Customer Reviews

Winterwood

5 star:		(1)
4 star:		(4)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(6)
1 star:		(2)

 

 

This is the fifth novel I've read of his; you can find my reviews of "The Dead School," "The Butcher Boy," "Breakfast on Pluto," and "Call Me the Breeze" on Amazon US. By now, long into a career that has earned McCabe acclaim, his protagonist Redmond Hatch fits a familiar pattern of a steady decline from middle-class suburban happiness, marital bliss, and contemporary creature comforts. By now, it becomes apparent that "Winterwood" repeats the narrative arc, and defamiliarizing storytelling twists, that chart the decay of a mind, an erosion of ethics, and a collapse into violence. All these characterize McCabe's fiction: he excels at bringing you within a couple of hundred pages from stability into chaos, often channelled from a disorientingly casual, knowing, and comforting voice that takes you into its confidence only to relate escalating tales of mayhem and murder.

The reviews posted on Amazon US practically gave away the entire plot. Perhaps, given the trajectory of McCabe's sorrowful taletellers, this may not spoil any surprises. By the eighties, a third of the way through the book's pages, I saw the end coming, and the rest of the book, as they say, was all downhill. So, what kept me reading this grim account? McCabe's best quality remains his diabolically intimate, insinuatingly composed conversational style. It's as if the Archfiend took you into his parlor for a fireside chat.

However, few elements stand out for their individually rendered scene-setting, or their particular turns of phrase. The effect of such novels by McCabe accumulates gradually. They can be confusing; more than once I had to check chronology or casual asides that, in giving or withholding key details, otherwise would have left a casual reader bewildered. Although I wished for more about the promising clash of mountainy men and Slievenageeha Lidl (the name sums up not only the superstore but the juxtaposition that increasingly mars modern Ireland), the societal changes, well-evoked in a couple of quick paragraphs about the unceasing traffic of today's Rathfarnham and the shopping mall-with-casino that towers over the once-moribund valley of the author's childhood sum it up, I suppose, enough for McCabe. I have always been attracted by his male misfits, who find recourse to assault as their tender spouses turn adulterers and their parents and relatives (a bit too predictably by now, as in so much of Irish fiction alas based on fact the past few decades) turn molesters. McCabe understands the disintegration of the hapless figure who cannot withstand the impact of early deceit, and how childhood's shadows stretch across the twentieth century into our own frenetic age.

So, this novel, while strong in the manner of earlier novels, does follow this same path. It is McCabe's direction for his imagination to run wild within the tracks of insanity that he loves his characters to follow. He does, by now in his fifties, show his command of such themes. Yet, I do wish he could step aside from the twisted creatures he creates so delicately. You flinch when reading his stories. He doubtless would have it no other way, but after the fifth such encounter with these dark voices, I hesitate to return to another Irish gothic cry from the depths of evil.

I got about a fourth of the way through it and just couldn't take it anymore. It was a struggle just to get that far and what I did read was confusing and depressing. Pass on this one.

Patrick McCabe's haunting novel "Winterwood" begins charmingly enough with our narrator Redmond Hatch telling of his time revisiting his old mountain home in Ireland and reveling in the tall tales of the proud local drunk, Ned "Auld Pappie" Strange. There's an almost instant undercurrent of dread to the storytelling as we quickly become aware that neither Ned nor Edmond are going to be very reliable narrators, both soon overcome with the dark secrets and the Banshee ghosts of their pasts. Ned, it seems, my not be so innocent a weaver of tales, and Redmond is crippled by a crumbling marriage to a woman he is madly in love with and a troubled childhood he can't seem to escape.

McCabe is a master of writing dialogue in local dialect, as I often found myself reading out loud the early stories of Ned Strange and speaking in a rather effective Irish accent.

Even more so, McCabe is a master of stark, economical writing. Shocking details come quick and fast, presented nonchalantly as the story progresses so that they soon fester in the mind of both the reader and the narrator until they creep back into the narrative in horrifying ways.

There are times when the narration becomes a challenge to follow, as the book becomes rife with name-changes, locale-switching, and no apparent chronology to the order of events. Even the chapter titles and time and place headers become deceptive, as once lost inside Redmond's head, all becomes jumbled in half-truths, lies, exaggerations, under-statements, and grotesque speculations.

