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The Truth Commissioner
Book by Park, David
384 pages, Hardcover
First published February 4, 2008
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 36 reviews
August 24, 2018
A Belfast Novel that Gets It Right
I was born in Northern Ireland, and kept coming back there all through the Troubles of the Seventies and Eighties. I was caught in the center of Belfast during the Bloody Friday bombings of 1972, staggering back to my train through streets littered with rubble and broken glass. I have returned only a couple of times since the Good Friday Agreement of 1998, pleased to see the removal of the sandbags and barricades and the new building that has followed. But the sectarian murals and graffiti still remain in places, and the long legacy of suspicion and resentment is not so easily put to rest.
There have been a few novelists who have understood the roots of the conflict, though inevitably with a bias towards one side or the other; Seamus Deane's quasi-autobiographical Reading in the Dark is a fine example. But few have tackled its aftermath. Stuart Neville is one, in The Ghosts of Belfast, in which he explores what becomes of a former IRA hit man in a country now theoretically at peace. But being a thriller writer, his subject is still the legacy of violence, and he relies on violence once again to propel his climaxes. Hence my great pleasure at reading the Northern Ireland sections of Colum McCann's TransAtlantic and the author's warm portrayal of Senator George Mitchell, the architect of the 1998 agreement. And hence my admiration for this 2008 novel by David Park, who addresses the problems of peace with a native's understanding but without a trace of sectarian bias. Whether viewed as a political novel, an ethical exploration, a human character study, or simply as a gradually unfolding mystery, it is a superb book.
Park imagines that one approach taken in Northern Ireland might have been to establish a Truth and Reconciliation Commission on South African lines, in which people from all sides admit to their wrongdoing and are granted amnesty. His title character, a former judge named Henry Stanfield, is the son of a Catholic mother and Protestant father and so presumably free of bias. Although the hearings take their toll, he can also reflect on those miraculous occasions when they achieve their purpose:
However, it's also true that there are days when something else happens and someone's story rises up like a sad aria that, for all its artlessness, its lack of structure and simple language, sings out and fills the chamber. Some stories—and he can never predict them or see them coming—take on the mysterious power to reach beyond the external world and touch the quick of everyone who hears them.Park begins with a brief prelude in which an unnamed teenager is abducted by IRA operatives, taken to a remote farmhouse, and interrogated about being an informer for the British. By the time the main part of the book starts, the boy, Connor Walshe, has been missing for years. His case is number 107 on Stanfield's docket. But Park takes time to set up the four main characters in the drama, establishing them with remarkable sympathy as warm but flawed human beings leading their untidy lives as best they can. Stanfield is clearly an able and principled man, but he has been shattered by a messy divorce and has an alienated daughter living near Belfast. Although former IRA leader Francis Gilroy is now Minister for Children and Culture in the new coalition government, he must still go around with bodyguards, even as he makes preparations for his daughter's wedding. James Fenton, the former intelligence officer who recruited Connor, feels like an exile from a police force that has now no use for him, and divides his time between walking in the Mourne Mountains and supporting an orphanage in Romania. Another IRA man, Danny, has fled illegally to America where he works on the grounds crew at a campus near Orlando; he is trying to start a new life with a new girlfriend, but his past catches up with him. These four introductions are expansive but remarkable, making almost cinematic use of telling set pieces. Although I obviously feel closer in background to some of these men more than others, I cannot say which I ended up by liking or respecting more as human beings.
And what of the truth? As these four come together and the date of the hearing approaches, we begin to understand that each is fatally compromised. There are forces behind each of them that want to see the proceedings end in a certain way. And no matter what each desires in his heart, it is likely that any truth they utter will be partial or distorted. I have noticed before in his books (The Poets' Wives, The Light of Amsterdam), David Park does not craft neatly tied-up endings; I salute him for it. But some truths will out; cynicism need not always prevail.
October 10, 2014
This is 4 and a half stars for me. It creates the world of four men in Northern Ireland involved in a fictional "Truth and Reconciliation" hearing. In 2005 the Police Service of Northern Ireland set up the Historical Enquiries Team (HET) to investigate unsolved murders during the Troubles, between 1968-1998. The enquiries were not designed to bring those guilty to justice, but instead to help grieving families discover what had happened to their loved one. In this novel, Parks creates a fictional tribunal modeled on the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Park claims that none of the characters are based on actual people. Living in the tiny place that is Northern Ireland, this is necessary. Yet it is impossible not to see the resemblance between the characters and real figures in the North.The family of Conor Walshe, a 15 year old boy who disappeared during the Troubles is seeking answers. The truth commissioner of the title is Henry Stanfield, a lonely widower, estranged from his only child, a daughter who has moved to Belfast and married a teacher. Francis Gilroy is a former Provisional IRA man, now the Minister for Culture and Children in the new government. Michael Madden, an IRA volunteer who fled at the age of 18 to America, is brought back for the inquiry, leaving behind the new life he has built with a new name and pregnant fiance. The fourth character is a retired RUC detective James Fenton. All the characters are haunted by the past, and secrets from that time. Their present lives are fragile, and the current peace in Northern Ireland, doesn't bring them peace. No one trusts anyone. The hearings pulls that buried past into the present, and threaten to disrupt all their lives. The HET has been scheduled to close down at the end of December, 2014 because the PSNI doesn't have the £50,000 to run it, and the government sees the need to use the funds elsewhere.
