Island life

ISLAND literature has a proud history in Ireland, and these three books are a fine contribution to the canon.

Róise Rua: An Island Memoir is the life story of a woman born in Donegal, but who moved to Arranmore, off the northwest coast, as a young child: Pádraig Ua Cnáimhsí, a teacher who knew her in later life, set her life story down in Irish and won an Oireachtas medal as a result.

This English translation, by the late JJ Keaveny, is an account of a tough life, with seasonal labouring in Scotland central to the economic survival of many Donegal families: Róise Rua’s account of hiring fairs in Edinburgh’s Grassmarket, below the castle, is in contrast to the experience of thousands of Irish on city breaks today in the ‘Athens of the North’.

The grimness of the life depicted will remind Leaving Certificate veterans of Peig Sayers: her old stomping ground, the Blasket Islands, is the locale for the second book, Blasket Spirit: Stories from the Islands, by Anita Fennelly.

It’s hard to imagine a book that, on first glance, bears less of a resemblance to Sayers’ biography. Fennelly reversed Peig’s journey, heading to the near-deserted islands to get over a bereavement. Her account of swimming with dolphins would hardly have made it into Peig’s book; nor would the encounter with an unusually unguarded Charles Haughey, on Inishvickallaune.

Fennelly’s is a slow burn, but one that will grow on anyone who’s felt wistful leaving the Blaskets on a day trip. She refers to the Skelligs, and that’s the setting for the third book, Sun Dancing, A Medieval Vision: Seven Centuries on Skelling Michael, by Geoffrey Moorhouse, first published in 1997 and reissued here by The Collins Press.

This is a truly unusual book, in two distinct sections.

The first section is a fictionalised account of monastic life on the Skelligs, and the second outlines the historical and archaeological evidence.

Moorhouse’s lyrical style makes that first section a terrific read, culminating in the monks’ departure after a horrific storm in which three of them die.

The second part is forensic in its gathering of evidence, which is often fascinating.

The three books make up an interesting collection – Róise Rua’s is firmly in the ‘beal bocht’ school of hard knocks, while Fennelly’s story is more in the Elizabeth Gilbert ‘Eat Pray Love’ camp.

Moorhouse’s is the most accomplished of the three – it was shortlisted for the Booker Prize when first published – but each of them bears eloquent witness to the ongoing fascination with islands – and, more importantly, the variety of their inhabitants.