The theme is an over-familiar one - the doomed attempt to isolate
oneself from political turmoil in modern Ireland, from psychic
turmoil in modern anywhere - but once again Johnston (The Christmas
Tree, The Old Jest) fills out simple, almoSt classically
predictable patterns with one-of-a-kind characters, elegantly plain
narration, and fresh, honest details. Helen Cuffe, 50, is the
would-be hermit - guiltily happy to be free of her dull marriage to
schoolteacher Dan (accidentally murdered in Derry by a terrorist
gunman), largely resigned to her undramatic estrangement from
student-son Jack, seemingly content to shlump around her west-coast
cottage and make half-hearted attempts at becoming a painter (a
long-buried ambition). Soon, however, two escalating involvements
are engaging Helen's passions - yet also bringing her back into
areas of great vulnerability. Her new neighbor is one-armed,
one-eyed Roger Hawthorne, a middle-aged English veteran of World
War II who has independent income, notoriety back home as the
certifiable family eccentric, and an oddly gallant fixation on old
abandoned railway stations: he's in the quixotic process of having
the local station remodeled, prepared for actual use - with the
help of a charming young carpenter (who subtly stirs Helen both
sensually and artistically). Meanwhile, son Jack (an occasional
visitor) is becoming ambivalently entangled with a vaguely focused,
Dublin-based group of radical guerrillas - with plans for some
local storage of weapons. So, while Helen very reluctantly finds
herself falling in love with the strange railway-station man (an
endearingly modulated affair), Jack and a friend from Dublin are
bringing violence closer and closer to Helen's neighborhood. And
these two lines of growing commitment will converge on a single
horrific night. . . as a suddenly forged Oedipal triangle propels
both of Helen's men into disaster. Some of the elements here -
Jack's motivations, above all - remain a bit too shadowy. And the
criss-cross of political/sexual tensions verges on literary
contrivance. But, with rich, rough textures (like Helen's tartness)
to humanize the scenario, and gentle foreshadowing to heighten the
sense of stark inevitability, this becomes a resonant - and very,
very sad - version of an oft-told tale. (Kirkus Reviews)
Helen has retreated to the remote north-west coast of Ireland to
paint the sea and the shore, and to be alone with her past. English
war hero Roger Hawthorne has settled in the neglected railway
station house nearby. Mutilated and sick at heart, with the help of
a young lad he has begun painstakingly to restore the derelict
branch line station. Soon Roger and Helen form a bond which, over
gramophone music, dancing and champagne, deepens into love. But
Helen, enjoying her first taste of happiness in years, is to learn
just how brutally fleeting it can be.
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