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This Is Happiness
About This Is Happiness
The most enchanting novel you'll read this year, from the acclaimed author of Man Booker-longlisted History of the Rain
Change is coming to Faha, a small Irish parish that hasn't changed in a thousand years.
For one thing, the rain is stopping. Nobody remembers when it started; rain on the western seaboard is a condition of living. But now – just as Father Coffey proclaims the coming of the electricity – the rain clouds are lifting. Seventeen-year-old Noel Crowe is idling in the unexpected sunshine when Christy makes his first entrance into Faha, bringing secrets he needs to atone for. Though he can't explain it, Noel knows right then: something has changed.
As the people of Faha anticipate the endlessly procrastinated advent of the electricity, and Noel navigates his own coming-of-age and his fallings in and out of love, Christy's past gradually comes to light, casting a new glow on a small world.
Harking back to a simpler time, This Is Happiness is a tender portrait of a community – its idiosyncrasies and traditions, its paradoxes and kindnesses, its failures and triumphs – and a coming-of-age tale like no other. Luminous and lyrical, yet anchored by roots running deep into the earthy and everyday, it is about the power of stories: their invisible currents that run through all we do, writing and rewriting us, and the transforming light that they throw onto our world.
The most enchanting novel you'll read this year, from the acclaimed author of Man Booker-longlisted History of the Rain
Change is coming to Faha, a small Irish parish that hasn't changed in a thousand years.
For one thing, the rain is stopping. Nobody remembers when it started; rain on the western seaboard is a condition of living. But now – just as Father Coffey proclaims the coming of the electricity – the rain clouds are lifting. Seventeen-year-old Noel Crowe is idling in the unexpected sunshine when Christy makes his first entrance into Faha, bringing secrets he needs to atone for. Though he can't explain it, Noel knows right then: something has changed.
As the people of Faha anticipate the endlessly procrastinated advent of the electricity, and Noel navigates his own coming-of-age and his fallings in and out of love, Christy's past gradually comes to light, casting a new glow on a small world.
Harking back to a simpler time, This Is Happiness is a tender portrait of a community – its idiosyncrasies and traditions, its paradoxes and kindnesses, its failures and triumphs – and a coming-of-age tale like no other. Luminous and lyrical, yet anchored by roots running deep into the earthy and everyday, it is about the power of stories: their invisible currents that run through all we do, writing and rewriting us, and the transforming light that they throw onto our world.
400 pages, Hardcover
First published September 5, 2019
About the author
Niall Williams
23 books888 followersNiall Williams studied English and French Literature at University College Dublin and graduated with a MA in Modern American Literature. He moved to New York in 1980 where he married Christine Breen. His first job in New York was opening boxes of books in Fox and Sutherland's Bookshop in Mount Kisco. He later worked as a copywriter for Avon Books in New York City before leaving America with Chris in 1985 to attempt to make a life as a writer in Ireland. They moved on April 1st to the cottage in west Clare that Chris's grandfather had left eighty years before to find his life in America.
His first four books were co-written with Chris and tell of their life together in Co Clare.
In 1991 Niall's first play THE MURPHY INITIATIVE was staged at The Abbey Theatre in Dublin. His second play, A LITTLE LIKE PARADISE was produced on the Peacock stage of The Abbey Theatre in 1995. His third play, THE WAY YOU LOOK TONIGHT, was produced by Galway's Druid Theatre Company in 1999.
Niall's first novel was FOUR LETTERS OF LOVE. Published in 1997, it went on to become an international bestseller and has been published in over twenty countries. His second novel, AS IT IS IN HEAVEN was published in 1999 and short-listed for the Irish Times Literature Prize. Further novels include THE FALL OF LIGHT, ONLY SAY THE WORD, BOY IN THE WORLD and its sequel, BOY AND MAN.
In 2008 Bloomsbury published Niall's fictional account of the last year in the life of the apostle, JOHN.
His new novel, HISTORY OF THE RAIN, will be published by Bloomsbury in the UK/Ireland and in the USA Spring 2014. (Spanish and Turkish rights have also been sold.)
Niall has recently written several screenplays. Two have been optioned by film companies.
His first four books were co-written with Chris and tell of their life together in Co Clare.
In 1991 Niall's first play THE MURPHY INITIATIVE was staged at The Abbey Theatre in Dublin. His second play, A LITTLE LIKE PARADISE was produced on the Peacock stage of The Abbey Theatre in 1995. His third play, THE WAY YOU LOOK TONIGHT, was produced by Galway's Druid Theatre Company in 1999.
Niall's first novel was FOUR LETTERS OF LOVE. Published in 1997, it went on to become an international bestseller and has been published in over twenty countries. His second novel, AS IT IS IN HEAVEN was published in 1999 and short-listed for the Irish Times Literature Prize. Further novels include THE FALL OF LIGHT, ONLY SAY THE WORD, BOY IN THE WORLD and its sequel, BOY AND MAN.
In 2008 Bloomsbury published Niall's fictional account of the last year in the life of the apostle, JOHN.
His new novel, HISTORY OF THE RAIN, will be published by Bloomsbury in the UK/Ireland and in the USA Spring 2014. (Spanish and Turkish rights have also been sold.)
Niall has recently written several screenplays. Two have been optioned by film companies.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,710 reviews
July 9, 2020
Niall Williams writes a joyous ode to Ireland, its landscape, and to family and community roots in this lyrical coming of age novel set in the rural village of Faha in County Clare. It speaks of a not so long ago past where life was simpler, a place that ran to its own sense of time, ostensibly not a memorable place, but Williams lovingly and tenderly evokes and illuminates a family and a community with their own particular beauty. Even if it did rain incessantly in all its multitudinous forms almost all of the time, a rain that shapes location and its inhabitants. People are stories, and stories are a source of celebration, reasons to live, inherently integral to Faha, knitting its people together with each other and at the heart of its traditions and rituals. Stories may not always be believed but they have currency, a currency that is quintessentially bone deep in its Irishness. Nothing is more Irish than the central place of the Catholic Church, and true to this, in Faha its life blood is St Cecilia's Church, and Father Coffey refuses all opportunites to move, so deep is he embedded in Faha and to Fahaeans.
78 year old Noel 'Noe' Crowe is looking back at his life and loves, a life that he knows is rose tinted, Faha had its own villains, was scarcely immune to the repercussions of the failure of Irish institutions laid bare, and not to mention the strains of impoverished lives. He refuses to let all this loom large in his memories, he is all too aware of his own errors, stupidities and how he unintentionally hurt others. He goes back to the time he returned to Faha at 17 years old after losing his faith and leaving the seminary, too afraid of the world to love it, and plagued by thoughts that somehow life is passing him by. He is living with Ganga and Doudy, his grandparents who kept intact ancient courtesies in the theatre that is their marriage, with Noe learning what subterfuge and sacrifice it took to be independent and undefeated by the pressures of reality. Christy comes to lodge, a man who had returned to Ireland poorer than when he left it to travel far and wide. He is deeply wrinkled like a chamois, with a poor eyesight that has been diminished by the world and the beauty of women and young Noe can feel that he is going to be a force for change. This is the glorious story of Noe's unfolding life and a Christy resolved to atone for his past mistakes.
