A propulsive, blood-flecked homage to the 'Iliad' told against the backdrop of a fragile truce in 1996…Hughes’s story proceeds at a breakneck cinematic pace.” — New York Times Book Review
“A lively, convincing demotic that captures an Irish idiomatic flow and an echo of Homer’s formalities and hexametric lines. It begs to be read aloud.” — The Times (UK)
“The language is enough to keep you enthralled . . . a violent pounding demotic as memorable in its way as Homer’s hexameter.” — The Guardian
“A bold, imaginative second novel” — The Spectator
“Energetic . . . an ingenious refitting that illuminates both conflicts.” — Guardian, Books of the Year 2018
“Country explodes with verbal invention, rapid juxtaposition, brutality and fun . . . Hughes’s linguistic dexterity, his ear for dialogue, his understanding of character, the energy of his prose.“ — Times Literary Supplement (London)
“Reading this book is like sitting in the pub listening to a good friend tell you stories. It does what only the best retellings can and makes you see the myth anew.” — Daisy Johnson, author of Everything Under
“This is a hard, rigorous and necessary book which grinds out its beauty as the song cycles of empire and resistance fall silent, choked in their own blood.” — Irish Times
“A brutal and gripping thriller in its own right . . . a consistently engrossing read, written in Ulster-flavoured prose as rich and evocative as you would expect from a professional thespian.” — Irish Independent
“Consistently thrilling . . . By enlisting the visceral power of The Iliad to illustrate the violence of the Troubles . . . Hughes has written a striking, memorable book.” — Literary Review
“Prose that crackles with the vernacular of hard men, yet remains compulsively readable throughout . . . a classic story, and a gritty contemporary thriller, this book is an extraordinary achievement.” — Stuart Neville, author of The Ghosts of Belfast
“Hughes’s clever conceit in this dark take on political violence—the Irish author’s American debut—is to transport The Iliad from ancient Troy to Northern Ireland in the mid-’90s, during a cease-fire between the IRA and the British… A canny update of one of the world’s oldest stories.” — Publishers Weekly
“Gives new context to the fatal forces that drive Homer’s epic: loyalty, machismo, and entitlement to women… stellar writing… well worth reading.” — Booklist
“A story of violence and betrayal so urgent that you may miss your subway stop reading it… The voltage in this book comes from all the way from prehistory and it sparks to life again in Hughes’s gifted hands… he has something world-shaking to say and he has found the perfect medium through which to say it.” — Irish Central
A lively, convincing demotic that captures an Irish idiomatic flow and an echo of Homer’s formalities and hexametric lines. It begs to be read aloud.
“Country explodes with verbal invention, rapid juxtaposition, brutality and fun . . . Hughes’s linguistic dexterity, his ear for dialogue, his understanding of character, the energy of his prose.“
Times Literary Supplement (London)
This is a hard, rigorous and necessary book which grinds out its beauty as the song cycles of empire and resistance fall silent, choked in their own blood.
Energetic . . . an ingenious refitting that illuminates both conflicts.
Books of the Year 2018 Guardian
Reading this book is like sitting in the pub listening to a good friend tell you stories. It does what only the best retellings can and makes you see the myth anew.
The language is enough to keep you enthralled . . . a violent pounding demotic as memorable in its way as Homer’s hexameter.
A brutal and gripping thriller in its own right . . . a consistently engrossing read, written in Ulster-flavoured prose as rich and evocative as you would expect from a professional thespian.
Consistently thrilling . . . By enlisting the visceral power of The Iliad to illustrate the violence of the Troubles . . . Hughes has written a striking, memorable book.
A propulsive, blood-flecked homage to the 'Iliad' told against the backdrop of a fragile truce in 1996…Hughes’s story proceeds at a breakneck cinematic pace.
New York Times Book Review
A bold, imaginative second novel
Gives new context to the fatal forces that drive Homer’s epic: loyalty, machismo, and entitlement to women… stellar writing… well worth reading.
Prose that crackles with the vernacular of hard men, yet remains compulsively readable throughout . . . a classic story, and a gritty contemporary thriller, this book is an extraordinary achievement.
A story of violence and betrayal so urgent that you may miss your subway stop reading it… The voltage in this book comes from all the way from prehistory and it sparks to life again in Hughes’s gifted hands… he has something world-shaking to say and he has found the perfect medium through which to say it.