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/...
This is a novel that raises many questions. Can there be peace without an investigation of the past? The HET did not prosecute anyone based on information revealed during investigations. But this novel describes how no one involved in these inquiries experiences peace. We see the turbulent interior lives of the four main male characters, turbulence that threatens to destroy them. The novel is full of beautiful prose and images. One that stays with me his Park's description of the diffuse light of Belfast, attributing it to being on the edge of Europe.
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/...
This is a novel that raises many questions. Can there be peace without an investigation of the past? The HET did not prosecute anyone based on information revealed during investigations. But this novel describes how no one involved in these inquiries experiences peace. We see the turbulent interior lives of the four main male characters, turbulence that threatens to destroy them. The novel is full of beautiful prose and images. One that stays with me his Park's description of the diffuse light of Belfast, attributing it to being on the edge of Europe.
July 7, 2023
I have a very clear memory from childhood of an aborted trip to Belfast. I was in the back of the family car, my brothers beside me and parents in front, and had just crossed Queen's Bridge, heading into the city centre. We were travelling up from our small town on the north coast to meet some cousins of ours. I had been in Belfast plenty of times before this, but the city still impressed its scale upon me. It was exciting to turn off the monotonous motorway and creep through slow traffic into what seemed a metropolis. Buildings that were probably only ten stories high were veritable skyscrapers, such was my provincial perspective.
Suddenly, the traffic came to a dead halt. I could sense my parents' backs straighten, the expressions in the rearview mirror tighten. Something was amiss. My father switched the radio on and we caught the end of a bulletin about a bomb threat in the city centre. The bulletin itself didn't mean much to me, but the sudden change in my parents did. All I had known in life was the small town I had lived in, which had been left almost entirely untouched by the conflict. My parents, however, had lived through some of the worst violence as children and young adults in Belfast. As a student at Queen's University, my mother went to bed at night to the sound of distant gunfire. My father could remember IRA snipers aiming down his street at the British Army. I think that's why they moved to my hometown when they had children, to make sure we never had to experience that.
My father swung the car around in a U-turn and drove back across the bridge. It wasn't worth it, he said, we'd just go home.
I think I would have been around ten years old when this happened, right around the time of the Good Friday Agreement. Growing up where I did, it was one of the very few times in my life that the violence seemed real, something that wasn't simply on the news every night. As I grew older, it appeared on the news less and less. For it was peacetime now, or so we were repeatedly reminded by politicians. And indeed most people who were involved with one side of the conflict or the other seemed to have gone into politics or retired altogether.
In school we were told over and over again how lucky we were that our generation didn't have to know the bad old days. We didn't hear much about those days though, just that we were lucky to had a chance of making something of ourselves and Northern Ireland's future. Best to forget about the past, not to burden our young minds with all that nonsense and nastiness. And yet, all we seemed to hear about on the news in those days was talk of dealing with the past, of not forgetting it quite yet, of the need for truth and reconciliation.
David Park's novel imagines a progressive attempt at dealing with Northern Ireland's past that has often been touted but never happened. Henry Stanfield, a priggish judge of mixed Catholic and Protestant parentage, has been asked to return home to a place he would rather forget. He has been tasked with heading a historic Truth and Reconciliation Commission that the British Government hope will finally help the province move on from its past and into a brighter future. Promising amnesty for all who give testimony, the Commission will allow the truth of unsolved killings to finally be unearthed. Then, such is the hope, everyone will move on and forget that they hate each other.
The first hearing concerns the historic disappearance of 15-year old Connor Walshe, a kid who got way in over his head in someone else's war. We never find out exactly what happened to Connor, which is entirely the point of Park's novel. Although we might imagine at the outset that this will be an investigative novel in which Stanfield digs relentlessly for the truth, Park takes this is an different and much more interesting direction.
