WordSmith: Go and get lost…

It's Ireland Reads Day and Gerard Smith has an interesting tale about getting lost in books...

I vividly recall being eighteen with friends, our whole life ahead of us as we had those midnight chats wherein we’d discuss our hopes, dreams, and fears, while supping from pint glasses full of teenage optimism. One night as a group of us were discussing our fears, I was surprised when a lad expressed his, “Getting lost,” he said. I didn’t understand and replied, “I love getting lost…” Back then we didn’t understand our respective responses to being lost and we ended up having a row.

Now, I realise we had very different perceptions of being ‘lost'. His fear came from the anxiety inherent in not finding a way back to the safety of home; whereas my love of ‘lost’ came from the calm of getting lost from life’s tribulations in woodland and quiet countryside.

Then of course there’s the absolute joy of getting lost in a good book. I was an early adopter, frequently getting lost in Ladybird picture books, while toddling towards first school. Aged twelve I found a copy of Edna O’Brien’s ‘Country Girls’ hidden in my town Granny’s house; I became so engrossed that I’d lose all concept of time and place while reading it. Aged fourteen I discovered Stephen King, which began a lifetime of getting lost in the small towns of King’s home state of Maine in the US.

In London I found myself working in the corporate world, a place in which I was never a natural fit; it was looking forward to getting lost in a book after work that helped me through those executive days.

On my return to Cavan I began to look for books set at home; I’d been away for over thirty years and wanted to immerse myself in the drumlin-landscape to make up for the years I’d missed in the city-scape. In a local café I got talking to a woman, and when I mentioned my yearning to read books from writers on our doorstep she immediately suggested, “McGunker, it’s a great book.”

In the Johnston Central Library I sat down and opened said book. The first sentence hooked me, “Anyway Ned’s brae is a tight one.” The informality of the opening word, “Anyway,” set an easy conversational tone that drew me into the narrative. McGunker is narrated by ten-year-old Michael Conaty, based on the author’s diaries from his childhood. In terms of genre, I’d call it ‘Autofiction’ - that is, it’s a blend of lived experience combined with fictionalised elements. It’s set in Cavan, Ireland, but would equally resonate with readers in Cavan, Australia; for it’s testament to the writers skill in scribing a local-story that’s imbued with global-resonance.

McGunker is a story centred in childhood, and in that there’s universality. As adults, we become disconnected from people by our life’s divergent paths; our differences and disagreements often erode human connections. It’s only as children that we’re truly connected; for in that short window we and our friends: hoped, dreamt, feared, and fought on a daily basis; yet we forgave and forgot the following day – for me, the charm and wonder of McGunker is in its capturing of that most fleeting of moments with a beautiful balance of humour and pathos.

Michael and I grew up in very different places; while he and his friends were running around the fields of rural Cavan, my friends and I ran around the urban streets of inner-city Manchester; yet our childhoods shared the same soundtrack – “Georgie Best, superstar, walks like a woman and he wears a bra,” we sang loud and proud from our respective landscapes. On Saturdays we rough and tumbled with: Big Daddy, Giant Haystacks, and Mick McManus; we delighted in the comics Dandy and Beano, with Bunty for our sister, the princess.

And above all Michael and I shared an idol: Kevin Keegan. But while Michael dreamt of having his football skills, I dreamt of having his glossy hair to replace my dull curls. So, imagine my surprise when in 1977 Kevin acquired his famous ‘poodle-perm'. I forever cherish the day when with a group of friends one girl looked at me and said, “You look like Kevin Keegan.” It’s the only dream I’ve ever had come true – I loved every moment of my Kevin Keegan days.

I have much to be grateful to McGunker for, and I say with absolute gratitude to the writer that it inspired me, and in many ways it continues to inform my writing – that’s the mark of a good book.

Anyway, Saturday the 28th of February is ‘Ireland Reads Day’ a national celebration of reading. Come along to the Johnston Central Library at 10am – 12.30pm and get lost in the wonderful works from writers on our drumlin-doorsteps.

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