“I’m not sure, memory is a tricky thing […] it might be the product of too much time and loneliness. We have to make up stories, to believe them, to live them”
Spit, by David Brennan, is set within a small community living in the west of Ireland where generations of the same families have farmed the land. All have suffered their share of tragedies. The place is imbued with history, including deliberate starvation during The Great Hunger when potato crops failed and the English overlords saw their chance to reduce the number of natives. A few who left at this time returned, their roots too deep in the place to ever settle fully elsewhere.
As is always the case, times are changing. The older generation continue to work the crops and livestock, eyeing up their neighbours acres with hopes of acquisition. Feuds fester, fed by perceived slights and lifelong grievances. Neighbours tamp down the glee they feel when other’s misery and failures can no longer be concealed.
Meanwhile the younger generation want to escape although few succeed unless through death, sometimes at their own hands. Self medication through alcohol and cigarettes are rife and accepted.
“Whiskey and sulphur. I float in and out between them. The hum of twenty-seven drunks. Maudlin bullshit and lost dreams. A chorus of frogs belching at the sky.”
The story opens with a dead dog. What caused its demise, when revealed, is deeply disturbing. The man responsible has also abused his sister, the beautiful Rose. Other than being briefly introduced as background, she is the only female in the cast of characters who is in any way developed. It is the men of the parish who put themselves front and centre, as in life, their perverse and selfish needs driving behaviour.
The tale is structured around two interlinked narratives: a centuries old spirit that listens in on happenings but can have no impact; and Danny Mulcahy, the alcoholic son of a local policeman. There are many secondary characters who add colour and depth although rarely inspire sympathy. There is little to like in the way any act, either independently and when together.
When a young man is found dead in a quarry rumours abound and some try to use this to settle rankling scores. This is, however, a tight-lipped community when it comes to outsiders knowing their business. Drunks may let slip information but their recollections can rarely be trusted, something all understand. The worry of possible guilt drives others to a temporary solace of deeper inebriation and the regret that follows.
Rose has her own cruel perversions, this time involving birds. Danny comes to believe he loves her but few in Spit know what it means to feel for anyone but themselves. It is a small community who dislike each other, including within families. As the background to the hovering spirit is revealed it becomes clear the local people have always been this way.
The writing is engaging although the unfolding plot remains dark and desolate.
An interesting read for the strong sense of place and the characters who continue to exist in such a closed community. Not one for readers seeking cheer.
Spit is published by époque press.