Park switches between the perspectives of three men involved in Connor's death and as we learn more about their current lives and their involvement in this old case, we know less and less about the truth. Francis Gilroy is a former IRA head who was there when Connor died and is now a senior politician who is trying to figure out his place in the world of politics. James Fenton is a retired policeman who was running Connor as an informant and just wants to forget the past. Michael (Danny) Madden has been making a new life in the US after a brief involvement with the IRA in his youth. He was also there when Connor was killed.
What is so remarkable about Park's very fine novel is how he holds back from the truth and, in the process, grants a deep sense of meaning to the reader. For this is a novel of ideas, despite its mystery set-up at the beginning. Park seems to argue that no matter how serious the interest is in reaching the truth, it will always have to come second to protecting certain people in politics. A bit of truth, we learn, is not enough for those left behind. But the whole truth is perhaps too much for the peace process to stay on track.
Eschewing a more traditional investigative plot, Park takes us deep into the lives of the characters, exploring details that have little relevance to the ostensible story of the novel. We quickly learn that the Connor's case is not the only thing that unites Stanfield, Gilroy, Fenton, and Madden. Another thing they alll have in common is a troubled relationship with children. Stanfield is estranged from his daughter due to his life of infidelity and selfishness. Gilroy's daughter is about to get married and he can't cope with her leaving the ambit of his life. Fenton never had children, a regret that he and his wife eternally share, but his volunteer work with a Romanian orphanage sparks some hope for him. Madden's partner is pregnant with their child and he isn't sure he can become a father before he confesses to his past.
The theme of parents failing their children is extremely pertinent to post-Troubles Northern Ireland, and Park makes deft work of this to explore what it means when one generation betrays the next. But the relationships the characters have with their children also explores the desire so many people have to hide the truth for reasons of maintaining moral authority. What is good for the truth of each character is often very bad for the wider truth of community. This is all summed up rather well in a passage late in the novel, when Stanfield muses on whether his relationship with his daughter is damaged beyond repair:
"Sometimes truth indeed has to be faced and he believes that there's only future grief if he doesn't accept that what [his late wife] Martine came to feel for him has been transfused into their daughter's bloodstream and silts her veins with a bitterness that no passing of time can assuage or ameliorate" (310).
In the end, though, there is a glimmer of hope for their relationship, when his daughter has her own child and seems to welcome Stanfield back into her life. But crucially, this reconciliation is based on a lie that Stanfield decides to maintain, which if ever found out would put this rekindled relationship asunder.
Park is brilliant at the moral ambivalence of peace, and he has expressed better than anyone else I have read what it is like to live in post-Troubles Northern Ireland. Truth, it sadly seems, is the price we must pay for peace. And yet how can we tell a society that it must choose between the two?
Suddenly, the traffic came to a dead halt. I could sense my parents' backs straighten, the expressions in the rearview mirror tighten. Something was amiss. My father switched the radio on and we caught the end of a bulletin about a bomb threat in the city centre. The bulletin itself didn't mean much to me, but the sudden change in my parents did. All I had known in life was the small town I had lived in, which had been left almost entirely untouched by the conflict. My parents, however, had lived through some of the worst violence as children and young adults in Belfast. As a student at Queen's University, my mother went to bed at night to the sound of distant gunfire. My father could remember IRA snipers aiming down his street at the British Army. I think that's why they moved to my hometown when they had children, to make sure we never had to experience that.
My father swung the car around in a U-turn and drove back across the bridge. It wasn't worth it, he said, we'd just go home.
I think I would have been around ten years old when this happened, right around the time of the Good Friday Agreement. Growing up where I did, it was one of the very few times in my life that the violence seemed real, something that wasn't simply on the news every night. As I grew older, it appeared on the news less and less. For it was peacetime now, or so we were repeatedly reminded by politicians. And indeed most people who were involved with one side of the conflict or the other seemed to have gone into politics or retired altogether.
In school we were told over and over again how lucky we were that our generation didn't have to know the bad old days. We didn't hear much about those days though, just that we were lucky to had a chance of making something of ourselves and Northern Ireland's future. Best to forget about the past, not to burden our young minds with all that nonsense and nastiness. And yet, all we seemed to hear about on the news in those days was talk of dealing with the past, of not forgetting it quite yet, of the need for truth and reconciliation.
David Park's novel imagines a progressive attempt at dealing with Northern Ireland's past that has often been touted but never happened. Henry Stanfield, a priggish judge of mixed Catholic and Protestant parentage, has been asked to return home to a place he would rather forget. He has been tasked with heading a historic Truth and Reconciliation Commission that the British Government hope will finally help the province move on from its past and into a brighter future. Promising amnesty for all who give testimony, the Commission will allow the truth of unsolved killings to finally be unearthed. Then, such is the hope, everyone will move on and forget that they hate each other.