The prose in the novel is so eloquent, imbued with the slow moving rhythms of rural life that reflects the pace of life that now seems to be beyond reach for most of us. This is an immersive read that takes in the changes that are brought with the introduction of the telephone and electricity, and the impact they have in Faha. What really got me was Williams’s gift with characters, from Noe, Christy, and to the beloved Ganga, a man who didn't believe in money, and despite being poor would drop a coin for someone to find, all so that he could make their day. People are vibrantly depicted with their quirks, simultaneously portrayed in all their ordinariness and extraordinariness. This will not appeal to readers who prefer their books to have a faster pace but for me, the world stopped as I read this, I was enthralled by Faha, this time period and the people. Williams is an accomplished storyteller. Many thanks to Bloomsbury for an ARC
78 year old Noel 'Noe' Crowe is looking back at his life and loves, a life that he knows is rose tinted, Faha had its own villains, was scarcely immune to the repercussions of the failure of Irish institutions laid bare, and not to mention the strains of impoverished lives. He refuses to let all this loom large in his memories, he is all too aware of his own errors, stupidities and how he unintentionally hurt others. He goes back to the time he returned to Faha at 17 years old after losing his faith and leaving the seminary, too afraid of the world to love it, and plagued by thoughts that somehow life is passing him by. He is living with Ganga and Doudy, his grandparents who kept intact ancient courtesies in the theatre that is their marriage, with Noe learning what subterfuge and sacrifice it took to be independent and undefeated by the pressures of reality. Christy comes to lodge, a man who had returned to Ireland poorer than when he left it to travel far and wide. He is deeply wrinkled like a chamois, with a poor eyesight that has been diminished by the world and the beauty of women and young Noe can feel that he is going to be a force for change. This is the glorious story of Noe's unfolding life and a Christy resolved to atone for his past mistakes.
The prose in the novel is so eloquent, imbued with the slow moving rhythms of rural life that reflects the pace of life that now seems to be beyond reach for most of us. This is an immersive read that takes in the changes that are brought with the introduction of the telephone and electricity, and the impact they have in Faha. What really got me was Williams’s gift with characters, from Noe, Christy, and to the beloved Ganga, a man who didn't believe in money, and despite being poor would drop a coin for someone to find, all so that he could make their day. People are vibrantly depicted with their quirks, simultaneously portrayed in all their ordinariness and extraordinariness. This will not appeal to readers who prefer their books to have a faster pace but for me, the world stopped as I read this, I was enthralled by Faha, this time period and the people. Williams is an accomplished storyteller. Many thanks to Bloomsbury for an ARC
March 9, 2020
"Story was the stuff of life, and to realise you were inside one allowed you to sometimes surrender to the plot, to bear a little easier the griefs and sufferings and to enjoy more fully the twists that came along the way."
I don’t know how to properly convey the beauty of this novel. I could share all the passages I rapturously marked, but then I might as well hand you the entire book. I was lost for a spell in the small Irish village of Faha, and think we would all do well to escape these modern times for a moment or two. Not that life was easy in Faha, not by any means. But what you could find there would be a slowing down and recognition of how a life is truly lived when you strip it of the extravagances we take for granted. Stories, traditions, music, love, failures and regrets are all part of the fabric of this community. You can hear the rain and even the ceasing of that rain, see the green hills, hear the fiddle, and smell the baking of bread. Niall Williams has a gift for placing you right beside one of his own beloved characters. Such evocative prose, like poetry, that swept me off my feet:
"The evenings that fell then were like embroidered cloths, warm and blue before the stars came out, a living embodiment of the soft permissive comfort in the sound May. Say it and you sound the evening coming down over Faha and the fields about, the cattle standing in them and the river behind the street wearing the navy sky like a favoured scarf. May. A sound that comes around you. A sound that has your mother in it."
This is in part Noel Crowe’s story as he looks back nearly sixty years to when he was just seventeen years old, bereft of a mother and having a crisis of faith as he ‘escapes’ from the seminary to stay with his grandparents. It’s a story of a deep friendship, a coming of age, an understanding of love, and the gift of absolution – especially towards oneself. Yet, I wouldn’t call this bleak. Yes, there are moments of sadness and regret, but there is also so much humor and life within these pages. Some may argue that there is not much of a plot. I would have to disagree because much of life isn’t full of grandiose happenings, but rather subtle but meaningful moments. They might pass by a casual observer, but to the one experiencing that time, it is marked by emotion and shapes what we come to be.
"At the time you’re living it you can sometimes think your life is nothing much. It’s ordinary and everyday and should be and could be in this or that way better. It is without the perspective by which any meaning can be derived because it’s too sensual and urgent and immediate, which is the way life is to be lived. We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying."
I can’t believe I’ve left this author unread for so long. I’ve had History of the Rain waiting on my kindle for nearly five years now. To think I’ve spent time with books that have failed to delight me when I could be reading divine writing like this makes me a bit angry with myself. On the bright side, I have a little pile of Niall Williams books to savor in the not too distant future.
"Sometimes a moment pierces so perfectly the shields of our everyday it becomes part of you and enjoys the privilege of being immemorial."
I don’t know how to properly convey the beauty of this novel. I could share all the passages I rapturously marked, but then I might as well hand you the entire book. I was lost for a spell in the small Irish village of Faha, and think we would all do well to escape these modern times for a moment or two. Not that life was easy in Faha, not by any means. But what you could find there would be a slowing down and recognition of how a life is truly lived when you strip it of the extravagances we take for granted. Stories, traditions, music, love, failures and regrets are all part of the fabric of this community. You can hear the rain and even the ceasing of that rain, see the green hills, hear the fiddle, and smell the baking of bread. Niall Williams has a gift for placing you right beside one of his own beloved characters. Such evocative prose, like poetry, that swept me off my feet:
"The evenings that fell then were like embroidered cloths, warm and blue before the stars came out, a living embodiment of the soft permissive comfort in the sound May. Say it and you sound the evening coming down over Faha and the fields about, the cattle standing in them and the river behind the street wearing the navy sky like a favoured scarf. May. A sound that comes around you. A sound that has your mother in it."
