Book Review: Aingeala Flannery's love-letter to ritual and devilment
Having fun in the Tramore Amusement and Leisure Park; in ‘The Amusements’ Aingeala Flannery shows she has a real knack for comedy and an obvious appreciation for devilment. Picture: Denis Scannell
- The Amusements
- Aingeala Flannery
- Sandycove, €14.99
In the coastal town of Tramore in County Waterford with a population of just over 6,000, people come and go like tides on the shore, and some never leave.
As a teenager on the cusp of adulthood, Helen is keen to experience life far beyond her little “seaside town that couldn’t wash its own face”.
Desperate to flee to art college with her enamouring classmate Stella, both of which her mother disapproves of, there is more than just the logistics of it all that hold her back. As the timeline jumps between two decades, each chapter narrates the movements and spirits of each of the characters whose lives all intertwine under peculiar circumstances.
Flannery has a knack for encompassing exactly what brings a small village or a huge city to life, be it the shores of Tramore or the hustle and bustle of New York.
The feeling of big city versus small-town living is defined by how it assaults our senses, where this is done spectacularly on every page. With vivid detail, each place described either transports you straight back to it or will urge you to make the trip and experience it for yourself.
The author has a real knack for comedy and an obvious appreciation for devilment. The glass-half-full wisecracks from every character and the language used throughout epitomises what is quintessentially the Irish sense of humour.
Flannery’s detailed and somewhat sinister depiction of something as seemingly dull as an egg slicer will have you grinning from ear to ear. And whether it is the act of taking off your cap for a passing hearse or scoffing raspberry ripple ice-cream wafers on a summer’s day, the writing has a timeless air to it that encompasses Irish rituals to a tee.
The aptly titled novel expresses the duality of what we depend on to bring us entertainment, it is not what we do that amuses us but rather the people around us that do so. This story captures the beguiling and whimsical nuances of small-town living, particularly the clever cruelty of teenagers and adults alike where the strains of gossip and judgement are inevitable.
The piecing together of the interwoven lives of the characters at times feels like a who’s who in a solo game of Cluedo. Yet figuring it out for yourself is made all the more enticing by the want to fathom how people’s lives come together in the first place, why they drift apart and if they will ever meet again.
As what if’s and shoulda woulda coulda’s flood the pages, what is sincerely striking is the realisation that the choices we make and the things that are left unsaid can shape us in unimaginable ways. To connect, and perhaps more importantly, to reconnect with people is a common colossal challenge that is brought into consideration conscientiously throughout. Why is vulnerability, when the stakes are high, so hard to come by?
Flannery’s novel poses this question as an invitation to analyse why we don’t expose ourselves more often when it comes to matters of the heart. The writing is light with shades of darkness, terribly funny and utterly hopeful.
