When a novel opens with a voice from the otherworld (or, as some know it, Carlow) the reader is anticipating a fun ride from The Deadwood Encore as it begins the story of the disparate, somewhat dysfunctional, Whelan family. The journey is a mixed experience, though: parts have you sitting up to take notice, while others pass by in emotional flatness.
The protagonist Frank Whelan is the seventh son of a seventh son. His late father had a reputation for “the cure”, but Frank is firing blanks in troubleshooting local ailments. Frank’s fretting is the jump-off for a breezy tale of alienation, death and grief, and the patchy path into adulthood set against small-town stanzas of deadening certainty; something of a road trip develops, too.
Murray writes well when she's not in a hurry, and her dialogue makes me think the short story or a screenplay might be her strongest suit
This is Kathleen Murray’s long-fiction debut (she’s won acclaim for her short stories) and it shows promise, but wobbles with the tread into deeper waters. The book is dialogue heavy, which is understandable as it’s Murray’s strong point and she creates speech with bounce; she also captures slivers of life in a rural Irish town, and briskly shifts the narrative. But this ultimately causes the novel to feel unbalanced and shallow. Fast talking and flipping from one scenario to another strangles any inner voice or reflection, especially from Frank. He often sounds like a whimpering wazzock, and the reader wants to head off with someone else (even if the eccentricity envelope is pushed too far here; not everyone in a tiny town can be a right bucko).
Murray’s haste also leaves the supporting cast feeling thin, such as June, Frank’s love interest, who seems little more than an afterthought. When Murray does put meat on players – Frank’s mother and brother – she missteps by abruptly taking them off stage. The novel also has a flaw often found in debuts: too many incidental details like endless references to snacks. Elsewhere, important societal issues are broached in the book’s attempt at serious shadings (gender transition; mother and baby homes) but Murray does not tackle them with conviction.
Murray writes well when she’s not in a hurry, and her dialogue makes me think the short story or a screenplay might be her strongest suit. For example, she has a lovely phrase that ultimately sums up these pages: It’s like life without the clutch fully engaged. Let’s hope the author uses the clutch more next time.