Still, McCabe is able to ground things with simple passages that are both lyrical and haunting in their slim descriptive power. By the time you finish visiting "Winterwood" you are left with the singularly unnerving feeling of being chilled to the bone. Hell, it seems, is a cold, cold place where the devil can't wait to shelter you.

Novelist Patrick McCabe (The Butcher Boy; Breakfast on Pluto) examines the social and political arc of the past twenty-five years in Ireland as a parallel to the shifting fortunes and inexorable decline of his protagonist in Winterwood. The protagonist/narrator's attempts to leap into the competitive modern world exemplify the efforts of his country to do the same. At this and at a more personal level Winterwood is about the difficulty of extricating oneself from the ghosts of the past, and the pernicious nature of deeply imprinted, horrific childhood experiences.

When journalist Redmond Hatch returns to his former home in the rural town of Slievenageeha to write a colorful article about the folk traditions there, he meets a native named Ned Strange and immediately falls under his spell. Strange is a local favorite, with his country dialect, fanciful anecdotes and old Irish songs. His quaintness buys his way into the company of people who see him as a relic, a human time capsule conveniently preserving the history that they view as a novelty. But Redmond sees a different side of Ned when they are alone together, drinking. Ned reveals his belligerence, rage and cruelty--and a good deal of knowledge about Redmond's family life before he left Slievenageeha. Ned is one of several characters who impose themselves, physically and psychically, on children. Throughout the book Ned functions as a catalyst, a plausible character, a composite, a phantom, and a cipher. That McCabe is able to make all of this work indicates the virtuosity of his prose.

Redmond is a man who dearly wants to believe the things he tells us about himself. Like Ned, he has adopted a face that will allow him into polite company while keeping secret the nature he knows he cannot share. To speak the whole truth would tear him apart, and so he denies what he knows and keeps up the relentless patter of our age: the over-energized pep talk and TV-trained self-analysis that pass for conversation in the 21st century. He is a man who must pretend to be ever on the verge of turning over a new leaf. As he persists in his struggle to overcome what is insurmountable, he tries to convince us, and himself, that everything is fine, or nearly fine, or about to be fine.

This masterful study of a damaged mind fragmenting beyond repair comes from one of our most respected contemporary authors. Complex in tone and point of view, the book is both a social chronicle and a record of personal catastrophe.

McCabe takes the quaint veneer of a misrepresented and sentimentalized way of life and shows how nostalgia itself can mask and thereby allow a persistent evil. Redmond refuses to relinquish his gruesome optimism, and it gradually engulfs him. Mocked because of his background and family, he realizes that this is a repudiation of his deepest nature, but cannot offer an articulate, non-violent response. His wife calls his relatives hillbillies, and he laughs along with her, secretly mortified by the pathetic and brutal details of his impoverished youth. His tragedy, if we allow him so grand a conceit, is to be caught between what is expected of him in the world where he tries to live, and what has happened to him in the world he has tried to leave behind.

Can anyone say "determinism"? The underlying premise of this novel, which has not really been mentioned in most reviews, is that a traumatic childhood experience will inevitably lead to the victim's reenactment of that trauma at an older age, i.e. every victim becomes a criminal. There is a really creepy suggestion that each subsequent generation is, deep down, an exact copy of the previous one. This damaging and disgusting idea purveyed by the novel is just as creepy as the novel's creepy and very contrived thematic of middle-class-father-turned-murderer. At heart, this novel is every bit as problematic as Kevin Kostner's film "Mr. Brooks," another work that seems to suggest that our future, evil actions are genetically coded into us at birth.

Which brings me to my conclusion: this is a trashy thriller that you should probably read while in transit.

The protagonist in Irish-born author Patrick McCabe's latest novel, WINTERWOOD, is a journalist whose roots lie in rural Ireland. In 1981, Redmond Hatch is assigned to return to his childhood home, Slievenageeha, to report on the changing traditions in Ireland.

There, Redmond's comfortable life begins to unravel. By happenstance, Redmond arrives during the festival celebration, an annual event that dredges up old-style britches, dancing, fiddling and storytelling prowess. Redmond is guided to Auld Pappie, the fiddler extraordinaire, who promises an interview with Redmond after his performance. In the old language, he toasts, "To you good health, young man of the mountain. Welcome Home."

They remain in the pub talking about the old days until late in the night. Pappie brings up stories of Redmond's own family that Redmond had pushed far into the recesses of his mind. He's too comfortable with his loving wife, Catherine, and their daughter, Imogen, to drag up painful childhood memories.