This is in part Noel Crowe’s story as he looks back nearly sixty years to when he was just seventeen years old, bereft of a mother and having a crisis of faith as he ‘escapes’ from the seminary to stay with his grandparents. It’s a story of a deep friendship, a coming of age, an understanding of love, and the gift of absolution – especially towards oneself. Yet, I wouldn’t call this bleak. Yes, there are moments of sadness and regret, but there is also so much humor and life within these pages. Some may argue that there is not much of a plot. I would have to disagree because much of life isn’t full of grandiose happenings, but rather subtle but meaningful moments. They might pass by a casual observer, but to the one experiencing that time, it is marked by emotion and shapes what we come to be.
"At the time you’re living it you can sometimes think your life is nothing much. It’s ordinary and everyday and should be and could be in this or that way better. It is without the perspective by which any meaning can be derived because it’s too sensual and urgent and immediate, which is the way life is to be lived. We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying."
I can’t believe I’ve left this author unread for so long. I’ve had History of the Rain waiting on my kindle for nearly five years now. To think I’ve spent time with books that have failed to delight me when I could be reading divine writing like this makes me a bit angry with myself. On the bright side, I have a little pile of Niall Williams books to savor in the not too distant future.
"Sometimes a moment pierces so perfectly the shields of our everyday it becomes part of you and enjoys the privilege of being immemorial."
March 16, 2020
Niall Williams is as Irish as an author can be. His observations focus on a small community of Faha in County Clare, living the way previous generations lived, with thier small affairs and problems. What is happiness? This is happiness, being satisfied with the small universe around you, solving problems using simple yet clever ideas, and feeling the unity with everything that surrounds you and has always been there.
This is a story of a teenager who lives in Dublin and who, after a traumatic event, spends some time with his grandparents. He needs time to come to terms with a decision he made, and Faha is the right place. It seems peaceful and yet there are dramas underneath the surface. And some dilemmas for a very young man who has just decided to give up the seminary.
I loved the delicate humour in the problems Faha faces: too much sunshine and electrtification, I loved all characters, especially Christy who is on a mission after being sixty years away from one special woman, I loved Noel's grandparents' dilapidating two-hundred-year-old house, and much more. I simply loved the novel this is about simplicity that is gone ...
This is a story of a teenager who lives in Dublin and who, after a traumatic event, spends some time with his grandparents. He needs time to come to terms with a decision he made, and Faha is the right place. It seems peaceful and yet there are dramas underneath the surface. And some dilemmas for a very young man who has just decided to give up the seminary.
I loved the delicate humour in the problems Faha faces: too much sunshine and electrtification, I loved all characters, especially Christy who is on a mission after being sixty years away from one special woman, I loved Noel's grandparents' dilapidating two-hundred-year-old house, and much more. I simply loved the novel this is about simplicity that is gone ...
December 11, 2023
This is why I read.
On the back over of this book there was a blurb from the Financial Times: “William’s prose [is]…life-affirming and written with a turn of phrase that makes the reader want to underline something good on every page.”
I bookmarked 12 pages.
I was crying near the end. And yet there were some passages in the book that made me laugh out loud (which takes a lot for me) or smile or have me talking to myself.
The time period in which the story takes place is in the 1950s, when electricity was just coming to the parish village of Faha in County Clare Ireland. A man of 78 years of age, Noe (Noel) is recalling the events that transpired one spring and summer 60 years previously. He had recently fallen 3 times and recognized his time on this earth were numbered…and he wanted to tell us about that spring and summer. Noe lived with his grandmother (Doady) and grandfather (Ganga) because his mother had died. They took in a lodger, a man Christy, who worked for the electrical board that was to wire the parish up for electricity. But Christy had another motive for coming to that parish which forms a large part of the story. The story also involves the deceased chemist’s wife, Annie Mooney, and a delightful miscellaneous cast of characters that made up the parish. Weather is also involved. This is a novel which moves at a nice leisurely pace across its 380 pages. As usual for me, no spoilers. ( 😊 )
I guess I would characterize this novel as a slice of life narrative peering back into the past when things were simpler, and when everybody seemed to know each other’s business.
There were many passages or sentences that were just god-awfully good. Here are just two but I have to agree with the reviewer from the Financial Times…you don’t have to go very far in this book to find something memorable.
• At the time you’re living it you can sometimes think your life is nothing much. It’s ordinary and everyday and should be and could be in this or that way better. It is without the perspective by which any meaning can be derived because it’s too sensual and urgent and immediate, which is the way life is to be lived. We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying. There’s something to consider for that.”
• Once he got going, my grandfather’s way of telling a story was to go pell-mell, throwing Aristotle’s unity of action, place and time into the air and in a tumult let the details tumble down the stairs of his brain and out of his mouth. He had grown up in an age when storytelling was founded on the forthright principles of passing the time and dissolving the hours of dark. …To conquer both time and reality then, one of the unwritten tenets of the local poetics was that a story must never arrive at the point, or risk conclusion. And because in Faha, like in all country places, time was the only thing people could afford, all stories were long, all storytellers took their, and your, and anyone else’s time, and all gave it up willingly, understanding that tales of anything as aberrant and contrary as human beings had to be long, not to say convoluted, had to be so long that they wouldn’t, and in fact couldn’t, be finished this side of the grave, and only for the fire gone out, and the birds of dawn singing might be continuing still.
Reviews: https://www.washingtonpost.com/entert...
https://www.ft.com/content/66ac8592-c...
https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
On the back over of this book there was a blurb from the Financial Times: “William’s prose [is]…life-affirming and written with a turn of phrase that makes the reader want to underline something good on every page.”
I bookmarked 12 pages.
I was crying near the end. And yet there were some passages in the book that made me laugh out loud (which takes a lot for me) or smile or have me talking to myself.
The time period in which the story takes place is in the 1950s, when electricity was just coming to the parish village of Faha in County Clare Ireland. A man of 78 years of age, Noe (Noel) is recalling the events that transpired one spring and summer 60 years previously. He had recently fallen 3 times and recognized his time on this earth were numbered…and he wanted to tell us about that spring and summer. Noe lived with his grandmother (Doady) and grandfather (Ganga) because his mother had died. They took in a lodger, a man Christy, who worked for the electrical board that was to wire the parish up for electricity. But Christy had another motive for coming to that parish which forms a large part of the story. The story also involves the deceased chemist’s wife, Annie Mooney, and a delightful miscellaneous cast of characters that made up the parish. Weather is also involved. This is a novel which moves at a nice leisurely pace across its 380 pages. As usual for me, no spoilers. ( 😊 )
I guess I would characterize this novel as a slice of life narrative peering back into the past when things were simpler, and when everybody seemed to know each other’s business.
There were many passages or sentences that were just god-awfully good. Here are just two but I have to agree with the reviewer from the Financial Times…you don’t have to go very far in this book to find something memorable.
• At the time you’re living it you can sometimes think your life is nothing much. It’s ordinary and everyday and should be and could be in this or that way better. It is without the perspective by which any meaning can be derived because it’s too sensual and urgent and immediate, which is the way life is to be lived. We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying. There’s something to consider for that.”
