Week 4.4 Reading and the Written Word

Yesterday was still cold and blustery.  We both went out mid-morning for a run or a walk and the day didn't really lend itself to wandering about.  Plus, we were both in the middle of books we were liking and had the Saturday Irish Times which is a really fantastic paper.  Yesterday was then a reading day.  Earlier in the stay, Dale had read Joseph O'Connor's collection of short stories Where Have You Been? and I started it Friday and finished it yesterday.  I found it to be a really compelling collection of stories-- some stories I liked better than others, of course-- but it has inspired me to read more of his work.  More about that in a minute.

Every time we've moved somewhere, I recall that I immersed myself in the literature of that place as a way of orienting (or, as was the case in moving back to Canada, reorienting myself).  I didn't consciously pick Irish books to read here as a way of doing that.  I was, I thought, reading them because I wanted to read things we couldn't get at home.  As I was reading the O'Connor collection, it came to me-- even though it is painfully and embarrassingly obvious--  that literature can get into the everyday-edness of a place and a time in a way that few other things can.  In one of her short stories, Mary Lavin mentioned something quite moving and poignant on Achill Island that I would have otherwise walked by on Inishturk Island last weekend. 
I know people who don't read fiction: some because they prefer other forms of reading and others because they're not sure that fiction-- something that is made up or not "real"-- can teach them about the world.  I've never quite understood that position though I respect it.  But, in defense of fiction and poetry,  I know that there has been something about Ireland-- its history and its people-- that the two books I've just read this week have been able to teach me that nothing else could have.  I am still mulling precisely what it is that I've learned.  I know that reading about Irish history-- the events, the names, the dates, is something you must know. But reading about how that history still lingers in the hearts and minds of people and their everyday lives-- something less concrete, tangible, knowable, quantifiable-- is also very important.  I think that's where fiction and poetry come in.


Much of what I have learned about the world has come from reading fiction.  It can take you just about anywhere and into minds we could not otherwise begin to comprehend.  I've loved that and it's probably why I can't remember a week in my life where I haven't been reading fiction. And while I sing the praises of fiction, I'm also realizing how being in a place-- talking to people, listening, seeing, hearing, and being still and silent in a place-- is a powerful experience.  I know that Mary Lavin's stories and O'Connor's stories resonate more deeply because I am here.  I am still mulling precisely what that experience entails but every day I continue to gather things and ideas.  I keep gratitude for being here close, like a ring on my finger, touched as a reminder.
One of the fascinating things about Ireland is how vital the arts have been to this country and how vital they continue to be.  I envy that very much.  I happened, last week, to catch this amazing program on RTE called Glaoch - The President's Call which is available on the web.  If you're remotely interested in Irish culture, life, literature, music, and history, this is an amazing show.  The President, Michael D. Higgins, is fascinating: I envy Ireland too having someone like him in a public role.  Given some of the things in Canada right now, how I wish we had someone like him: "A passionate political voice, a poet and writer, academic and statesman, human rights advocate, promoter of inclusive citizenship and champion of creativity within Irish society." But do watch the show:  I rewatched it yesterday.  I think it may only be available online for another week or ten days so do not delay if you're interested. 
There were lots of beautiful moments but I think my favourite was Joseph O'Connor's reading of his poem Airspace (all my biblio superpowers haven't been able to find the version of the poem he read though there is a version in here-- awk to read, sorry.)  Here is but one lovely section: "That the place of truer freedoms/ Is the sky in every mind/ That can never be quenched or conquered."