Grace Gifford Plunkett suffered two bereavements in 1916. She married Joseph Mary Plunkett in Kilmainham Jail four hours before his execution, and had a miscarriage in the immediate aftermath of the Rising. Marie O'Neill treats her confirmation of this pregnancy sensitively. She discovered the evidence in the papers of Geraldine Dillon, Joe Plunkett's sister, and her charming pen portrait turns a republican icon into a passionate, artistic woman. Another strength of this biography is the author's knowledge of Dublin.
Ms O'Neill also understands Plunkett's mysticism: it attracted Gifford to Catholicism and conditioned him for the political triumph of military failure. (This terminally-ill arch-conspirator was sent on a mission to Germany in 1915 to determine how much his friend Roger Casement had achieved in Berlin.) On the other hand, she missed the transcripts of the courts martial of the executed leaders released recently by the Public Record Office in London.
But the Clare balladeer said it all when he sang about Grace: "I loved Joe Plunkett and he loved me/He gave his life to set Ireland free."
Grace returned to Kilmainham as a prisoner during the Civil War, having identified with the militant republican side. She painted a Madonna and Child scene on the wall of her cell, which is reproduced in this richly-illustrated book. She was disowned by her upper-class mother and the in-laws tried to disinherit her. She lived as a struggling artist and widow until 1955.
As Dr Margaret MacCurtain writes in her foreword, this biography "invites reflection on an extraordinary generation of Irish women and men, who risked everything they held dear for an ideal of political freedom."
Prelude to the Easter Rising: Sir Roger Casement in Imperial Germany applies German scholarship to Irish historiography. Meticulously edited by Prof Doerries, this collection of documents, mostly from the German Foreign Office archives in Bonn, confirms Casement's disillusionment with the Germans. They were neither able nor willing to provide adequate military assistance to the Irish rebels and, he concluded, were "cads", not "gallant allies."
Were the 1916 leaders dreamers or conspirators? The authors of The Easter Rising incline towards the latter view. They trace the Rising to a secret Military Council, which ultimately comprised the seven signatories of the Proclamation.
From the outbreak of the first World War the most determined revolutionaries were intent on an uprising. But Tom Clarke and Sean MacDermott, although senior directors of the IRB, represented a minority within a minority. Most of the Irish Volunteers were subsumed into Redmond's National Volunteers, while the remainder acknowledged Eoin MacNeill as chief of staff.
If the council members had been as ruthless as Foy and Barton suggest, they would have shot MacNeill. Instead, this respected Gaelic scholar was allowed to issue countermanding orders - after the capture of Casement and the scuttling of a German arms shipment - which transformed the Rising planned for three provinces into a largely Dublin protest. Ulster was to be avoided for fear of sectarian warfare. Pearse acknowledged: "Both Eoin MacNeill and we acted in the best interests of Ireland."
This book's interpretation of events is interesting, if not entirely convincing. It retells the story of the most significant week in modern Irish history with relentless detail and scholarly detachment. In an age of unreconstructed militarism, the original plan anticipated victory rather than defeat.
Ultimately, however, the leaders who challenged the might of empire with 1,500 lightly-armed insurgents knew, like Connolly, "We won't meet again", and, like The O'Rahilly, "It is madness, but it is glorious madness." Nonetheless, as MacDonagh remarked: "There is always a chance of success for brave men who challenge fortune."
Brendan O Cathaoir is a historian and Irish Times journalist