• Once he got going, my grandfather’s way of telling a story was to go pell-mell, throwing Aristotle’s unity of action, place and time into the air and in a tumult let the details tumble down the stairs of his brain and out of his mouth. He had grown up in an age when storytelling was founded on the forthright principles of passing the time and dissolving the hours of dark. …To conquer both time and reality then, one of the unwritten tenets of the local poetics was that a story must never arrive at the point, or risk conclusion. And because in Faha, like in all country places, time was the only thing people could afford, all stories were long, all storytellers took their, and your, and anyone else’s time, and all gave it up willingly, understanding that tales of anything as aberrant and contrary as human beings had to be long, not to say convoluted, had to be so long that they wouldn’t, and in fact couldn’t, be finished this side of the grave, and only for the fire gone out, and the birds of dawn singing might be continuing still.
Reviews: https://www.washingtonpost.com/entert...
https://www.ft.com/content/66ac8592-c...
https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
December 5, 2021
It’s a quiet story where it seems not much happens, but yet everything that is significant in life happens, slow moving and graceful - the beauty of friendship, of love, of family. The gorgeous writing took me back to Faha, the small village in Ireland of Niall Williams’ History of the Rain.
“It was where, when darkness fell, it fell absolutely, and when you went outside the wind sometimes drew apart the clouds and you stood in the revelation of so many stars that you could not credit the wonder and felt smaller in the body as your soul felt enormous.”
Noe is now an elderly man reflecting on his past as he grows up in the 1950’s in a place that amazingly doesn’t yet have electricity, making this feel like it’s so much further back in time, the story of a seemingly less complicated place and time. But it is so realistic in its portrayal of the sadness of loss, grief, regret and forgiveness that is part of life anywhere, anytime. A beautiful story.
“It was where, when darkness fell, it fell absolutely, and when you went outside the wind sometimes drew apart the clouds and you stood in the revelation of so many stars that you could not credit the wonder and felt smaller in the body as your soul felt enormous.”
Noe is now an elderly man reflecting on his past as he grows up in the 1950’s in a place that amazingly doesn’t yet have electricity, making this feel like it’s so much further back in time, the story of a seemingly less complicated place and time. But it is so realistic in its portrayal of the sadness of loss, grief, regret and forgiveness that is part of life anywhere, anytime. A beautiful story.
September 10, 2019
A week ago I had no idea who Niall Williams was but after this I’m sure I will not forgetting him for the rest of my life.
This was beautiful. There’s no other way to put it. Simply beautiful.
Nostalgic and melancholic from start to finish this is one of those novels where you’ll have to fall into the rhythm of the words to truly appreciate it. This is a book to be savoured and you can’t rush it. And you can’t give up on it either.
And so much wisdom... So many beautiful passages... I wanted to underline the whole book.
���(...) when darkness fell, it fell absolutely, and when you went outside the wind sometimes drew apart the clouds and you stood in the revelation of so many stars you could not credit the wonder and felt smaller in body as your soul felt enormous.”
“So compelling is the evidence of our own eyes and ears, so swift is your mind to assemble your own version of the story, that one of the hardest things in this world is to understand there’s another way of seeing things.”
This is a sometimes meandering and funny coming of age story where you’ll get to know the characters slowly and you’ll not get the whole picture until the end.
“May we all be so lucky to live long enough to see our time turn to fable.”
This was beautiful. There’s no other way to put it. Simply beautiful.
Nostalgic and melancholic from start to finish this is one of those novels where you’ll have to fall into the rhythm of the words to truly appreciate it. This is a book to be savoured and you can’t rush it. And you can’t give up on it either.
And so much wisdom... So many beautiful passages... I wanted to underline the whole book.
���(...) when darkness fell, it fell absolutely, and when you went outside the wind sometimes drew apart the clouds and you stood in the revelation of so many stars you could not credit the wonder and felt smaller in body as your soul felt enormous.”
“So compelling is the evidence of our own eyes and ears, so swift is your mind to assemble your own version of the story, that one of the hardest things in this world is to understand there’s another way of seeing things.”
This is a sometimes meandering and funny coming of age story where you’ll get to know the characters slowly and you’ll not get the whole picture until the end.
“May we all be so lucky to live long enough to see our time turn to fable.”
March 5, 2020
Set in the rural village of Faha, in County Clare, Ireland, this story wanders a bit as though it is traveling on one of the twisty, winding rural roads of the place where this story begins, and electricity is about to come to the people who live there.
It had stopped raining.
This story begins with this sentence, a very telling sentence that is even more so as it is the first chapter, this spot in Ireland where rain was …a condition of living. It came straight-down and sideways, frontwards backward and any other wards God could think of. It came in sweeps, in waves, sometimes in veils. It came dressed as drizzle, as mizzle, as mist, as showers, frequent and widespread, as a wet fog, as a damp day, a drop, a dreeping, and an out-and-out downpour…until in Faha your clothes were rain your skin was rain and your house was rain with a fireplace.
The narrator, Noe, Noel Crowe, is seventy-eight years as he tells the story of that time, a time now more than six decades in the past, old enough to view himself as an antique, and aware that by the mercy of creation the soonest thing to evaporate in memory is hardship and rain. Noe shares his story of his time in Faha, a story of first loves, by more than one Fahaean, of broken hearts and hearts that continue to break, a love of this place, and the people, family and friends - some gone too soon. With a particular fondness for reminiscing of that one memorable spring, Noe shares this story through his memories of this time and place, and the people. The lessons learned, the regrets, the yearning for love lost, a glimpse at life in this valley where the fields were in love with the river and life was simpler.
Years ago, I was introduced to the writing of Niall Williams when I read his History of the Rain,also located in Faha, and loved it. Since then, I’ve read several of his earlier novels and loved them all. His writing is both lyrical and whimsical, his turns of phrase charming, and the setting so atmospheric and enchanting that I can always envision the place, his characters so memorable and endearing that I miss them, as soon as I leave the pages.
It had stopped raining.
This story begins with this sentence, a very telling sentence that is even more so as it is the first chapter, this spot in Ireland where rain was …a condition of living. It came straight-down and sideways, frontwards backward and any other wards God could think of. It came in sweeps, in waves, sometimes in veils. It came dressed as drizzle, as mizzle, as mist, as showers, frequent and widespread, as a wet fog, as a damp day, a drop, a dreeping, and an out-and-out downpour…until in Faha your clothes were rain your skin was rain and your house was rain with a fireplace.
