The Louisburgh Storyteller
There is a memory of a man in a packed Irish bar somewhere in Boston sometime around 1990 on a Sunday afternoon during a lively session who, totally ignoring all that was going on around him, threw his head back and sang his song to the ceiling. Every sinew, muscle and syllable spoke of the rocks and headlands of Connemara or Aran and whether his song was of joy or of sorrow – for in the general din it was impossible to hear him – he exuded such a strong sense of place that anyone there who witnessed the moment was transported to a bar in Carraroe or Kilronan.
This memory was vividly brought to mind when reading Mike McCormack’s new collection of short stories “Forensic Songs” to be published this month by Lilliput Press. No matter to what corner of the globe the collection brings the reader, no matter what the theme of any individual story each and every one of them embodies the stone and clay of Louisburgh Co. Mayo. And meeting McCormack only strengthens this sense of place that informs the collection for Louisburgh is not just the place where he was born and raised, it is also his cultural and spiritual landscape.
In these stories, McCormack invites the reader to join him in this, his own personal landscape. It is a supremely generous offer and the reader will not be disappointed as the journey is a deeply enjoyable, moving and enriching experience.
While there are some familiar West of Ireland themes in the stories – Exile, Land, Family – McCormack introduces new dimensions, the hint of globalisation and the dictatorship of technology, and it is these new dimensions that add an air of excitement to the collection and that give it an unique flavour, the tantalising “je ne sais quoi” that few modern writers achieve.
McCormack’s storytelling craftsmanship is beautifully evident in the first story which welcomes the reader to join him on his narrative journey. The opening sentence “Using the edge of his hand, the sergeant swept to one side the little bits and pieces that littered the top of his desk........” has a warm confident and assuring ring to it and sets a tone that McCormack holds until the last line.
The journey is not always an even one. Pitfalls abound and it has many dark, sad, tragic and despairing moments where the old inbred and sacred traditions, echoing Edna O’Brien’s alleged dictum that the old mythologies die hard, find themselves at odds or in direct conflict with this new sanitised and technical world. Even in the darkest moment, however, McCormack lifts the gloom with a touch of somewhat mischievous humour.
In the pivotal story, “These Two Men”, the protagonist is visited by two Faustian type figures, “bearers of the worse possible news” who inform him that he is dead. The story drifts further and further into an pseudo Kafkaesque world floating between life and death when suddenly, just prior to his dark visitors departure, and by way of small talk, the protagonist ponders – a topically ironic subject – the chances of Mayo in the All Ireland Championship. This comment totally humanises one of the visitors and the story ends in a totally innocuous discussion of football tactics.
One of the more fascinating aspects of the collection is that despite the somewhat parochial feel of the narration, McCormack doesn’t shy away from the hard questions that currently face his Louisburgh society in particular and the human race in general, underlining his innate honesty and integrity as a writer and his acceptance of the difficult role as being something of a prophet in his own land.
“Forensic Songs” is an extraordinary collection of stories, entertaining, enriching and thought provoking. Not only are the stories enjoyable in themselves but they also enhance our sense of our own humanity. In allowing us to join him on his literary odyssey, Mike Mc Cormack has given us a precious gift.