The first hearing concerns the historic disappearance of 15-year old Connor Walshe, a kid who got way in over his head in someone else's war. We never find out exactly what happened to Connor, which is entirely the point of Park's novel. Although we might imagine at the outset that this will be an investigative novel in which Stanfield digs relentlessly for the truth, Park takes this is an different and much more interesting direction.
Park switches between the perspectives of three men involved in Connor's death and as we learn more about their current lives and their involvement in this old case, we know less and less about the truth. Francis Gilroy is a former IRA head who was there when Connor died and is now a senior politician who is trying to figure out his place in the world of politics. James Fenton is a retired policeman who was running Connor as an informant and just wants to forget the past. Michael (Danny) Madden has been making a new life in the US after a brief involvement with the IRA in his youth. He was also there when Connor was killed.
What is so remarkable about Park's very fine novel is how he holds back from the truth and, in the process, grants a deep sense of meaning to the reader. For this is a novel of ideas, despite its mystery set-up at the beginning. Park seems to argue that no matter how serious the interest is in reaching the truth, it will always have to come second to protecting certain people in politics. A bit of truth, we learn, is not enough for those left behind. But the whole truth is perhaps too much for the peace process to stay on track.
Eschewing a more traditional investigative plot, Park takes us deep into the lives of the characters, exploring details that have little relevance to the ostensible story of the novel. We quickly learn that the Connor's case is not the only thing that unites Stanfield, Gilroy, Fenton, and Madden. Another thing they alll have in common is a troubled relationship with children. Stanfield is estranged from his daughter due to his life of infidelity and selfishness. Gilroy's daughter is about to get married and he can't cope with her leaving the ambit of his life. Fenton never had children, a regret that he and his wife eternally share, but his volunteer work with a Romanian orphanage sparks some hope for him. Madden's partner is pregnant with their child and he isn't sure he can become a father before he confesses to his past.
The theme of parents failing their children is extremely pertinent to post-Troubles Northern Ireland, and Park makes deft work of this to explore what it means when one generation betrays the next. But the relationships the characters have with their children also explores the desire so many people have to hide the truth for reasons of maintaining moral authority. What is good for the truth of each character is often very bad for the wider truth of community. This is all summed up rather well in a passage late in the novel, when Stanfield muses on whether his relationship with his daughter is damaged beyond repair:
"Sometimes truth indeed has to be faced and he believes that there's only future grief if he doesn't accept that what [his late wife] Martine came to feel for him has been transfused into their daughter's bloodstream and silts her veins with a bitterness that no passing of time can assuage or ameliorate" (310).
In the end, though, there is a glimmer of hope for their relationship, when his daughter has her own child and seems to welcome Stanfield back into her life. But crucially, this reconciliation is based on a lie that Stanfield decides to maintain, which if ever found out would put this rekindled relationship asunder.
Park is brilliant at the moral ambivalence of peace, and he has expressed better than anyone else I have read what it is like to live in post-Troubles Northern Ireland. Truth, it sadly seems, is the price we must pay for peace. And yet how can we tell a society that it must choose between the two?
November 19, 2019
4.5
I loved this book; I had a lot of trouble putting it down last night but it was completely worth not sleeping.
more to come
I loved this book; I had a lot of trouble putting it down last night but it was completely worth not sleeping.
more to come
April 1, 2020
Some more than decent prose interwoven with cliché characters.
February 1, 2014
I rarely get bored by books, but there were a lot of times I wanted to put this down because it just wasn't engaging enough. The four main characters each have long sections about their current lives, with only the most tenuous idea of a connection among them. While each of them had an interesting story, they didn't coalesce into a whole in a satisfying way. And it was a long way to go to get to a fairly predictable ending.
September 24, 2011
Wonderful. It's rare to come across a compelling story combined with beautiful writing, and this book is one of those rarities.
November 10, 2021
N-a fost niciodată altundeva decât acolo unde mai fusese. În afară de clipele când Fenton l-a luat să vadă marea și alte câteva locuri de care abia își mai amintește, a fost doar unde a mai fost și înainte. Familiar este pentru el ce știe și de care nu se desparte niciodată de bunăvoie, așa că întreaga lui viață a însemnat un târâș lent prin siguranța propriei sale zone, unde granițele sunt bine fixate și încadrate într-o rețea îngustă de străzi și câteva drumuri mai largi pe care el doar rareori le-a parcurs până în centrul orașului. Când pică ceva nu e niciodată vorba de ceva spectaculos ― mărunțiș uitat pe prispa unei bucătării sau bănuți de plată a vreunei facturi lăsați pe o poliță în spatele vreunui ornament, ba odată chiar o veche lampă cu petrol pe care o păstrase până ce petrolul se consumase, după care o arsese. Nimic spectaculos, dar suficient cât să-i întrețină și chiar alimenteze o ambiție mai mare. Dorința de a fi cineva. Asta e tot ce-și dorește el cu adevărat.
