This book is a literary trail around the streets of central Dublin, following in the steps of a host of famous writers. Cleverly constructed and written in an easy style, it is part gazetteer, part biography, part literary guide and packed with anecdotes and shiny nuggets of information. A constant companion is the unassuming river Stein which rises at Charlemont Bridge and then wanders like a tipsy reveller under Graftonia to spill into the Liffey at Burgh Quay. Brendan Behan pops up often too, as does his cat, Beamish and so does Joyce.
Patrick Kavanagh coined the term “Graftonia”, rather more appealing than the cheesy “Grafton Quarter”. The author seems to know his writers intimately, describing them with affection and humour. We tend to read an author in isolation, so it’s surprising how many knew each other. Recurring themes are their genius, poverty, late recognition, occasional begrudgery, emigration, premature demise (not all), eccentricity (all of them) and fondness for watering holes.
The less-than-endearing John Charles McQuaid wields his crozier in the book, suppressing the 1958 theatre festival because it included Joyce and O’Casey and the premiere of The Ginger Man. Richard Harris was in the latter and rang the bishop’s palace to ask why, only to be told to consult his spiritual adviser. A pugnacious Behan once insisted JP Dunleavy step outside to settle their differences, until he spotted the skilled boxing moves of the American and thought better of it.
The author also opens your eyes to streetscapes such as South William Street, described as an almost perfect parade of 18th-century merchants’ houses or College Green, arguably the finest piazza in Ireland, but only if we lose the traffic. This breezy, readable excursion through the haunts and lives of a multitude of Irish writers is one you can dip in and out of, rather like the writers themselves.
I went to the cinema to see Small Things Like These. By the time I emerged I had concluded the film was crap
Jack Reynor: ‘We were in two minds between eloping or going the whole hog but we got married in Wicklow with about 220 people’
Forêt restaurant review: A masterclass in French classic cooking in Dublin 4
Charlene McKenna: ‘Within three weeks, I turned 40, had my first baby and lost my father’
Joyce’s college nickname was “the Hatter”, as in “Mad” and the book closes with an imaginative account of him walking to the North Wall to meet Nora as they take the steamer together into exile on the continent. Little did he know one day a luxury ferry plying the same route would bear the name of his great book: Ulysses.
- Fergus Mulligan is an author and publisher