Gives new context to the fatal forces that drive Homer’s epic: loyalty, machismo, and entitlement to women… stellar writing… well worth reading.
The language is enough to keep you enthralled . . . a violent pounding demotic as memorable in its way as Homer’s hexameter.
This is a hard, rigorous and necessary book which grinds out its beauty as the song cycles of empire and resistance fall silent, choked in their own blood.
“Country explodes with verbal invention, rapid juxtaposition, brutality and fun . . . Hughes’s linguistic dexterity, his ear for dialogue, his understanding of character, the energy of his prose.“
Times Literary Supplement (London)
Consistently thrilling . . . By enlisting the visceral power of The Iliad to illustrate the violence of the Troubles . . . Hughes has written a striking, memorable book.
A lively, convincing demotic that captures an Irish idiomatic flow and an echo of Homer’s formalities and hexametric lines. It begs to be read aloud.
Energetic . . . an ingenious refitting that illuminates both conflicts.
Books of the Year 2018 Guardian
A bold, imaginative second novel
A brutal and gripping thriller in its own right . . . a consistently engrossing read, written in Ulster-flavoured prose as rich and evocative as you would expect from a professional thespian.
08/05/2019
Hughes’s clever conceit in this dark take on political violence—the Irish author’s American debut—is to transport The Iliad from ancient Troy to Northern Ireland in the mid-’90s, during a cease-fire between the IRA and the British. The year is 1996, and Nellie is married to an IRA soldier while simultaneously being an informer for the British. When she fears exposure, she is spirited out of the country, thus paving the way for an SAS roll-up of her husband’s unit. To combat the SAS, Pig, the local IRA head, calls for the support of Achill, the most feared member of his unit. But Achill has a personal grudge against Pig and turns him down. In his stead, Achill’s friend, Pat, goes one-on-one with an SAS officer, Capt. Henry Morrow, even as the powers that be in London, Belfast, and Dublin use the cease-fire to their own, opposing cynical ends. The tragedy that ensues sheds light on what these past and present conflicts have in common. The original gang from The Iliad is represented—Helen, Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Hector—and it is the author’s language that keeps the story fresh. There is rough poetry in both the self-serving speechifying of the leaders and the violent threats of the rank-and-file. This is a canny update of one of the world’s oldest stories. (Oct.)
2019-07-15The Iliad in the Irish borderlands during the final months of the Troubles.
Northern Ireland, 1996. Despite the cease-fire, Shane Campbell (alias Pig), the Officer Commanding of a Provisional IRA unit, is planning a strike on a nearby British Army garrison. Why? Because Pig's sister-in-law Nellie, the wife of his brother Brian (alias Dog), has tarnished the Campbell name by turning "tout" (Loyalist/British agent) and then running away to England with her handler. Sound familiar? Just you wait. The action opens with a disagreement between Pig and Liam O'Brien (unsubtle alias: Achill). After Pig is forced to return "his girl" to her father, a local Protestant landowner, he decides that he must have Achill's girl as a replacement. Achill—the famed Border Sniper, hugely feared by the IRA's enemies—rebels against Pig's tyranny by putting down his arms, an act which emboldens the British (the best of whom is SAS Capt. Henry Morrow) to set an ambush for Pig's team. The rest is…well…The Iliad . And that's the problem. Writing in a fast-paced Irish lilt, debut bard Hughes is at his best (which, mind you, can be good) when he's least faithful to his Homeric blueprint. His reimagining of Helen (here Nellie) is especially striking, showing how a young woman's search for freedom ends up entangling her (because abortions are illegal) in the very place and conflict from which she seeks escape. But Nellie's section is, alas, an exception. Hughes is faithful to Homer's story at the expense of his own. His characters are not themselves but proxies for the Homeric originals; they don the armor and read the lines but are lacking in on-the-page emotional complexity. Similarly, dozens of scenes are included to simply check off their corresponding plot box in The Iliad —and therefore deliver very little affect of their own. The result? The novel, despite its promising start, quickly devolves into a litany of allusions. Look! The Republican pub is called the Ships! Look! The British fort is called Castle William but some kids monkeyed with the sign and now it reads "Castle Illiam!" Look! Pat (nee Patroclus) is literally wearing Achill's body armor! Look! Achill, the famed long-distance sniper, has literally chased Henry three times around Illiam's walls on foot!
A too faithful retelling that, despite some vivid moments, ultimately has little life of its own.