[writer]
Fenian's Trace is an outstanding well written historical fiction story by Sean P. Mahoney. Through its pages we learn of one small village's struggles with the British occupation of Ireland leading up to the Easter Rebellion and ultimately Ireland's independence in 1921.
The story begins in 1901 Limerick with two young brothers who desire to do nothing more than hitch a ride on a canal boat carting barrels of Guinness. As the years roll by, they eventually succeed in riding on that boat and along the way they meet some very interesting men who enjoy telling stories of Irish heroes and legends. As teens, their interests start to veer in different directions and they fall in love with the same girl. Eventually they choose different paths dealing with the rebellion.One passionately acts out against the English occupation (like all of the great legends before him), and the other takes the path of a pacifist, all the while remaining loyal and true to his family and the other villagers.
I listened to the audible version of Finian's Trace narrated by Liam Carney, who is a well known and resepected actor. His warm husky voice and gravely tones were ideal to portray a gruff old Limerick pub owner who enjoys the grand tradition of Irish storytellers. I enjoyed it so much, I hope someone from Hollywood reads it and makes a movie out of it, like they did with Frank McCourt's Angela Ashes in 1999. In summary, I higjly recommend this book!
Excerpt from Chapter 6
Martin Sheehan’s farmstead was set back against a rugged wooded hill and only approachable by a long boreen that cut through acres of low potato fields. They were awash in their purple and white spring blossoms, and with the showers down the earthy odour off them filled the afternoon’s air. Rory inhaled the scent deep into his lungs after the long run he’d put in it from Cloonlara to far out the Ennis Road, but when the Sheehan place came into view, he finally slowed his feet to give his mind a chance to catch up with his plan, whatever that might be. He really hadn’t a clue why he was there.
The very thought of Liam taking on a job at the New Barracks was wrecking his head. That barracks was the seat of English power in Limerick City, housing both British Army troops and a good number of RIC men. Hundreds of ’em. You could hear the bastards drilling on their acres of parade grounds inside its walls. You could see them as well, with a peek through the massive stretch of iron gate that led inside, at least until you were ushered along by the soldiers stationed at the two guard posts on either side. How could he agree to work for the fuckers?
Rory’s whole life, Liam was as far from political as a man could get. He did his work and that was that. Rory had never seen him take any interest in Republicanism, never heard him speak a word on the movement. Still, the Sinn Feinery was the talk all over Ireland in them days. Hell, Rory himself rarely stopped yammering about it. There was no way Liam wasn’t aware of the message he was sending by taking on that job. People would wonder what side he was on, and maybe not for the first time. But he never cared what people wondered. He did his work and that was that.
The whole way over he’d tried to suss out a reason that might make sense in explaining it to Martin. Could it really be the money? Was it enough that the Brit’s job would be after paying three or four times what they’d get anywhere else? Sure, money was tight. With the war on everyone was skint. But that was always the case and they’d always gotten by. No way Martin would accept that as a justification.
But fuck’s sake, what did he really think Martin could do about it anyhow? Could he talk him out of it? Rory’d never known Liam to be talked out of anything. Could he maybe bring other pressures to bear to make Liam reconsider? Rory knew well enough who Martin was. Is that why he was nearly to the man’s door?
He stood out in front of the house for a long moment. It was hardly surroundings that would suggest a regular meeting place of the upper command of the Brotherhood for Limerick. Horses could be heard from inside a large barn, set a ways off to the side just next to a small riding ring. The house itself was a fine two-storey, stone Georgian with a large brass claddagh knocker hanging in the center of its bright green door.
Martin’s wife answered it. The beautiful Mrs. Sheehan spoke to Rory with an accent he’d never before heard the likes of. A beguiling mix of New York and Sicily was a voice entirely alien to Clare. “Ciao,” she smiled. “What is it I can do for you, my dear?”
She sounded to him like an angel singing poetry. “Mr. Sheehan?” is all he could muster in reply.
“Just a minute,” she said, disappearing back inside to find him.
As he waited, Rory heard a horse neigh off by the riding ring. For a small stud farm, Martin had earned a reputation for breeding some of the soundest horses in Munster, and Rory was always keen to get a look at one of them. Indeed, it was an impressive stallion being led into the ring, but Rory couldn’t even take notice of it, for his eyes were captured by the even finer beauty pulling the reins. He was gobsmacked.