Irish Fiction: John F. Deane, in his latest novel, presents his readers with a story of dark family secrets, of rape and incest, the consequences of which reverberate back and forth between the 1950s and the 1990s, writes Derek Hand
What is to be commended, though, is that Deane is not content simply to allow this to be the only narrative at work within his novel. For he succeeds in registering the necessity, and the availability, of innocence in human relationships despite the awful outward manifestations of brutality and violence that underpin life as depicted on Achill Island, Co Mayo.
Undertow operates within two time zones: the early 1950s and the late 1990s. Deane presents us with parallel narratives that, as they unfold, and as one would expect, slowly but surely converge as the novel proceeds. It is an effective device, and well used by the author, allowing him to dwell on a number of individual characters from a small community, while simultaneously teasing out the connections that bind them together both in the past and in the present.
Fundamentally, this is a novel concerned with connections and connectedness. No one action or character is seen to exist in isolation. Thus, the cruel actions of Big Bucko, whose sexual frustrations find release with his half-sister, Angelica (a version of Charlotte Brontë's madwoman in the attic), are offset by the bittersweet story of doomed love between Ruth McTiernan and Eoin Mulligan.
In the present day, young Marty's sexual awakening with Danni, a supposedly sophisticated schoolgirl on her holidays from Dublin, is merely one element in his engagement with the world of others and the world of nature.
Each character, in their own way, yearns for a real and substantial connection with the world. The form of the novel - the intertwining narratives - allows for images and symbols by a process of accretion to build upon one another, and consequently resonate backward and forward through time. For instance, the ever-present sea offers characters, especially Marty and Eoin Mulligan, the opportunity for escape as well as attachment. These moments in particular offer some of the more lyrical passages in the novel.
What becomes wonderfully apparent to the reader is how each person, and indeed each generation, makes the places they live in their own, each attaching their particular significance and meaning to the land. And yet, what is also clear, is that the land - and certainly the land in Irish culture - is a palimpsest, with stories and narratives situated in such a way as not to cancel one another out.
Overall, Deane manages to hold together his layered narrative, and generate sympathy for his array of diverse characters, even for those who deserve very little or none. He succeeds also in permitting the reader to access the numerous lives of this small community and their shared desire to survive: from Grace and Alice who run the local shop to the fishermen who, in the present, are forced to contend with the unwanted arrival of Spanish trawlers in their waters.
His main achievement, though, is to tell a story that holds out the possibility of hope, forgiveness, and redemption, even in a world that overflows with dark and grotesque realities.
Derek Hand is a lecturer in English at St Patrick's College, Drumcondra. His book, John Banville: Exploring Fictions, was published by the Liffey Press earlier this year
Undertow. By John F. Deane. The Blackstaff Press, 314pp.
£8.99