According to a review in the Times of London of Maggie O'Farrell's new book, My Lover's Lover, the writer's take on the supernatural "may be seen as part of a recent trend in literary fiction which has invested previously moribund features with a contemporary feel".
It seems she is "using the conventions of the ghost story to explore themes of identity, desire and loss, as well as the act of writing itself - that alchemical process in which writer and readers collude in making something out of nothing."
As it happens I (myself) have been working on a ghost story too, but after reading the review I chopped out a lot of the moribund stuff and shoved in the contemporary feel pronto.
You will get the flavour of it from the following, and any feedback will be welcome, don't forget the whole thing is an alchemical process of collusion.
****** Kate Gilhooley was on her way to bed in her small but neatly-kept farmhouse a few miles outside Lisselton when she saw the ghost of her former husband Michael in front of her and him looking at her in that shy sidelong way that had first drawn her gentle heart to his.
"Let you not be taking any notice of me Kate dearest," said the ghost, in a ghostly voice: "I am only here to explore a few oul' themes that might be lyin' around the place and they with nothing better to do."
Kate shivered in her nightdress. She was not afraid, only cold, for it was late November and the last heat of the comforting turf fire had long left the small but tidy kitchen.
"Would them themes by any chance be identity, desire and loss?" enquired Kate astutely. "For if so, Michael, tis a hard night's labour is in front of you, and I'm thinking a cup of tay before you begin would be a great thing to have."
It was as if all the stuffing was knocked out of Michael. "You could always see through me, Kate" he said in his soft Kerry accent. He sat down gratefully in his old fireside chair while Kate plugged in her new Clerys kettle that worked off the electricity.
"That was always one of your desires," said Michael, gaping at the kettle in a voice filled with wonder.
Kate lifted her head. "You're at them themes already Michael, and the tay not drawn yet."
Her voice had taken on a harshness that was at odds with her soft and gentle face: "Twas long I asked for that kettle, and long it was in coming. Now tis stirring up desire you would be, but tis too late." Michael curled into his chair, pulling his aura close about him: "Musha Kate it's a hard station always to be arguing, and we in this world only for the short while, as well I know. When the long day is done, sure we are who we are."
Kate mixed three large spoons of sugar into Michael's tea and placed it in front of him: "Now tis identity you are dragging up, Michael, and you not ever caring who I was in my soul of souls and you on this earth. It's late in the day now to be asking and you would be better to be drinking your tay and going on your way to the Other World."
Michael sipped the hot tea: "It's a hard thing for a man, Kate, to be cold and lost in the Other World and not in his warm bed with his own wife and she willing and eager. For when I lost you sure twas the whole world I lost and tis well aware of it I am for ever more."
Kate turned from the rough table and walked to the rough door: "Have done with your oul' themes now Michael, for loss is the last. All them things, identity and desire and loss and all the rest, sure I threw them out years ago, and they are now only gathering dust in the hen-shed. You may finish your tay of course." Michael rose slowly and swirled towards the door."It's a bitter woman you have become, Kate Gilhooley, and you still in the flower of your youth.
"But a drop of the hard stuff would be a fine thing to cheer a man on his way."
Kate held the door open and averted her soft green eyes from the man she once loved: "You will be going now Michael and not returning again. Tis a hard thing for me to say, but I don't allow spirits in this house any more."
bglacken@irish-times.ie