The narrator, Noe, Noel Crowe, is seventy-eight years as he tells the story of that time, a time now more than six decades in the past, old enough to view himself as an antique, and aware that by the mercy of creation the soonest thing to evaporate in memory is hardship and rain. Noe shares his story of his time in Faha, a story of first loves, by more than one Fahaean, of broken hearts and hearts that continue to break, a love of this place, and the people, family and friends - some gone too soon. With a particular fondness for reminiscing of that one memorable spring, Noe shares this story through his memories of this time and place, and the people. The lessons learned, the regrets, the yearning for love lost, a glimpse at life in this valley where the fields were in love with the river and life was simpler.
Years ago, I was introduced to the writing of Niall Williams when I read his History of the Rain,also located in Faha, and loved it. Since then, I’ve read several of his earlier novels and loved them all. His writing is both lyrical and whimsical, his turns of phrase charming, and the setting so atmospheric and enchanting that I can always envision the place, his characters so memorable and endearing that I miss them, as soon as I leave the pages.
November 19, 2019
The Ireland that Niall Williams writes about in this novel is gone — or would be if he hadn’t cradled it so tenderly in the clover of his prose. Escaping into the pages of “This Is Happiness” feels as much like time travel as enlightenment. Halfway through, I realized that if I didn’t stop underlining passages, the whole book would be underlined.
Although it takes place in the late 1950s, the story feels bathed in sepia tones, and that’s not just the candlelight of Williams’s nostalgia. Electricity has not yet come to the rainy parish of Faha in County Clare, where “This Is Happiness” is set. Proudly uninterested in the modern conveniences that other towns enjoy, these people work, instead, by the glow of lamps and moon, following the rhythms of life established centuries ago.
But that — and so much else — is about to change when 17-year-old Noe Crowe arrives from Dublin. He’s been sent to Faha to stay with his grandparents in their dark, thatched house. Haunted by the slow death of his mother, Noe has recently withdrawn from seminary, “not exactly in disgrace,” he says, but terrified he might never “discover what it meant to live a fully human life.” His experience in Faha will teach him — and us — much about that. . . .
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entert...
Although it takes place in the late 1950s, the story feels bathed in sepia tones, and that’s not just the candlelight of Williams’s nostalgia. Electricity has not yet come to the rainy parish of Faha in County Clare, where “This Is Happiness” is set. Proudly uninterested in the modern conveniences that other towns enjoy, these people work, instead, by the glow of lamps and moon, following the rhythms of life established centuries ago.
But that — and so much else — is about to change when 17-year-old Noe Crowe arrives from Dublin. He’s been sent to Faha to stay with his grandparents in their dark, thatched house. Haunted by the slow death of his mother, Noe has recently withdrawn from seminary, “not exactly in disgrace,” he says, but terrified he might never “discover what it meant to live a fully human life.” His experience in Faha will teach him — and us — much about that. . . .
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/entert...
December 12, 2019
No Spoilers....
Simply my personal feelings....
Niall Williams was one of my favorite -most exciting - new discovery authors when I read
“History of the Rain”, and “As It Is in Heaven”...
I cherished both other books.... and can’t recommend them
enough.
I knew I wanted to read more from Niall Williams ...
so when I saw “This Is Happiness”... ‘before’ seeing it available-to-request-on-Netgalley-
I didn’t hesitate to purchase it and began reading it right away ...,
But here’s the truth: I kept forcing myself to experience the depth and beauty of the ‘story’.
I followed along -and appreciated the lovely sentences describing the elements...and characters...
but I found this ‘coming-of-age’ tale a little ‘too’ slow...a little flat.
I was bored... trying not to be.
The subject wasn’t holding my interest ‘enough’.
It did sometimes- but not consistently.
It got better towards the end ...
a little sad, melancholic, and thought provoking...
I started to ‘feel’ emotions deeper as I stayed with it -
with excerpts like this:
“I went into St Cecelia’s that night not to pray that Annie Mooney would recover. I knew she would not, and Doctor Troy knew it and she knew it too. I went because grief has to find a home, has to find a place to settle, or the dark wings will overwhelm you and you will fall down in the road. I went into St Cecelia’s because when you come face-to-face with suffering you have to negotiate”.
My rating reflects my ‘overall’ personal interest/and lack of...
“This is Happiness”, was one of those books where I had to gently push myself to stay alert and enthusiastic for the plot itself.
My 3.5 star rating reflects the authors gorgeous prose, but less for the story itself.
Simply my personal feelings....
Niall Williams was one of my favorite -most exciting - new discovery authors when I read
“History of the Rain”, and “As It Is in Heaven”...
I cherished both other books.... and can’t recommend them
enough.
I knew I wanted to read more from Niall Williams ...
so when I saw “This Is Happiness”... ‘before’ seeing it available-to-request-on-Netgalley-
I didn’t hesitate to purchase it and began reading it right away ...,
But here’s the truth: I kept forcing myself to experience the depth and beauty of the ‘story’.
I followed along -and appreciated the lovely sentences describing the elements...and characters...
but I found this ‘coming-of-age’ tale a little ‘too’ slow...a little flat.
I was bored... trying not to be.
The subject wasn’t holding my interest ‘enough’.
It did sometimes- but not consistently.
It got better towards the end ...
a little sad, melancholic, and thought provoking...
I started to ‘feel’ emotions deeper as I stayed with it -
with excerpts like this:
“I went into St Cecelia’s that night not to pray that Annie Mooney would recover. I knew she would not, and Doctor Troy knew it and she knew it too. I went because grief has to find a home, has to find a place to settle, or the dark wings will overwhelm you and you will fall down in the road. I went into St Cecelia’s because when you come face-to-face with suffering you have to negotiate”.
My rating reflects my ‘overall’ personal interest/and lack of...
“This is Happiness”, was one of those books where I had to gently push myself to stay alert and enthusiastic for the plot itself.
My 3.5 star rating reflects the authors gorgeous prose, but less for the story itself.
August 10, 2020
Reading 'This is Happiness' is like taking a slow trip down a gently flowing river, winding languidly around wide bends, in the company of good friends with long stories to tell, your favourite drink by your side, and all the time in the world to enjoy it. His prose is lush and lyrical and filled with gentle humour and love as he recounts an earlier time in rural Ireland, before the coming of the telephone and electricity, when life was simpler and steeped in tradition.
Noel ('Noe') Crowe is the elderly narrator, looking back 60 years to the 1950s when he was 17 and staying with his grandparents Ganga and Doady in Faha, a small town in County Clare where the rain "was a condition of living". Noe had recently lost his mother and taking some time away from the seminary where he was training to be a priest after questioning his faith. Life in Faha hadn't changed for decades, but when his grandparents take in a lodger, Christy, at the same time that the rain stops for an unprecedented dry spell, Noe senses change in the air. Christy has travelled and seen the world but now in his sixties has returned to Ireland, taking a job with the Electricity Board to get people to sign up to being connected to the network that will be installed. For Noe it is an exciting time, going on Christy's rounds with him, listening to his stories, going out in the evening to find good music in the pubs, helping Christy find redemption for a past wrong and falling in love for the first time.
