Why the Irish have all the literary luck – SF Chronicle Datebook

I know its extremely dicey these days to attribute a general characteristic to any group of people by nationality or otherwise. Im doing it anyway by saying the Irish are such damn good writers.

Not all of them, I know. But when Im bowled over by the graceful, lyrical nature of a piece of prose, more often than not theres an Irish writer behind it.

Theres been lots of speculation about why the Irish are such literary heavyweights, considering the small size and population of the island. Some say its the countrys turbulent history; over the centuries, the Irish have been repeatedly conquered and repressed, with each influx of invaders leaving behind at least a trace of their own ways of storytelling.

The Irish gift for words is oral as well. A number of years ago, I was in Dublin, and I asked a cab driver to drop me off at the edge of St. Stephens Green at about 8 p.m. I was meeting a friend at the famous Shelbourne Hotel and was early, so I wanted to stroll a bit.

Be careful, lassie, the driver said. Theyd steal the harness off of a nightmare. Have you ever heard a cabbie speak so poetically?

Bram Stoker, author of the Gothic horror novel Dracula, is the protagonist of Shadowplay by Joseph OConnor, my latest favorite Irish novel. Stoker was also the personal assistant to renowned Shakespearean actor Sir Henry Irving and business manager of Irvings Lyceum Theatre in London. A manipulative, alcoholic narcissist, Irving repeatedly abused the mild-mannered Stoker and is said to be the inspiration for the character of Dracula. Shadowplay is a reimagining of the real-life relationship among the two men and the acclaimed actress Ellen Terry.

The novel takes place against the lurid background of Oscar Wildes trial for indecency (homosexuality was a crime in England at the time) and during Jack the Rippers rampage through London. The book is brimming with OConnors gorgeous language, such as the mellow dreeping meadows with their byres and barns and crucified scarecrows, Twines of washing strung across middenheaps serenaded by furious dogs and a mangy London crow staring like a cornerboy.

Heres OConnor on the Americans and their use of language: These colonials approach English as though blaming it for murder.

Want to go deeper into contemporary Irish literature? As we sink into the fog of summer, pick up a book by Colm Tibn (Brooklyn), Anne Enright (The Green Road), Sally Rooney (Normal People), Colum McCann (Apeirogon) or John Banville (Time Pieces), and imagine yourself snuggled before the fire in an Irish countryside cottage. I cant think of a lovelier way to spend an afternoon.

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Why the Irish have all the literary luck - SF Chronicle Datebook