Winterwood

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 path

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 h

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.