Review
Des Kenny applauds Ryan's subtle evocation of an enigmatic period in Irish history.
- South of the Border
- Lilliput Press
South of the Border
It could be argued that the major effect of World War Two on the Republic of Ireland (then the Free State) was that it forced the country to stand on its own two feet in the International Arena. Intimations of what this would mean had probably been felt with the State’s somewhat ambiguous reaction to the Spanish Civil before it neatly brushed that niggling issue under the proverbial carpet.
However, when DeValera declared Ireland to be a neutral State at the beginning of the more global conflict, the carpet was swiftly whisked away.
It is a curious fact that the popular memory of those six years tends to be tinged with nostalgia with the general consensus that while there were shortages and hardships, the romantic Ireland of DeValera’s vision was to be found at every crossroad and in every simple household. There was an exaggerated sense of Ireland’s place amongst nations, a sense that was strengthened by an almost incredible degree of self-righteousness.
Yet for all this, there are few, if any, memoirs or novels that deal specifically with the realities of day to day living in rural Ireland during the period that came to be known somewhat affectionately as “The Emergency”. In his recently published novel (his fourth), entitled South of the Border, James Ryan takes us down the laneways and alleyways of Ireland during that surprisingly formative period of the country’s modern history.
The book begins innocuously enough as the hero (if hero he can be called) Matt Duggan arrives by train in the rural town of Rathisland (somewhere in the Irish midlands) to take up his first post as a teacher in the local school. Gently and easily Ryan introduces us to the religious and political ethos that govern the small country community as we meet the school’s manager, the Parish Priest, his landlady, the somewhat maternal Mrs Sheridan and his immediate boss, the headmaster Carmody.
The book is written in a relaxed narrative style that is somewhat deceptive, as the reader gradually becomes aware of the tensions that lie under the surface and which are initially made evident by the parish priest’s almost paranoid fear of the threat of communism; in a passage that is delightfully reminiscent of the best satiric writing of that now forgotten novelist George A. Birmingham.
When Duggan meets the enigmatic and beautiful, if somewhat sophisticated, nineteen year old refugee Madeleine Coll, the book moves into second gear. The increasing sense of satire is now supplemented by the emerging romance that follows almost traditional lines as the young couple create a cocoon around themselves. As this is happening the reader to a host of eccentric characters typical of any rural community.
However, this rural idyll is shattered when a Messerchmitt crash lands in the vicinity and the underlying contradictions of Irish neutrality boil to the surface. Almost without missing a beat, Ryan brings his reader into the heart of a society that is totally unsure of itself when challenged by an outside force and this is the real value of the book.
South of the Border is an intimate evocation of the realities of rural life during The Emergency. Ryan’s prose is as entertaining as it is informative and his attention to detail is extraordinary. Although his characters are often caricatures, they are also imbued with a humanity that is warm and charming. His narrative techniques,