There are so many beautiful passages that I underlined and deserve to be quoted here, but that would mean reproducing much of the book, so you'll have to go and read it for yourself and fall in love with the characters and a kind of life that's been and gone. 5★ ++
With many thanks to Bloomsbury Publishing and Netgalley for a digital copy of the book to read.
Noel ('Noe') Crowe is the elderly narrator, looking back 60 years to the 1950s when he was 17 and staying with his grandparents Ganga and Doady in Faha, a small town in County Clare where the rain "was a condition of living". Noe had recently lost his mother and taking some time away from the seminary where he was training to be a priest after questioning his faith. Life in Faha hadn't changed for decades, but when his grandparents take in a lodger, Christy, at the same time that the rain stops for an unprecedented dry spell, Noe senses change in the air. Christy has travelled and seen the world but now in his sixties has returned to Ireland, taking a job with the Electricity Board to get people to sign up to being connected to the network that will be installed. For Noe it is an exciting time, going on Christy's rounds with him, listening to his stories, going out in the evening to find good music in the pubs, helping Christy find redemption for a past wrong and falling in love for the first time.
There are so many beautiful passages that I underlined and deserve to be quoted here, but that would mean reproducing much of the book, so you'll have to go and read it for yourself and fall in love with the characters and a kind of life that's been and gone. 5★ ++
With many thanks to Bloomsbury Publishing and Netgalley for a digital copy of the book to read.
April 20, 2022
There is nothing wrong with this book, it's just not my type of book and also I don't remember anything about it.
There are books I'm still capable of reviewing that I read 7+ years ago, but this one...we hit the four week mark and the memory had flown the coop, my dear boy!
It was...very Irish? That's all I got.
Bottom line: Meh!
--------------
pre-review
not quite happiness, for me personally.
review to come / 3 stars
--------------
tbr review
uncertain i could identify it in a lineup
(thanks to the publisher for the copy)
There are books I'm still capable of reviewing that I read 7+ years ago, but this one...we hit the four week mark and the memory had flown the coop, my dear boy!
It was...very Irish? That's all I got.
Bottom line: Meh!
--------------
pre-review
not quite happiness, for me personally.
review to come / 3 stars
--------------
tbr review
uncertain i could identify it in a lineup
(thanks to the publisher for the copy)
May 26, 2020
‘The truth turns into a story when it grows old. We all become stories in the end. So, though the narrative was flawed, the sense was of a life so lived it was epic.’ - This is Happiness, Niall Williams
This is Happiness is a wondrous story set in Faha, Ireland, in the 1950s, of life in a rural parish before the days of electricity. For me, happiness is reading yet another talented Irish writer, who is likely to rank among my favorite authors.
One of the first things that struck me was the freshness of expression in Williams’ prose. Faha was introduced as a place where rain was a constant condition of living - ‘in Faha your clothes were rain and your skin was rain and your house was rain with a fireplace.’ The story was narrated in the first person by Noel (aka Noe) Crowe, a man in his seventies, looking back on his youth, when at seventeen, he fled seminary due to a crisis of faith, and sought refuge and clarity of purpose at the thatched cottage of his grandparents (affectionately, Ganga and Doady) in Faha.
The highlight of his sojourn in Faha is his unlikely friendship with Christy McMahon, a 63-year-old ‘electric man,’ a boarder at his grandparents’ cottage. Whereas Noe is escaping the burden of the present and unknown future, Christy is braving the present to make peace with his past. Christy has returned to Faha for a reason; in his own words, ”I am resolved on a career of reparation.” It was heartwarming to see how Noe took the initiative to help Christy on his mission of reparation with a lady love he had failed and how Christy helped Noe ride out the uncertain rivers of infatuation and romantic love. Christy’s optimism toward his quest was touching. Like Noe, the reader cannot help but root for Christy, the ‘pathologic romantic’ and wish him well. Christy, Noe reflected, ‘walked this line between the comic and the poignant, between the certainly doomed and the hopelessly hopeful. In time I came to think it the common ground of all humanity.’ It was an enviable relationship wherein a youth on the brink of a brave new world and a man past his prime navigate their way through love. They are ‘the knights of first and last loves.’
Historically, this novel made for interesting reading. It painted a vivid picture of life in rural Ireland. In the 1950s, there was no electricity, no toilet in the house, and transport was a flatbed cart pulled by a horse. It documented a time in Faha’s history when electric poles were first being erected. Faha was finally getting electricity twelve years after it was proposed in Dublin. Yet, many Fahaeans were resistant to having their homes wired up for convenience.
One of the strengths of this novel is Williams’ superb characterization. His word painting brings his characters to life. My favorite is Noe’s grandfather, Ganga, who is the sweetest and gentlest old man with a heart of gold. Ganga has a smile like a perpetual sun and his trademark response is “Oh now.” Can you picture the following? ‘A short and almost perfectly round man with eyes always near to laughter and tufted hair that stay like a small wig on a football, Ganga had the large ears that God puts on old men as evidence of the humour necessary for creation.’ Here’s a description of Dr. Troy’s three daughters, with whom Noe was smitten: ‘Perhaps, by virtue of distant-breeding, dress, deportment, or the mystical numerology that decreed three the number of the divine, their presence alone was enough to trigger the silent ripples of a natural disturbance. Attraction is opaque and puzzling as an onion, but it’s fair to say that in the parish of Faha the beauty of the girls provoked a torment, to which I was not alone in being defenceless.’
Another area of strength is the rich insight Williams offers into the human psyche across a lifetime. Of value are the understandable shifts in Noe’s perceptions when he contemplated Christy’s failings from the vantage point of a naïve adolescent and later from that of a much older man who has made his fair share of mistakes. Looking back on his youth, Noe realizes, "I had no understanding yet that in this life the greatest predicament of man and womankind was just how to love another person." There was also compassion extended by the elderly Noe to his teenage self in both laughing at and forgiving his youthful follies. At age 78, Noe finds comfort in this thought, "We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying. There’s something to consider in that."
This is Happiness is a story about love, friendship, and hope of making amends for past wrongdoing. It is the journey of a young man finding his way in life, figuring out his vocation, falling in love, learning from the foibles of grownups in his life, and distilling the things that matter, and what it means to be truly alive. Electricity is an apt metaphor. This is a lovely story about human connections, the impulses that move people, the occasional breakdown in the circuitry of human connection but also its sure restoration.
When the last page was turned, my heart was so full. As Ganga would say, "Oh now." Read This is Happiness. It is highly recommended.
This is Happiness is a wondrous story set in Faha, Ireland, in the 1950s, of life in a rural parish before the days of electricity. For me, happiness is reading yet another talented Irish writer, who is likely to rank among my favorite authors.
