Longlisted for the Booker Prize
A Best Book of the Year at The Times (London), The Irish Times, and The Globe and Mail
Shortlisted for the Orwell Prize for Political Fiction and the Irish Book Award
“The Colony is a novel of ideas . . . Magee builds her world with a rich particularity . . . [anchored] in the brutal political realities of Ireland during a fateful summer, while acting as a reminder of imperialism’s broader legacy around the world.”
—Kathryn Hughes, The New York Times Book Review
“There are layers on layers [in The Colony]—art, revolution, passion and cheating, who is lying to whom, and how much do we lie to ourselves . . . What price are we willing to pay for creativity and fame?”
—Nancy Brown, The Boston Globe
“A story about language and identity, about art, oppression, freedom and colonialism . . . A novel about big, important things.”
—Lucy Scholes, Financial Times
“An exploration of art, language, and love.”
—The Christian Science Monitor, “10 Best Books of May”
“Like a fable, The Colony is sealed up tight, all possible meanings accounted for. And, like history itself, it has a bitter lesson to teach . . . It makes an ultimately satisfying shape in the mind, and creates a mood that lingers discomfitingly after the final page is turned.”
—Kevin Power, The Guardian
“What a relief it is to find a novel that treats the reader as a grown-up, that is fresh without chasing literary fashion, provocative but not shouty, and idiosyncratic but fully satisfying from the strange comedy of its opening pages to its decisive conclusion . . . [The Colony] contains multitudes—on families, on men and women, on rural communities—with much of it just visible on the surface, like the flicker of a smile or a shark in the water.”
—John Self, The Times
“Inspired . . . Magee strikes an expert balance of imagination and lucidity . . . [The Colony] proves that the path to understanding is a meaningful one.
—Ciara Brennan, The Rumpus
“[A] panorama of lyrical beauty, effort, and complex connection . . . A finely wrought, multilayered tale with the lucidity of a parable.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Lyrical and trenchant . . . It’s a delicate balance, and one the author pulls off brilliantly.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A compelling exploration of the intersection of the personal and the political.”
—Bryce Christensen, Booklist (starred review)
“[The Colony] demands close attention, but deserves it as a carefully written and serious work of art should.”
—Allan Massie, The Scotsman
“A breathtaking and poignant story about language, art, and cultural identity.”
—Olivia Rutligliano, CrimeReads
“Lyrical . . . Forceful.”
—Amanda Ellison, BookBrowse
“The Colony is a brilliant novel, a subtle and thoughtfully calibrated commentary about the nature and balance of power between classes, cultures, genders. There is violence here, but, most impressively, Audrey Magee captures that more insidious cruelty—the kind masked as protection, as manners.”
—Mary Beth Keane, author of Ask Again, Yes
“A careful interrogation, The Colony expertly explores the mutability of language and art, the triumphs and failures inherent to the process of creation and preservation.”
—Raven Leilani, author of Luster
“A lyrical, rich, and emotionally powerful novel. The Colony comes alive like a brooding and beautiful canvas painted off the Irish coast.”
—Dominic Smith, author of The Last Painting of Sara de Vos
“The Colony is a vivid and memorable book about art, land and language, love and sex, youth and age. Big ideas tread lightly through Audrey Magee’s strong prose.”
—Sarah Moss, author of The Fell
“So brilliant in its quiet tragedy, so revealing in its precision. It haunts me.”
—Tsitsi Dangarembga, author of This Mournable Body
“The Colony is brimming with ideas about identity and soul; a canny, challenging, and never less than engrossing read.”
—Lisa McInerney, author of The Rules of Revelation
★ 03/14/2022
Irish journalist and novelist Magee (The Undertaking) returns with the lyrical and trenchant story of an English landscape painter who visits a small Irish island during the Troubles. It’s the summer of 1979, and an artist known only as Mr. Lloyd leaves London for a rented cottage on the island. Soon after, Jean-Pierre Masson, a French linguist, arrives to study Gaelic, a language he calls “ancient and beautiful” and wants to keep alive. From the beginning, the two clash, sniping at one another and arguing over whose work is more important. Meanwhile, the locals, wary of their guests’ colonial prejudices, have their own ideas of what’s worth cherishing. James Gillan, 15, wants nothing to do with a life of fishing and hopes to be an artist. Lloyd, struck by the boy’s natural talent, promises him a life of fame back in London. Complications ensue after Lloyd falls in love with James’s widowed mother, Mairéad. Throughout, Magee weaves in bulletin-like vignettes of sectarian violence, such as an IRA bombing in South Armagh, which stand in stark contrast to the guests’ fantasies of an untouched world. Even more enriching is Magee’s depiction of James, who critiques Lloyd’s mediocre efforts in internal monologues (“You’re not understanding the light at all... it buries underneath, diving between the waves as a bird might, lighting the water from below as well as above”). It’s a delicate balance, and one the author pulls off brilliantly. (May.)
★ 2022-02-08
With the arrival of two foreigners, a painter and a linguist, a sparsely populated island off the Irish coast becomes the setting for life-changing choices and conflicts.
Magee’s multifaceted second novel is set in 1979 on a nameless rocky outcrop measuring three miles long and half a mile wide, population 92, where debates of profound significance about ownership and expression, language and culture, will develop. Mr. Lloyd, an English artist—heedless and demanding—has come to paint the island’s harsh beauty, tackling birds, cliffs, and light before embarking on the huge symbolic canvas he will think of as his masterpiece. The other visitor is Jean-Pierre Masson, a French linguist with an Algerian mother, returning to the island to finish a thesis he's been working on for five years devoted to the speaking of Gaelic, the original Irish language, which is dying out—as is typical in cultures oppressed by a colonizer, in this case the British. The islanders, depicted with wit and restraint, differ in their responses to the two incomers. Young widow Mairéad sleeps with Masson and allows Lloyd to paint her nearly naked. Mairéad’s 15-year-old son, James, discovers his own aptitude for art through Lloyd, intensifying his intention of escaping the legacy of the island and the burden of cultural expectation. Meanwhile, the women hold island life together, working incessantly, immovably rooted. And punctuating this panorama of lyrical beauty, effort, and complex connection, Magee introduces the steady drumbeat of murder, as the factions on the mainland—Protestant versus Catholic, Ulster loyalists versus the Irish Republican Army—bomb and shoot their enemies: soldiers, policemen, fellow citizens. The pace is unhurried, the tone often poetic as the author assembles location, character, and identity, but Magee’s path is both subtle and steely, lending a sense of inevitability as opinions harden, trusts are betrayed, and old patterns reassert themselves, devastatingly.
A finely wrought, multilayered tale with the lucidity of a parable.