Sheila Armstrong (2)

When Oona spots a man apparently resting on the beach in a small Irish seaside town, it's not immediately that she realises he's dead. Who is he? How has he died? These questions remain unanswered by Police, the pathologist, and he is finally buried, unknown. But it's not the end of the story. Each chapter of this lyrically written book introduces us to someone else who may have had a connection with the deceased - often very many years ago. We travel to other countries, to ships at sea: and connections with the man, and with this small town weave themselves into the story from distant lands and cultures. It's deftly, often poetically done, and the book ends a year after the body was first discovered. Is the man finally identified? You'll have to read the book to find out, and I highly recommend you do so.

Only one thing annoyed me. Armstrong more than once refers to a character's 'disinterest'. She didn't mean the individual was impartial, without a vested interest. She meant s/he was uninterested. Surely this gifted wordsmith, or her editor could have got this right?

NB. I read the hardback edition, which doesn't yet exist as far as Goodreads is concerned.… (meer)

The story opens with a dead seal tossed up on the rocks and Frank, the man from the council, out with his van to clean it up. Summer visitors do not want to see or smell it, so it is wrapped up and transported to the incinerator where it is disposed of. So tidy, neat and clean. Frank even sprays disinfectant on the ground where the seal lay to dissuade flies and other creatures from being drawn to the area.

This, then, is in strange opposition to the next body found on the beach, that of a man propped up against the rocks, fully dressed but not wet, no labels on his clothing, carrying nothing and with no one. It isn't clear why he died, how he got there or who he is. Rather than this being a neatly tidied up body to dispose of, like a whirlpool it sucks in just about everybody in the nearby coastal village who all have witnessed something. There is the homeless man who takes the purple rucksack that had belonged to the dead man which was left in the rubbish bin, the priest at the Sea Mission in Australia who recognises him from his tattoos, the local lad who saw him get off the bus and walk to the beach. They are all in there with their separate stories entitled the collector, the driver, the firestarter, the barman and many more. Each character is provided with their own backstory and chapter in the first section which plays straight into Armstrong's short story writing.

The stories merge, complete and circle round to find each other again. How did the hull of the ship come to be lying on the sand, exposed and rusted away as the tide goes out? What was in the hold with the anchor? (I still don't know the answser to that question.)And, who was this man who died sitting looking out at it?

After a year of false starts in trying to discover who this man was, a ceremony is held for a new plaque and to remember all of those who died at sea, including the unknown.

For those fallen at sea

And those still falling
p219

There is a sense of coming home in the book. The village made up of disparate group of people, some born and bred and others from all over the world, washed up, some wearied but all drawn by the pull of the place and a need.

The writing is concise but lyrical - it needs to be to get all of the characters in with their backstories and only use 226 pages. Almost every sentence that I went back to read had something special in it and went straight to the heart of the situation rather than skirting around it. It is very good.

I was put off this book by the title - I don't really like stories about animals - and this isn't, or it is but only about the human animal and I am taxed by the continuousness of 'falling' as if we are all on our way to looking for 'home'. Is that what it means? I must admit to not really understanding it but that has never got in the way of enjoyment. And, I did enjoy this book despite its title.… (meer)

‘’The weakness in the soil first appears at dusk in the centre of a ring of stones in a field. A small copse of trees weave around banks of raised earth, and the exposed roots of a yew tree frame the slabs of an ancient portal tomb.’’

An exquisite collection that focuses on the seemingly simple and mundane instances of life that hide a vast darkness within. Relationships, hope, love, death are depicted through stories that gracefully balance the lyrical and the grotesque. Sheila Armstrong is a new name to watch and this volume is one more token of the power and ingenuity that are easily found in today’s Irish Literature.

hole: In a village full of legends and threats, villagers and visitors come across a strange yew tree. And then, they disappear…

how to gut a fish: In a powerful, heart-breaking story, a fisherman guts a mackerel and reminisces about his relationship with his family, anxiously waiting to see them again. But Life has other plans for him.

the skellington dance: It is impossible to summarise this story, this lullaby of motherhood and courage and determination. A tale beautiful in its haunting sadness.

‘’The moon is always a second old.’’

haptic: A squad of friends meet at a birthday party, each one enclosed in their own thoughts of past loves and present worries. A VR set becomes a metaphor for the unattainable and the desired, in a story that is as quiet as it is tense. And full of hope.

red market: In a countryside market, a strange kind of trading is taking place with all sorts of heterogeneous goods that must satisfy extremely particular demands. But the main ‘’attraction’’ is a girl, bound and put on display, a ‘’good’’ to be sold to the ones in need. This story is as horrific as it sounds, but it is a masterpiece.

Harlow: The death of his mother brings a man back to her home, her adventurous past and his own heritage. The image of a monkey permeates the story while the son’s life is glimpsed through various encounters and temporary relationships…

dado: A community centre is being renovated. A man tries to come to terms with the death of his wife. An accident occurs due to a driver’s negligence. Instances of life. Happy and tragic. Dark and hopeful.

lemons: A quiet story of youth, motherhood, womanhood and life’s surprises that have the power both to disarm and empower us.

‘’When she was first asked by an adult what she was going to be, Anna said she already was.’’

cautery: Such a lyrical, beautiful story! Starting with his grandfather’s various accidents, we follow Anna’s childhood, her journey to adulthood, the frustrations, and her decision to teach English in Spain as the cicadas wake…

mantis: A powerful story of rage, parenthood and death told in the demanding stream-of-consciousness style.

hold fast: He is in Glasgow. She is in Iceland, on the journey they were supposed to go before his betrayal. And now, we see how both of them are trying to hold on to memories, to their surroundings, and possibly, to hope. A Herculean task in itself. A poetic, melancholic, immersive story that transports us to Iceland, its mystery, and the fragility (and stupidity…) of the human soul and mind. In my opinion, this was the finest story in this beautiful, haunting collection.

instinct: I think that this story took things a little too far. It seemed shocking just for the sake of it. With a brilliant start and quiet musings, it wins you over until the horrible end. And I am all for darkness and weird storylines but this one I couldn’t accept…

star jelly: In a story that seems to hide much more than it shows, five hikers follow a forest trail and come across a strange finding on their way to the summit. The glimpse into their backgrounds is limited but eloquent.

dome: Snippets of tourist life by the sea, under the moon and the stars. Stupendous writing!

‘’Above the field, the December light streaks off into the red horizon, and the horizon after that. Grass plinks as the longest night of the year begins.
The centre of the stones darkens, and the collapse of the topsoil into a deep sinkhole comes all in a sunset rush. The air trembles like a bent sheet of tin.’’

My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/… (meer)