| Mortas C¦ne  By
Patricia Harty
Is there anything better than cuddling up with a good book? I was fortunate
enough to have been brought up without television. Not because my parents
were worried about it being a distraction from homework, but because Ireland
was a bit behind the times. When we did get the box – I was 12 at
the time – it offered one snowy black-and-white channel that only
broadcast from 5.30 p.m. to 11.30 p.m.
Much as I loved the American shows that were the staple in those early
days of Radio Telefís Eireann – Leave it to Beaver was the
first television program I ever saw – by then I was hooked on books.
One of my favorite memories is of my mother arriving home from the library
her arms stacked high with books. Sad to say, none of the books I read
were by Irish authors. Just as there were no homegrown television shows,
there were very few books by Irish authors available.
At the time Ireland, languishing in what’s been called its post-colonial
condition, had little appreciation for its writers. In my convent school
Wordsworth held sway over Yeats – whom I once heard referred to
as “Silly Willie.” John McGahern and Edna O’Brien were
banned, and there was nary a mention of Shaw, Wilde, Joyce or Beckett.
Times change. Today Ireland, coming into its own artistically as well
as economically, is catching some of the world’s enthusiasm for
its authors.
The centenary of James Joyce’s “Bloomsday” in June 2005
was cause for much celebration, and as we go to press Dublin readies itself
for the 100th Anniversary of the birth of Samuel Beckett in April. We
do a little early celebrating in this issue with Mark Axelrod’s
account of his meeting with the acclaimed author in Paris.
We are also pleased to carry Marilyn Cole Lownes’ interview with
John Patrick Shanley, who is surely the most exciting writer in America
today. The ever-topical Shanley is currently working on Defiance, a play
on the U.S. military that will open on Braodway at the end of February.
His play Doubt, about the crisis in the Catholic Church, won a Pulitzer
Prize and several Tony awards.
As we go to press we are happy to learn that The Abbey, Ireland’s
National Theatre, plans to stage Doubt. Perhaps it’s an indication
that Ireland is finally recognizing that you don’t have to be born
on the island of Ireland to be Irish.
Eugene O’Neill, American’s greatest playwright, the only one
to win the Nobel Prize in Drama, never set foot in Ireland, but a good
measure of his identity as a person and an artist was defined by his Irishness,
as C.F. Canning, writing in this issue, tells us. Those of us in New York
who were lucky enough to catch the recent revival of A Touch of the Poet
can attest to that. We were fortunate to witness a dynamic performance
by Gabriel Byrne as Cornelius Melody in this most Irish of plays.
At the same time that Ireland was banning most of its writers, there was
almost a dictatorial emphasis on learning the Irish language.
In our Irish class we read Peig, the autobiography of Blasket Island woman
Peig Sayers. Irish is a most beautiful language to listen to, but it is
a difficult language to learn, and our teachers who were not native speakers
made a bad job of it. Many years later, when I visited the Blasket Islands
as an adult, I more fully appreciated the state’s reasons for wanting
to reintroduce the language, and I was glad of the small smattering that
I managed to retain.
For if there are any places left that offer a direct connection to the
old way of life and the Gaelic tradition, it’s the islands off Ireland.
And we offer two features that reflect on that in this issue. Sharon Ní
Chonchúir, concerned with the changing face of modern Irish culture,
writes about what the future holds for the Great Blasket Island, off the
coast of Kerry. Meanwhile Ann Doherty’s photographs document the
islands off the coast of Donegal that were once home to her ancestors.
And finally, while Ireland is somewhat lacking in great classical composers,
we do have James Galway. I was pleased to do a phone interview with the
internationally recognized flute player and interpreter of classical music,
who spoke to me from his home in Switzerland. For what better accompaniment
is there for a good book than Sir James playing one of Mozart’s
concertos for the flute? Well, perhaps one of the lovely Irish language
music cds that Ian Worpole writes about.
Moras Cine – Pride in our heritage.
|
