From the first moment we meet Owen McBride, the 28-year-old narrator of John F. McDonald's first novel, we are immersed in a world punctuated by the drumbeat of violence and aggression, by the rituals of sex and love and betrayal, but above all by the rhythms of language from a multiplicity of worlds dancing, gyrating and trying to find a harmony within an overall discordance.
Forget any worthy sociological spin on Tribe - its theme of the conflict between the travelling and settled ways of life. Forget also the grit and rawness of some of McDonald's prose, mirroring the harshness of life on the margins. Tribe has an impact first and foremost because it is a novel teeming with imagination and spice in its use of language. Irish and Gypsy slang, French and Mongolian, and an inventive flow of expletives are woven together to create a hypnotic, rolling sense of the inner and outer world of young McBride, a Manchester-born son of an Irish traveller.
The spell cast by McDonald's language does not, however, blind one to gaping holes of implausibility, chief among which is the shadowy portrayal of two of the main characters in McBride's life. O'Connell, a friend from the underworld to whom McBride is in thrall, and Ann, his girlfriend who craves the trappings of respectability, are more ciphers than flesh and blood.
Still, forgive the flaws. It would be churlish not to acknowledge that McDonald is an explorer of courage and a writer of immense talent.