anachronisms in Father McGreevy's accounts of the war. There are also anachronisms in the footnotes which were supposed to be written in the 50s but often reflect present day terminology or cite death dates for Irish artists who were alive beyond the 60s. All in all, it's entertaining and thought provoking although I fail to see why it was a Booker nominee.

the beginning of this book was very very strong -- excellent writing, story, characters, etc. but it did fall apart about half way thru -- it seemed to me as if the author lost interest in the story and the writing and characters, while strong, could not carry the book to its conclusion. highly disappointing after such a strong start.

Anyone interested in Ireland and good writing will find The Deposition compelling in its mix of suspense, humor and sorrow. It is the stuff of life, and you will long remember the deserted village and broken hopes.