Author: Reid, Pat
Release Date: 01-11-2000
Details: Product Description Set in Dublin's docklands, this is the story of the Portside community in the early days of the Celtic Tiger. It tells of Dommo Nevins and his well-intentioned attempts to free the 'faces' he sees trapped in the roof of the Tin Chapel. With the help of his godmother, Fran, a reluctant faith healer, and some longtime inhabitants of the Suicide Plot, Dommo tries to save an old disused graveyard from a property developer. Alan Roe seeks to destroy the Portside parish and all it stands for, because of his father's murder during the 1953 Hunger March in Dublin. In trying to do the right thing, Dommo unwittingly releases the ferocious power of the faces on those foolish enough to buy or borrow one. 'Faces', the original story on which this novel is based, was the winner of the Anton Chekhov Award for Short Fiction (USA) in 1997. Review Not patronising in the least towards its characters, Faces is an unusual novel -- think Fair City meets the Butcher Boy. Well worth your attention, if only for the fact that one chapter is called "The Very Exsame Thing". It's a Dublin thing! -- George Byrne, Evening Herald, Dublin, Feb. 23 2001 From the Back Cover 'I love this surreal book, with its magical, flawed characters and the unusual setting of a waterfront community. The character of Dommo is unforgettable. This is a wonderful, riveting novel that should be read by all who love great storytelling.' (Marcia Cebulska, Polish-American Playwright, Kansas, USA.) 'Wonderfully funny and thought provoking. Storytelling that is rich and unusual.' (Professor Margaret Blanchard, Poet and author of 'From the Listening Place -Languages of Intuition', Vermont, USA). Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. From Chapter 1: In the Suicide Plot "Dom gaw lukka." Dommo Nevins told himself to go have a good look around as soon as he climbed over the gate into the Suicide Plot. Even before reaching the graveyard he had sensed something was wrong. His first thought was that the faces were messing with his head again, but the feeling wasn't nearly big enough for that. Besides, it was daytime. Whenever a face showed itself it did so real clear, and always in the dark. Faces had never bothered him in the graveyard, though he was sure that this was where the bones of their owners rested. His unease grew stronger on reaching the far corner of the Plot. He hadn't come by this part of the plot for a few days. The very air itself around him felt different. If something was amiss in the graveyard, it might well be in the humors of the place itself. Graveyards were just like people. They had their good days and their bad. All the days of his life, Dommo had known that everything here was alive. The grass, the soil, the trees and the stones themselves. The very remains under the soil, the bones and dust, somehow alive to what was happening around them. Not like people, not eating and breathing, but in some other way he could not even begin to imagine. His aunt Cissie had often used a word for such hard to sort out things. Whenever she could not explain something she would say it was 'a mystery' and leave it at that. As far as Dommo could tell, mysteries included most things in life. Everything from why God up in heaven let the good die young to how Frank Brady, who owned the only butchers shop in Portside, could get away with selling olden horses as young cow meat. Had druggies been here and messed up some of the graves again? It had been a long time since they had done any damage. A quick walk around the Plot told him that they had not been here overnight. Anyway, they rarely moved inside more than a few footsteps from the safety of the gates. Sometimes a homeless one would sleep in the Plot, but very seldom, and none that Dommo knew of recently. This had to be the most quiet graveyard in all of Ireland. Maybe the spyglass men had come back? A long while ago two men had come into the plot carry
EAN: 9780953952809
Languages: English
Binding: paperback
Item Condition: New