One of the first things that struck me was the freshness of expression in Williams’ prose. Faha was introduced as a place where rain was a constant condition of living - ‘in Faha your clothes were rain and your skin was rain and your house was rain with a fireplace.’ The story was narrated in the first person by Noel (aka Noe) Crowe, a man in his seventies, looking back on his youth, when at seventeen, he fled seminary due to a crisis of faith, and sought refuge and clarity of purpose at the thatched cottage of his grandparents (affectionately, Ganga and Doady) in Faha.
The highlight of his sojourn in Faha is his unlikely friendship with Christy McMahon, a 63-year-old ‘electric man,’ a boarder at his grandparents’ cottage. Whereas Noe is escaping the burden of the present and unknown future, Christy is braving the present to make peace with his past. Christy has returned to Faha for a reason; in his own words, ”I am resolved on a career of reparation.” It was heartwarming to see how Noe took the initiative to help Christy on his mission of reparation with a lady love he had failed and how Christy helped Noe ride out the uncertain rivers of infatuation and romantic love. Christy’s optimism toward his quest was touching. Like Noe, the reader cannot help but root for Christy, the ‘pathologic romantic’ and wish him well. Christy, Noe reflected, ‘walked this line between the comic and the poignant, between the certainly doomed and the hopelessly hopeful. In time I came to think it the common ground of all humanity.’ It was an enviable relationship wherein a youth on the brink of a brave new world and a man past his prime navigate their way through love. They are ‘the knights of first and last loves.’
Historically, this novel made for interesting reading. It painted a vivid picture of life in rural Ireland. In the 1950s, there was no electricity, no toilet in the house, and transport was a flatbed cart pulled by a horse. It documented a time in Faha’s history when electric poles were first being erected. Faha was finally getting electricity twelve years after it was proposed in Dublin. Yet, many Fahaeans were resistant to having their homes wired up for convenience.
One of the strengths of this novel is Williams’ superb characterization. His word painting brings his characters to life. My favorite is Noe’s grandfather, Ganga, who is the sweetest and gentlest old man with a heart of gold. Ganga has a smile like a perpetual sun and his trademark response is “Oh now.” Can you picture the following? ‘A short and almost perfectly round man with eyes always near to laughter and tufted hair that stay like a small wig on a football, Ganga had the large ears that God puts on old men as evidence of the humour necessary for creation.’ Here’s a description of Dr. Troy’s three daughters, with whom Noe was smitten: ‘Perhaps, by virtue of distant-breeding, dress, deportment, or the mystical numerology that decreed three the number of the divine, their presence alone was enough to trigger the silent ripples of a natural disturbance. Attraction is opaque and puzzling as an onion, but it’s fair to say that in the parish of Faha the beauty of the girls provoked a torment, to which I was not alone in being defenceless.’
Another area of strength is the rich insight Williams offers into the human psyche across a lifetime. Of value are the understandable shifts in Noe’s perceptions when he contemplated Christy’s failings from the vantage point of a naïve adolescent and later from that of a much older man who has made his fair share of mistakes. Looking back on his youth, Noe realizes, "I had no understanding yet that in this life the greatest predicament of man and womankind was just how to love another person." There was also compassion extended by the elderly Noe to his teenage self in both laughing at and forgiving his youthful follies. At age 78, Noe finds comfort in this thought, "We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying. There’s something to consider in that."
This is Happiness is a story about love, friendship, and hope of making amends for past wrongdoing. It is the journey of a young man finding his way in life, figuring out his vocation, falling in love, learning from the foibles of grownups in his life, and distilling the things that matter, and what it means to be truly alive. Electricity is an apt metaphor. This is a lovely story about human connections, the impulses that move people, the occasional breakdown in the circuitry of human connection but also its sure restoration.
When the last page was turned, my heart was so full. As Ganga would say, "Oh now." Read This is Happiness. It is highly recommended.
December 15, 2023
To find the gist of life in a book. What a rarity. What a treasure to cherish. What a miracle to behold.
Although nothing much happens in this novel, everything essential is in it, condensed in Williams’ pearls of wisdom.
The story of Noe, an Irishman who remembers his younger days when the light of his life is fading away in a distant land, is told unhurriedly, burning each memory slowly, gathering the ashes of what is left behind and allowing the idea of a future reborn.
Memories are presented like the immortal phoenix. They regenerate and regenerate in an endless cycle that transcends time as humans understand it.
Niall Williams’ book is replete of love. Love for his land, for his ancestors. Love for music and words. Love of poetry.
As Noe tells the story of his community, of this small Irish village called Faha, which is about to have access to electricity, we get immersed into the lives of colorful characters that leave track in Noe’s life for good. Christy. Annie Mooney. The Troy Sisters. Noe’s grandparents. They all play an important role in Noe’s personal growth. And they all settle in a corner of the reader’s heart and get embedded in there until the end of time.
Much of what is told in “This is Happiness” is governed by perplexity and admiration. Rather than chronicling the lives of Faha’s inhabitants, Williams delights in extolling the wonder of life. The novel is a hymn to the people of Ireland, their sufferings, and their loyalty to each other. Reading it feels like a prayer that nourishes the soul in the way the gentle rain kisses the moors, or the briny breeze brushes one’s lips.
An authentic tribute to reading, memories and family; to one's own family, to the landscapes where all these collide, and to how they deeply determine who we are.
With memories to light our way, we keep walking, we keep living in twilight.
And what a happy place to be.
Living in the twilight.
Although nothing much happens in this novel, everything essential is in it, condensed in Williams’ pearls of wisdom.
The story of Noe, an Irishman who remembers his younger days when the light of his life is fading away in a distant land, is told unhurriedly, burning each memory slowly, gathering the ashes of what is left behind and allowing the idea of a future reborn.
Memories are presented like the immortal phoenix. They regenerate and regenerate in an endless cycle that transcends time as humans understand it.
Niall Williams’ book is replete of love. Love for his land, for his ancestors. Love for music and words. Love of poetry.
As Noe tells the story of his community, of this small Irish village called Faha, which is about to have access to electricity, we get immersed into the lives of colorful characters that leave track in Noe’s life for good. Christy. Annie Mooney. The Troy Sisters. Noe’s grandparents. They all play an important role in Noe’s personal growth. And they all settle in a corner of the reader’s heart and get embedded in there until the end of time.
Much of what is told in “This is Happiness” is governed by perplexity and admiration. Rather than chronicling the lives of Faha’s inhabitants, Williams delights in extolling the wonder of life. The novel is a hymn to the people of Ireland, their sufferings, and their loyalty to each other. Reading it feels like a prayer that nourishes the soul in the way the gentle rain kisses the moors, or the briny breeze brushes one’s lips.
