Gone: A Novel

'Gone' is a fantastic read. Courageous, painful, hilarious and sincere; I was driven to finish the novel in one sitting. Roper's character Stephen, embodies every man's search for meaning and every man's quest to conquer his/her past--hope to shape what may come. Einstien's theory of relativity, simply, very simply put, makes the argument that there are no pitching-posts in Life, that the universe, all that it may include, moves infinately. We might try to set anchors here or there to create order, meaning, only to pull them up, move on. We are here and then gone. The book is dear to me for many reasons. I look forward to his next.

Hott with two T's this book about real Irish people who do dirty things to each other and treat each other like pieces of meat. you feel this book in places other books dont have the courtesy to reach around and touch. The characters, language, descriptions -- striking. when i finished reading this book, I tell you I felt like a hundered bucks. It puts the action in satisfaction and the Arrrgh in Irish. Though I recommend this book highly, I could never read it again myself. I'm easily agitated and fear I would headbutt someone on the subway, the power of this book is formidable.

Martin Roper takes us on a fascinating journey from childhood to adulthood. There is a direct correlation between the childs mind and the person that they evolve into. From the childs eye this is reminiscent of Roddy Doyle's - Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, but the adult perspective is disturbingly engaging. This book has everything. Gentle humour, sarcasm, Dublin wit, the tension felt by ex-pats as they bump into new life horizons and above all the tension of over-powering relationships.

'Gone,' the astounding debut novel of Irish writer Martin Roper, is an unsentimental look at the life of Stephen, a Dubliner who embarks on an almost-Joycean odyssey of bereavement and betrayal. Four-letter words abound in Stephen's candid narration and underscore his cynical and misanthropic worldview. This anti-portrait begins with a middle-of-the-night phone call from the hospice informing him of the impending death of his younger sister, Ruth, from cancer. 'Don't crash. Just get there,' Stephen says to himself. Such interior monologue punctuates the spare and unsparing prose in 'Gone,' which is also peppered by unattributed dialogue. Frequent mentions of the past as well as flashbacks are the scaffold for Stephen's story.He marries his sixth-year school sweetheart, Ursula, and joins the workaday world as a painter of television set frames. Ursula, who is a step above Stephen's lower-working-class origin, works as a journalist and becomes 'a paragraph out of some feminist pamphlet.' Soon the one-legged Ursula and her emasculated husband buy a fixer-upper in Irishtown with her money. Neighborhood toughs taunt them and throw rocks at their windows, so they are forced to abandon their home, each going a separate way. Running from the death throes of his marriage and 'the crude trap of Dublin,' Stephen emigrates to New York. In Manhattan, he meets a free-spirited daughter of the sixties, Icelandic photographer Holmfridur 'Holfy' Olafsdottir. Holfy is a recent widow who is fifteen years older than the now thirty-something Stephen. After the euthanasia of her cat, Holfy goes away to visit friends and leaves Stephen in her studio. During Holfy's parting instructions on plant watering, Stephen recalls a boyhood incident of near-asphyxiation at the hands of his cousin, Brian, that is analogous to the suffocation that he feels at being married to Ursula. For even though Stephen has left Ursula, he still chokes at releasing himself from her grip.Stephen soon returns to Dublin, to his father's deathbed. He spares him the truth of his boyhood rage, so that Da 'dies happy with the inaccurate knowledge that I love him unconditionally.' Stephen consoles himself with a litany of self-deception: 'There is no resentment. I will not wound my life with bitterness. . . . There is no resentment. There is no absolution. Would need to know all to forgive all. I know more than enough. How can one know a man who lived every spare moment in front of a television, believing in his heart that his wife might walk back in any moment and all would be well?'After another unsavory visit with Ursula, Stephen returns to life in New York with Holfry. Yet, during intimate moments with her, his thoughts cling to Ursula. It's not quite clear how he supports himself, but it seems that he's a writer. After seeing his work one night, Holfry writes a seven-page response in which she advises him to 'go deeper. . . . Forget about understanding death. My husband. Your sister. Your father.