There's a sense of authenticity in the portrait of a rural Irish
community, so accurately conveyed in character and mood and tempo
that one almost sees- with Tarry Flynn- the "dry brown headland of
the potato field"- "the crossroads of a Sunday evening" his mother
alone making pancakes for him, things, as his uncle tells him, that
he'll love yet more at 300 miles distant. Tarry was nearly thirty
and in his imagination and talk with his friend Eusebius, he was
always on the verge of having a woman. Just as he was always going
to be a better farmer. But the woman matter- like the farm- stayed
just there, and somehow the sleepy mood of the region could be held
to account.... There is almost no plot; the lilt of Irish dialect
has charm but is difficult for American readers. And the pattern of
Catholic thinking that runs through makes it largely a book for
Catholic as well as Irish-American readers. Limited market. (Kirkus
Reviews)
A man's mother can be a terrible burden sometimes. For Tarry Flynn - poet, farmer and lover-from-afar of beautiful young virgins - the responsibility of family, farm, poetic inspiration and his own unyielding lust is a heavy one. The only solution is to rise above all - or escape over the nearest horizon.
Like The Green Fool, his autobiography, Patrick Kavanagh's Tarry Flynn is an idyllic and beautifully evocative account of life as it was lived in Ireland earlier this century.
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