Ca atare, resimte călătoria în care a fost acum luat ca pe un drum până la capătul lumii, și este înspăimântat că ar putea cădea dincolo de marginea necunoscută și neîncercată a acesteia. În mașină, înghesuit bine între oasele tari ale umerilor și picioarelor celor doi bărbați, încearcă mai întâi să privească pe geam, socotind că trebuie să memoreze totul, ca să se poată întoarce cu prima ocazie pe care o prinde, dar pe măsură ce minutele devin ore, renunță și își dă seama că nu are cum să descâlcească îngrozitorul labirint de drumuri până la originea lor. E mai înfricoșat de distanța pe care o străbate decât de cei trei bărbați din mașină, chiar dacă știe că ei înțeleg la ce iau parte. Se simte ca și cum s-ar scurge lent afară din lumea căreia îi aparține și se gândește la un astronaut pe care l-a văzut odată la televizor efectuând niște reparații în afara vehiculului spațial, în vreme ce era atașat de acesta cu un cablu. Ce se întâmplă dacă se rupe cablul? Iar în acea mașină el se simte brusc imponderabil, dus departe de casă și de siguranța cuibului de curenți cărora nu li se poate opune și pe care nici măcar nu poate să-i vadă. Îl apucă brusc tremuratul și unul din bărbați se îndepărtează de el, ca și cum ar fi fost speriat să nu ia cine știe ce boală contagioasă.
Culeg de pe drum un al patrulea bărbat, care se așază pe scaunul din față și se uită lung la el, după care îi întoarce spatele. E o privire pe care el a mai văzut-o. Știe ce spune ea, dar de această dată nu răspunde cu o privire sfidătoare, ci își pleacă ochii în jos. Dacă ar fi vorbit cineva din mașină poate că și-ar fi dat seama la ce se gândesc ei și ce avea să i se întâmple lui, dar singura voce îi aparține bărbatului care stă pe scaunul din față și care dă indicații de drum șoferului, fără a da din cap sau a face vreun gest, așa că nici măcar nu e sigur că acele vorbe aparțin individului. Când bărbatul din dreapta lui scoate un pachet de țigări și le oferă țigări celorlalți, doar șoferul, cel mai tânăr dintre cei patru, cere una, care îi este aprinsă și trecută în față. Și el ar vrea una, și chiar întoarce capul în lateral ca să se uite la posesorul țigărilor, dar i se răspunde suflându-i-se fum drept în față.
Vrea să se ducă acasă, dar acum e prea speriat ca să mai rostească ceva. Încearcă să se gândească la asta. Dacă o spune, va părea un copil și ei nu vor mai avea niciun fel de respect pentru el, dar poate că tocmai un copil ar trebui să fie acum. Poate că asta e cel mai bine pentru el, ca și cum dacă ar fi suficient de mic ei l-ar duce la casa de care aparține, l-ar livra înapoi pe strada lui ca pe un colet poștal. Fumul de la cele două țigări plutește leneș dincolo de el; acum chiar are mare poftă de una. Se gândește să ceară, dar n-o face deoarece puștii nu fumează. Tăcerea începe să îl apese și el simte că plutește în derivă în imensitatea spațiului, ca și cum ar fi fost separat de nava-mamă. Trebuie să găsească repede ceva de care să se agațe, așa că, în vreme ce frica i se insinuează lipicioasă pe gât și îi pițigăiază glasul, el spune:
― Vreau să merg acasă.
Omul de pe scaunul din față se întoarce pe jumătate și arată cu degetul spre el.
― Nu vorbi, zice el. Nu scoate o vorbă până ce nu ți se va cere.
Vrea instinctiv să-i replice, să rostească ceva, dar individul din stânga lui îi înfige cotul în coaste, nu ca să-l rănească, ci ca să-l avertizeze, și, simțind frica în acea atingere, frica altcuiva, tace.
