I’m not sure how I’ve managed to miss Paul Lynch’s writing but as soon as I finished Beyond the Sea I added his previous novels to my list. Lynch’s prose exemplifies that spare, pared-back style which I so admire, one at which Irish writers seem to excel. In his new novella two fishermen are cast adrift after a dreadful storm, one dragooned into helping the other whose debt to drug barons has become a matter of urgency.
Bolivar is a fisherman, selfish in his pleasures and determined to take them. When a woman he has in his sights tells him the cartel he’s become involved with have come threatening violence unless he pays his debts, he takes off looking for his fishing mate who’s nowhere to be found. His boss warns him a storm has been forecast, telling him to take young Hector if he must go out to sea. Despite his reservations, Bolivar has no choice. These two set off together – one a cynical, seasoned fisherman, the other naive and inexperienced. When the storm hits, its ferocity is so great it knocks out their boat’s engine. Soon it’s clear that the radio is inoperative, too. Neither can know how long they will be cast adrift with no means of calling for help. Each deals with their plight in different ways: Hector turns to God, fashioning an effigy of the Virgin from driftwood while fixating on his two-timing girlfriend; Bolivar devises ways of using the detritus that washes their way, catching enough fish to feed them and finding ways to preserve it. As the days wear on, Hector and Bolivar are forced to overcome their antipathy but days become months and each man is faced with his essential self.
Lynch’s novella explores themes of faith, madness, survival and existential crisis with an extraordinary intensity. Hector and Bolivar are thrown upon themselves and each other in order to survive. As a bond forms between them, each begins to tell the other about their lives, their secrets and their fears but while Hector sees faith as their saviour, Bolivar puts his trust in resourcefulness. Lynch’s short stark sentences, sometimes repeated, effectively evoke a claustrophobic feeling of being stranded aboard this tiny vessel, tossed around on a seemingly endless sea. As so often when I come across a piece of writing that pushes my literary buttons quite so effectively as Lynch’s does, I’m in danger of stuffing this review full of quotes but here are just a few gems:
Time now is not time. It does not pass but rests
Grief is a thing that sits shapeless between them
Days of hammering sun, the sea the sun’s anvil
He decides the barnacles taste entirely of the sea. He wonders too if he is now like them. If now you are made of wind and rain, salty air, the blood watered to brine. How you might taste to a shark
This is such a powerful piece of fiction, beautifully expressed, and all the better for its carefully crafted brevity. So good, I included it on my Booker Prize wish list.
Making a Virgin Mary out of driftwood is a very striking image. This sounds like it would connect well with some other books I’ve read recently: The Old Man and the Sea, Doggerland, even Night Boat to Tangier (though that has a very different tone). I’ve heard of several of Lynch’s books, but never tried one before. He definitely sounds like an author to seek out.
One of many striking images throughout the novella, Rebecca. I’ll definitely be exploring more of his writing.
I read Paul Lynch’s Grace when it was nominated for The Walter Scott Prize but I have to say it was a book I admired (for the writing) rather than loved.
His writing is so striking, isn’t it. Grace does sound very bleak although this one is, too, I’m afraid.
Your first paragraph had me convinced! I’ll definitely explore him further, somehow he’s completely passed me by.
Me, too, and if this one’s anything to go by we’ve both been missing out.
I am a sucker for any book with Sea in the title and a good place to start with Paul Lynch’s writing. I’ve not read any of his either but if you’re hunting down his backlist on the basis of this one, then I’m clambering aboard, too.
Excellent! I hope you won’t be to storm-tossed, Kath.
I’m fine with being storm tossed if it lands me on a different shore for a time!
Definitely at the moment!