Ned is Auld Pappie's proper name but the latter suits him best, Redmond decides upon closer association with the man. The stories he tells are about card-playing, wild women, cattle raids, horse racing and ceilidhs that last eternally; it's obvious that some of these tales are fabricated. One evening, Ned's mood turns quite dark. He picks up an old book, THE HEART'S ENCHANTMENT, given to Annamarie Gordon by John Olson in 1963. Annamarie was the love of Ned's life, but she had been courted by another local man. Ned's next story is of revenge against Olson, whom he followed to the United States, stabbed and nearly beat to death. Redmond realizes that Ned has a mean streak and may be delusional.

Redmond considers his family and marriage to be a gift that should be cherished. During times of financial struggles, he's both father and mother to Immy while Catherine works during the day. However, his marriage --- and precious moments with Immy --- comes to an unfortunate end when he finds Catherine in bed with another man.

Redmond becomes obsessed with his interviews with Auld Pappie, who has been charged with and convicted of sexually molesting a young boy in the village. Ned is sent to prison and dies there. Redmond's thoughts turn to the ways he had been manipulated by Ned, even intimately, and his mind clutches for good memories in his life. Immy must be rescued from her citified existence and brought back to Winterwood, where life and stories are all good. He hatches a plan to meet her and bring her home. His mind is centered on this sole act, detaching him from reality.

Redmond continues to recall the chilling tales that Ned related, taking them for his own realities. Rohrman's Confectionary, with the sickening smell of spearmint surrounding the property, is the site where Ned's crime had been committed. Redmond takes the place for his own and spends an increasing amount of time at Winterwood, secluding himself there with his memories. Catherine becomes his focus again when he learns that her husband has died. Winterwood is where she'll recant her distrust and be his first love again; their missing daughter may be the tie that will bind them.

Stories from childhoods long forgotten, dredged to light by a master storyteller and miscreant, wreck a modern man's life and send him into dark places in his mind from which he cannot escape. The interviews with the fiddler bring terror, hate, love, madness, psychotic delusions and fame. Is the price worth it for a return to Winterwood? The novel is chilling yet demands to be read to its end.

--- Reviewed by Judy Gigstad

I found myself thinking back and comparing this book to Catcher in the Rye. An unsettling study of a person spiraling out of control as told by the person experiencing the decline. It was a little difficult to follow at times as the story jumps around. I think Patrick McCabe did this to further illustrate how disjointed Redmond Hatch's mind had become.

Overall I liked it but I agree with one other reviewer. The ending seemed rushed and abrupt leaving certain things unexplained. I guess I expected a little more but was still a good read.

Patrick McCabe's first person narrative wonderfully pairs with Gerry O'Brien's voice acting. Each character has a distinct voice and emotions come clearly through to make the story come alive. You get the impression of sitting by the fireplace, listening to a master story teller. The story itself follows Redmond as he tries to handle his inner demons and outer torments. Nothing terribly ground breaking in the story but the narrative jumps around quite a bit, keeping the train of thought motif and making the narrative feel more intimate. This is not a structured history of one man's life but a tortured journey as he tries to recount his past and explain his actions. The story is solid, the voice acting is the best I have heard, and even after listening to it twice I may be up for a third time. Perhaps with a glass of clear!

One note, the language in this one is pretty harsh. Definitely not for those who cringe at 4 letter words.

I received this book as a gift because it was on my wish list. im not sure where i read about it but i put it on my wish list because it sounded interesting. after reading the inside cover and then starting the book i was confused most of the time. i kept reading thinking i would "get it" by the end. its like i was reading a different book than what the summary was. the writing style was odd and there were lots of words and phrases i just didn't understand.

From the author of such classics as "The Butcher Boy" and "Breakfast On Pluto" (both made into terrific films by Neil Jordan) comes McCabe's most unsettling work to date.

"Winterwood" reads like a fever dream where you are so emersed in the fine Irish-style of story-telling that you forget to recognize what is real and what is not. When journalist Redmond Hatch returns to the old mountain town where he grew up to do a piece on 'old Ireland' he gets more thatn he bargained for in the subject of Auld Pappie Ned --- a horrifying and frightening person who has far more in common with Hatch than he will ever realize.

Filled with dread, despair hope and horror --- this is a classic that Director Neil Jordan called: "The most terrifying book I have ever read!"