Ca atare, resimte călătoria în care a fost acum luat ca pe un drum până la capătul lumii, și este înspăimântat că ar putea cădea dincolo de marginea necunoscută și neîncercată a acesteia. În mașină, înghesuit bine între oasele tari ale umerilor și picioarelor celor doi bărbați, încearcă mai întâi să privească pe geam, socotind că trebuie să memoreze totul, ca să se poată întoarce cu prima ocazie pe care o prinde, dar pe măsură ce minutele devin ore, renunță și își dă seama că nu are cum să descâlcească îngrozitorul labirint de drumuri până la originea lor. E mai înfricoșat de distanța pe care o străbate decât de cei trei bărbați din mașină, chiar dacă știe că ei înțeleg la ce iau parte. Se simte ca și cum s-ar scurge lent afară din lumea căreia îi aparține și se gândește la un astronaut pe care l-a văzut odată la televizor efectuând niște reparații în afara vehiculului spațial, în vreme ce era atașat de acesta cu un cablu. Ce se întâmplă dacă se rupe cablul? Iar în acea mașină el se simte brusc imponderabil, dus departe de casă și de siguranța cuibului de curenți cărora nu li se poate opune și pe care nici măcar nu poate să-i vadă. Îl apucă brusc tremuratul și unul din bărbați se îndepărtează de el, ca și cum ar fi fost speriat să nu ia cine știe ce boală contagioasă.
Culeg de pe drum un al patrulea bărbat, care se așază pe scaunul din față și se uită lung la el, după care îi întoarce spatele. E o privire pe care el a mai văzut-o. Știe ce spune ea, dar de această dată nu răspunde cu o privire sfidătoare, ci își pleacă ochii în jos. Dacă ar fi vorbit cineva din mașină poate că și-ar fi dat seama la ce se gândesc ei și ce avea să i se întâmple lui, dar singura voce îi aparține bărbatului care stă pe scaunul din față și care dă indicații de drum șoferului, fără a da din cap sau a face vreun gest, așa că nici măcar nu e sigur că acele vorbe aparțin individului. Când bărbatul din dreapta lui scoate un pachet de țigări și le oferă țigări celorlalți, doar șoferul, cel mai tânăr dintre cei patru, cere una, care îi este aprinsă și trecută în față. Și el ar vrea una, și chiar întoarce capul în lateral ca să se uite la posesorul țigărilor, dar i se răspunde suflându-i-se fum drept în față.
Vrea să se ducă acasă, dar acum e prea speriat ca să mai rostească ceva. Încearcă să se gândească la asta. Dacă o spune, va părea un copil și ei nu vor mai avea niciun fel de respect pentru el, dar poate că tocmai un copil ar trebui să fie acum. Poate că asta e cel mai bine pentru el, ca și cum dacă ar fi suficient de mic ei l-ar duce la casa de care aparține, l-ar livra înapoi pe strada lui ca pe un colet poștal. Fumul de la cele două țigări plutește leneș dincolo de el; acum chiar are mare poftă de una. Se gândește să ceară, dar n-o face deoarece puștii nu fumează. Tăcerea începe să îl apese și el simte că plutește în derivă în imensitatea spațiului, ca și cum ar fi fost separat de nava-mamă. Trebuie să găsească repede ceva de care să se agațe, așa că, în vreme ce frica i se insinuează lipicioasă pe gât și îi pițigăiază glasul, el spune:
― Vreau să merg acasă.
Omul de pe scaunul din față se întoarce pe jumătate și arată cu degetul spre el.
― Nu vorbi, zice el. Nu scoate o vorbă până ce nu ți se va cere.
Vrea instinctiv să-i replice, să rostească ceva, dar individul din stânga lui îi înfige cotul în coaste, nu ca să-l rănească, ci ca să-l avertizeze, și, simțind frica în acea atingere, frica altcuiva, tace.
April 5, 2023
The Truth Commissioner posits what would happen if Northern Ireland were to ever have a Truth and Reconciliation Commission to facilitate healing from the damage inflicted on both sides of the Troubles. It constantly questions the nature of truth and truth, color, and weather all play important roles throughout the novel. The four main characters in the novel are described so effectively and are very complex because of their various jobs, former jobs, familial relationships, and aspirations. The novel skips around timewise, and between characters, and is so masterfully written. The reveals of the novel are slow at first, but then the last 60 pages make up some of the most exciting prose I've read to date, with twists and turns and an ending that makes one sit and reflect.
Excellent novel and I'll definitely be trying more Park.
Excellent novel and I'll definitely be trying more Park.
Shelved as 'read-some'
November 1, 2021Not my thing. Too literary. Stopped around this point on page ten:
"After three weeks of the suffocating, endless meetings with the smugly condescending ANC and their carefully chosen supporters; detailed study of legal documentation and lengthy reports; long pointless journeys on dusty roads to the townships to talk to those who had participated in the Truth and Reconciliation process and the interminable lectures on the need for ubantu, the African philosophy of humanism--it had seemed a pleasant prospect to finish with the cooler air of the coast and some well-earned relaxation."
