On a June evening some years after the middle of the last century Mrs. Eileen Connulty passed through the town of Rathmoye: from Number 4 The Square to Magennis Street, into Hurley Lane, along Irish Street, across Cloughjordan Road to the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer. Her night was spent there.
The life that had come to an end had been one of good works and resolution, with a degree of severity in domestic and family matters. The anticipation of personal contentment, which had long ago influenced Mrs. Connulty's acceptance of the married state and the bearing of two children, had since failed her: she had been disappointed in her husband and in her daughter. As death approached, she had feared she would now be obliged to join her husband and prayed she would not have to. Her daughter she was glad to part from; her son--now in his fiftieth year, her pet since first he lay in her arms as an infant--Mrs. Connulty had wept to leave behind.
The blinds of private houses, drawn down as the coffin went by, were released soon after it had passed. Shops that had closed opened again. Men who had uncovered their heads replaced caps or hats, children who had ceased to play in Hurley Lane were no longer constrained. The undertakers descended the steps of the church. Tomorrow's Mass would bring a bishop; until the very last, Mrs. Connulty would be give her due.
This is the opening of William Trevor's final novel, "Love and Summer." Do you spot the joke? Eileen Connulty, who seems to be our protagonist, at least for now, is a corpse. A story requires a journey--"from Number 4 The Square to the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer," for example--but who says a living person is the one who needs to go on the journey?
The second paragraph is like a way of "zooming out"; we are suddenly presented with Mrs. Connulty's life in its entirety, via cool, fast-moving sentences. The revelations are sort of shocking, but you wouldn't know that just from the calmness of the narration; the gap between the calmness and the actual content is what makes the paragraph memorable. We learn that Mrs. Connulty spent most of her life quietly hating her husband and daughter, dreading the thought of an eternal afterlife with her husband, and heaping all of her favor on her son. (Welcome to William Trevor Country: Land of Eccentrics. It would be hard to find a Trevor character who is not at least a little bit insane.)
Back to the matter at hand. A frozen town springs to life--and the third paragraph reminds me of the little fictional spot in Provence that springs to life when Belle goes on her shopping errand at the start of "Beauty and the Beast." Children begin running around; shop registers clatter; men throw hats back onto their heads. The frozen world has thawed. This intro ends with a perfect detail: We learn that Mrs. Connulty's funeral mass will involve a "bishop," and though the Church might have cheated if the corpse had belonged to a different personage, someone in the archdiocese wisely recognized that Mrs. Connulty would surely demand proper reverence from beyond the grave. We know instantly that Mrs. C. was someone who carefully checked receipts at the grocery store, and who demanded clear evidence of learning when she visited her son's school. A character is vividly presented to us--with just a few brushstrokes.
And that's all for now. Trevor's other great books include "Two Lives," "Felicia's Journey," and "The Children of Dynmouth." You could count on him for surprises; in fact, another contrarian, Tom Perrotta, used Trevor as an epigraph in "Election." ("The world is the School gone mad.") Well, once again: Happy (early) St. Patrick's Day!
The life that had come to an end had been one of good works and resolution, with a degree of severity in domestic and family matters. The anticipation of personal contentment, which had long ago influenced Mrs. Connulty's acceptance of the married state and the bearing of two children, had since failed her: she had been disappointed in her husband and in her daughter. As death approached, she had feared she would now be obliged to join her husband and prayed she would not have to. Her daughter she was glad to part from; her son--now in his fiftieth year, her pet since first he lay in her arms as an infant--Mrs. Connulty had wept to leave behind.
The blinds of private houses, drawn down as the coffin went by, were released soon after it had passed. Shops that had closed opened again. Men who had uncovered their heads replaced caps or hats, children who had ceased to play in Hurley Lane were no longer constrained. The undertakers descended the steps of the church. Tomorrow's Mass would bring a bishop; until the very last, Mrs. Connulty would be give her due.
This is the opening of William Trevor's final novel, "Love and Summer." Do you spot the joke? Eileen Connulty, who seems to be our protagonist, at least for now, is a corpse. A story requires a journey--"from Number 4 The Square to the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer," for example--but who says a living person is the one who needs to go on the journey?
The second paragraph is like a way of "zooming out"; we are suddenly presented with Mrs. Connulty's life in its entirety, via cool, fast-moving sentences. The revelations are sort of shocking, but you wouldn't know that just from the calmness of the narration; the gap between the calmness and the actual content is what makes the paragraph memorable. We learn that Mrs. Connulty spent most of her life quietly hating her husband and daughter, dreading the thought of an eternal afterlife with her husband, and heaping all of her favor on her son. (Welcome to William Trevor Country: Land of Eccentrics. It would be hard to find a Trevor character who is not at least a little bit insane.)
Back to the matter at hand. A frozen town springs to life--and the third paragraph reminds me of the little fictional spot in Provence that springs to life when Belle goes on her shopping errand at the start of "Beauty and the Beast." Children begin running around; shop registers clatter; men throw hats back onto their heads. The frozen world has thawed. This intro ends with a perfect detail: We learn that Mrs. Connulty's funeral mass will involve a "bishop," and though the Church might have cheated if the corpse had belonged to a different personage, someone in the archdiocese wisely recognized that Mrs. Connulty would surely demand proper reverence from beyond the grave. We know instantly that Mrs. C. was someone who carefully checked receipts at the grocery store, and who demanded clear evidence of learning when she visited her son's school. A character is vividly presented to us--with just a few brushstrokes.
And that's all for now. Trevor's other great books include "Two Lives," "Felicia's Journey," and "The Children of Dynmouth." You could count on him for surprises; in fact, another contrarian, Tom Perrotta, used Trevor as an epigraph in "Election." ("The world is the School gone mad.") Well, once again: Happy (early) St. Patrick's Day!
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