In this extraordinary first novel, the realms of tragedy and comedy are deftly balanced by a writer whose authority is matched by his love of language. Connaughton ( A Border Station ; co-screenwriter of My Left Foot ) has set his tale along the border where Ireland has been arbitrarily divided. As the Catholic protagonist comes of age in the 1950s, he learns the meaning of death, experiences the hatred of strangers and feels the never-to-be-forgotten passion of a first love affair. The reader, however, never learns his name, nor that of the young man's father, a sergeant in the Border Police. The boy's best friend is identified only by his surname, Prunty. The device is not tiresome, however; Connaughton preserves the delicate balance of his cast by means of fully delineated characters, controlled plotting and the richness of his language. The comical Prunty--his speech filled with proverbs, aphorisms, puns and vulgarities--is a modern Huck Finn to the protagonist's Tom Sawyer. Together they smuggle goods across the border, gamble on cock fights, play tricks on unsuspecting farmers and fight with the Protestant boys. But the reality of the border and of the enmity it symbolizes is driven home. Ironically it is the father, whose job is to keep the peace along the border, who best sums up the novel's message: "If they wanted peace," he says to his son, "they wouldn't put a border up, would they? A border is a wall. Misguided fools will always smash their heads against it."
Copyright 1992 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Kirkus Reviews
It's The Playboy of the Western World revisited in this first novel by Connaughton, author of the collection A Border Station (1990) and collaborator on the screenplay for My Left Foot. For surely the Irish rapscallion here (who remains unnamed) goes on as wild a coming-of-age ride as Singe's Christy Mahon ever did, beginning with the death of his dear, flour-coated, buttermilk- smelling mammy. Her passing leaves him at the mercy of his daddy, the police sergeant in the village of Butlershill, right on the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic. But when the sergeant suggests he learn to cook, our hero takes off to bunk in with his buddy Prunt and to go on adventures--shouting ``vagina!'' right out loud on a dare, smuggling a bit, impersonating a priest in order to bless a pig, and rolling in the hay at a Freemasons' dance with a girl who gets insulted when our boy takes it in his mind to kiss her foot. True love does eventually come his way in the form of pretty Annagh Lee; but after a month of delirious loving, her form swells, bringing more trouble--Annagh Lee shipped off to Toronto after a miscarriage induced by the sight of a rat, and her lover's privates tarred and feathered by irate relatives. The latter is what teaches Connaughton's wayward youth to calm down, of course, because ``You can't run amok forever....'' The tale's familiar--and, sadly, the writing's uneven, with some wretched schmaltz (``Fold the ground over me/You have broken my heart/That's what hearts are for'') cheek by jowl with much sprightlier stuff (``Sex drove you to love. Or love drove you to sex. Either way it was enough to drive you mad''). Still, Connaughton's heart is in the right place, so some Irish eyes will be shining. -- Copyright ©1992, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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