The next sentence is ten lines long. I don't read fiction like this for entertainment.
"After three weeks of the suffocating, endless meetings with the smugly condescending ANC and their carefully chosen supporters; detailed study of legal documentation and lengthy reports; long pointless journeys on dusty roads to the townships to talk to those who had participated in the Truth and Reconciliation process and the interminable lectures on the need for ubantu, the African philosophy of humanism--it had seemed a pleasant prospect to finish with the cooler air of the coast and some well-earned relaxation."
The next sentence is ten lines long. I don't read fiction like this for entertainment.
August 8, 2018
I seem to be engrossed, once again, in Northern Irish literature. Park's Truth Commission is fictional, but it is close enough to the the realities of post-Good Friday Agreement official efforts at "reconciliation" to be thoroughly readable and worthwhile. It bothered me a bit that any women characters were secondary to the plot, but that is probably intensified by my recent focus (and writing) on Claire McGowan's Northern Irish fiction, in which a developed and strong woman protagonist takes center stage. I do see a paper in my future about THE TRUTH COMMISSIONER.
December 3, 2017
I read this for school, and it was very informative as to the politics during the times of the Troubles. The idea of Ireland doing a Truth and Reconciliation was cool, and was explored well. The writing was dense at times, and Park was very heavy-handed with his metaphors and language.
May 19, 2018
The mystery to the reader is what connects the four men to each other and the enquiry into the disappearance of a young boy during troubles in Belfast. I thought the ending left me wanting to know more about the final outcome.
October 31, 2024
Born and bred in Northern Ireland, this book rings true to life here. A compelling read, a great writer. I didn't know what to expect but it has a satisfying end - no matter which foot you kick with. I'll leave it there..
February 23, 2022
There is a nice style to the pace and tension of this. It builds up and up into an ending. It’s still a bit OTT. As if the convulsions of Northern Ireland’s ridiculously complicated way of being crashed into 90s New York. I liked it. I’ll read more.
February 19, 2018
I have given this four stars despite identifying so much with the events portrayed as the background to this novel, having lived through them. My familiarity with the subject matter pulled me on. David Park is a great writer, there is no doubt. His images are original and imaginative. However, in another review, the reader described his prose as 'over-cooked' and I have to agree with that. Sometimes the imagery is heavy and convoluted, enough to make the reader stop and blink! When words get in the way of the story instead of making you experience it, it's a problem. There are also enormous chunks of prose without the relief of dialogue. Not always a problem, but the book is very heavy on introspection and occasionally I felt that the internal maunderings of the characters were just unrealistic.
Nevertheless, this is an important imagining of the on-going trauma which is suffered by the participants in a conflict, long after the reporters and cameramen have left. I look forward to the film.
Nevertheless, this is an important imagining of the on-going trauma which is suffered by the participants in a conflict, long after the reporters and cameramen have left. I look forward to the film.
August 18, 2011
Northern Ireland’s “troubles” have ended but they are far from forgotten. The result of the bitter violence lingers and a truth commission has been established in an attempt to search for healing in a community where lies and revenge are a historic part of the culture. Amnesty from prosecution is an integral part of the commission’s ritual of confession but trust in not easily found, if at all. Conner Walshe, a fifteen year old Catholic boy, who was accused as an informer has disappeared and several key witnesses have been called to testify, the problem is that these three men have buried the memories so deep in the past that the truth is difficult to identify. The process is even more complicated by pressure brought to bear by organizations and groups that feel that they have too much to lose if the “wrong” truth surfaces. Park weaves an intriguing and gripping story of men reliving their past actions and facing the responsibilities for them.
March 15, 2013
One of Park's greatest achievements in this book is the extraordinary way in which the dead boy is evoked. The book opens with a dramatic prologue from the boy's point of view and, although his only other appearance is towards the end (and in the form of his taped 'confession') he remains at its centre throughout - the embodiment of the violent past that still burdens each of the central characters. The description of the boy, through Fenton's eyes especially, is quite remarkable in its particularity. The use of the Northern Ireland climate, counterpointed with that of Florida where the former IRA man Michael now resides, is used very effectively to suggest a kind of claustrophobic bleakness (though the Tourist Board won't be cheering much!) At some points I found the language overly lush - the closing passage in particular - but there are many moments of astonishing beauty and great insight. Highly recommended.
February 5, 2014
http://nwhyte.livejournal.com/2222971.html[return][return]the book is quite engaging in a masculine sort of way - there are four alternating viewpoint characters, the two IRA men who shot a young informer many years ago, the informer's police handler, and the titular Commissioner who is drawn into this particular story by his own complex family dynamics. I found a number of details a bit jarring, particularly with regard to the internationally appointed commissioner himself (I guess that's a realm I move in more than the author does), but it's a fine character study of four men coming to terms with the damage they have done to themselves, to each other, to the women in their lives and to the long-ago victim. There are no winners, and perhaps that is the moral.
May 4, 2008
Set in a recent future Belfast post-peace process, the book tells the story of one abduction and murder from the later standpoint of the many involved with it. The event ricochets through all of their lives, unraveled ultimately by the truth and reconciliation commission. This book is a very cynical and sad book about the loss of ideals--IRA, RUC, and human rights activists, all men, in late middle age. The messages seems to be it's all pointless. A wee bit grim but captures current political dilemmas in Belfast post-peace as well as the feeling of pointlessness as one nears the end of a career.
June 18, 2012
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (fictional) has been set up to bring closure for victims on previously unsolved crimes -with an amnesty for any information providers. The lives of four men become linked by one particular case involving the disappearance of a fifteen year old boy who had been acting as a 'tout'.
Each of the characters carries baggage from their differing pasts and finds it impossible to shed. Each man's disappointments, inadequacies and indiscretions are haunting, and ultimately we are left with the knowledge that there is no truth here.
This is an absorbing and thoroughly enjoyable read. My first David Park book but not my last.
Each of the characters carries baggage from their differing pasts and finds it impossible to shed. Each man's disappointments, inadequacies and indiscretions are haunting, and ultimately we are left with the knowledge that there is no truth here.
This is an absorbing and thoroughly enjoyable read. My first David Park book but not my last.
September 5, 2008
This book is about a truth and reconciliation process that might have taken place in Belfast. It's beautifully written, with glimpses into a number of characters who were all involved with a young man's death during the Troubles.
As much as I wanted to love this book, I had a hard time finishing it. I just didn't care enough about the characters, although each one was interesting. Nor did I care enough about the unfolding drama.
My guess is that I would have liked this book a lot more if I had simply read it at a different time.
As much as I wanted to love this book, I had a hard time finishing it. I just didn't care enough about the characters, although each one was interesting. Nor did I care enough about the unfolding drama.
My guess is that I would have liked this book a lot more if I had simply read it at a different time.
July 22, 2016
Written about the end of the troubles in Northern Ireland and how basically it was all covered up and how the people involved in their different ways did or didn't come to terms with it, this book was quite interesting. It didn't go into a lot of detail about what had gone on in N. ireland during the troubles but more about how it affected people after, from both sides. I felt it could have gone into a lot more detail. So much was left unsaid, so much unfinished. Rather lacking in the end which was really disappointing.
November 16, 2014
Vivid descriptions, beautiful writing style and unique characters that can't be easily forgotten... and the abstract from the Bible in the beginning is so right for the plot and true meaning of the book as I get it that I just could not refrain from citing it here:
"For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had. St John 5, 2-4"
"For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had. St John 5, 2-4"
March 17, 2009
an easy way to introduce oneself to "the troubles" in northern ireland. while one could say that it focuses on the periphery of the irish--british relationship, that was not a bad thing for me; i tend to like character more than history. after a really strong start, the format accentuates a jumpy, weakness to the novel but, once i figured out the set up it drew me along.
September 28, 2014
This is a beautiful book - the prose and the characterisation reminded me [bizarrely] of Raymond Briggs' Gentleman Jim. It's an effortless piece, wonderful storytelling and yet of something so horrible as the troubles. Don't let it put you off. Don't let anything about this put you off. This man is a great writer.
October 30, 2012
This is marvellous. The intertwined plot is not just clever but really satisfying. If you would steer clear of books about war - don't avoid this one. There is something humanist about his portrayal of character, as well as an honesty. Some of the narrative threads were so exiting that I read the book standing at a rainy bus stop. I bought more by the same author straight away;
January 25, 2013
This book searches for both personal and societal truth, but whether it finds it remains to be seen. The questions that linger long after ones has read the final sentence in the book will remain unanswered because there is no ONE truth.
This book is thought- provoking and forces one to examine one's own so-called 'truths'.
Well worth the read.
This book is thought- provoking and forces one to examine one's own so-called 'truths'.
Well worth the read.
Read
January 1, 2014Hugely popular novel which was highly thought of. David Park describes the convening of a fictional Truth Commission established to achieve reconciliation by unpicking Northern Ireland's violent past - particularly the disappearance of a Belfast teenager.
Jo
Jo
April 2, 2014
Superb. A difficult subject, deftly told, using characters you can bother to care about, in a way that explains but doesn't lecture. He leaves you to draw your own views. Another great David Parks story.
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