An authentic tribute to reading, memories and family; to one's own family, to the landscapes where all these collide, and to how they deeply determine who we are.
With memories to light our way, we keep walking, we keep living in twilight.
And what a happy place to be.
Living in the twilight.
April 18, 2020
It is rare that I don't finish a novel for book club - especially one that I was looking forward to. But I am on page 160 and nothing has happened. And I'm fairly sure nothing is going to happen. Perhaps at another time, I would appreciate page after page of well-crafted sentences with no plot. But for now, I'm not going to endure another minute of boredom.
September 16, 2020
Happiness is not finishing this book. Seventy-five percent in and I cannot do it. Reading this was like slogging through the bogs of Ireland.
Happiness is starting another book. I can't wait, hopefully it will have a story to tell with characters I care about.
Happiness is starting another book. I can't wait, hopefully it will have a story to tell with characters I care about.
September 8, 2023
"Life is a comedy, with sad bits".
Life also contains miracles and I know that because right now my heart is lying on the floor beside me, having been ripped out by this book. I'm sure it will re-enter my body before long and continue its work of keeping me alive, but until I come back from the little Irish town of Faha I am in a suspended state of animation.
Narrated by Noe (Noel), this tells the story of a summer spent with his grandparents, being at loose ends after leaving the seminary and deciding that the Priesthood was not for him.
"Doing the Christian thing, I was to realize, was maybe only achieved by Christ".
Noe is now an old man, looking back over his life, and choosing this summer as a turning point for him, the small village of Faha, and an old way of life ushered out by the arrival of electricity and the stranger known as Christy, an electrical worker boarding with his grandparents.
" I know now that, when you get to a grandfather's age, life takes on the qualities of comedy, with aches".
That's the set-up, a simple premise. But too simple really, because what this book contains, besides happiness, is everything in life. Love, laughter, the wisdom and patience of a long marriage, life in a small town, regrets, memories, coming of age, patience, nature, aging, acceptance and denial....you get the idea. There were memorable quotes on every page, lyrical writing, and a plot that moved along at the speed of life. Meaning, not much happened, until it did. And when it did, you were right there beside them all, listening, observing, feeling it in your bones. That's the reason my heart is on the floor, it knew it would burst; it needed some air and some room to expand.
O Now!
Life also contains miracles and I know that because right now my heart is lying on the floor beside me, having been ripped out by this book. I'm sure it will re-enter my body before long and continue its work of keeping me alive, but until I come back from the little Irish town of Faha I am in a suspended state of animation.
Narrated by Noe (Noel), this tells the story of a summer spent with his grandparents, being at loose ends after leaving the seminary and deciding that the Priesthood was not for him.
"Doing the Christian thing, I was to realize, was maybe only achieved by Christ".
Noe is now an old man, looking back over his life, and choosing this summer as a turning point for him, the small village of Faha, and an old way of life ushered out by the arrival of electricity and the stranger known as Christy, an electrical worker boarding with his grandparents.
" I know now that, when you get to a grandfather's age, life takes on the qualities of comedy, with aches".
That's the set-up, a simple premise. But too simple really, because what this book contains, besides happiness, is everything in life. Love, laughter, the wisdom and patience of a long marriage, life in a small town, regrets, memories, coming of age, patience, nature, aging, acceptance and denial....you get the idea. There were memorable quotes on every page, lyrical writing, and a plot that moved along at the speed of life. Meaning, not much happened, until it did. And when it did, you were right there beside them all, listening, observing, feeling it in your bones. That's the reason my heart is on the floor, it knew it would burst; it needed some air and some room to expand.
O Now!
October 7, 2020
It took me way too long to finish this novel. This time, I can't blame it on my mood or on being busy, the writing just didn't grab me, I found myself drifting and avoiding picking up the book again. I love lyrical writing, I love melancholy ridden books - which This Is Happiness had in abundance. There was also humour and cheekiness, but despite all these elements that I treasure in a novel, This Is Happiness failed to keep my interest and I felt it was overwritten.
I hope History Of The Rain will charm me more than this novel, which I really hoped and wanted to love.
I hope History Of The Rain will charm me more than this novel, which I really hoped and wanted to love.
August 26, 2023
The Irish have a long history of storytelling, storytelling at its finest. Niall Williams carries that torch on with this beautifully written homage to the way things once were in the fictitious little Irish village of Faha; the way things were in tiny towns everywhere. Change can be an exchange. What you may give up can never be regained.
Noe Crowe, the 78-year-old narrator, is reminiscing about his 17-year-old self and his brief time living with his grandparents in Faha. Noe’s mother has recently died and he has failed his apromise to her. He will not become a priest. He has quit the seminary and his religious faith as well. He is lost, trying to find his purpose, know himself. His time in Faha teaches him those things not taught in school. Those influential but simple people show him what life is all about every day in many different ways. Faith in people and in life, the importance of commitment, honesty, forgiveness, and love, can help mend a grieving heart and give life a direction, a playbook on how to best live.
This is Happiness is an ode to human dignity, an affirmation of life with its joys and tragedies, told so beautifully I was moved to tears one moment and laughing aloud the next. Reading this poignant story was the perfect respite from the not so beautiful human tendencies seen in the world today. It was a pleasure to close the book and feel a broad smile appearing on my face. Delightful sounds trite unless it is interpreted to mean enjoyable and moving.
“I’m often revisited by all my own mistakes, stupidities and unintended cruelties. They sit around the edge of the bed and look at me and say nothing. But I see them well enough.”
“Everybody carries a world. But certain people cage the air about them.”
“After a liquid diet at Craven’s, he found the margins of the roads badly drawn.”
“But, as had been true since her girlhood, men never materialized.” (Mother Superior waiting for her driver)
“Because it occurred to me, in Faha, and places like it, people had been making it up as they went along and making it up out of no rule book but the one they had been born with, that is an innate sense of right and decency, the rough edges of how to live alongside others having been knocked off not by ordinance or decree but by life.”
Books, music, painting are not life, but the best of them can catch an echo of that, let you know that you’ve been enriched, that has caused you to realize once again how astonishing life is.”
April 26, 2022
Music and fairy tale
Life is so sad, but we all live it.
"Little Life" by Hanya Yanagihara
The Irish novelist and playwright Niall Williams is known at home and abroad. Performances based on his plays are successfully performed on theater stages; novels, starting with the debut "Four Letters of Love", become bestsellers and are translated into many languages.
For me, this is the first meeting with his work, for which I thank Shashi Martynova and Phantom. In this sequence: everything that Shashi translates is mandatory to read, phantom books are desirable.
"This is happiness" is, in general, not about happiness. The painful illness and death of the narrator's mother, the death of his friend's beloved woman, the gradual aging and decrepitude of his grandparents, the collapse of the rural community, which entails the unconditional benefit of electrification. All this could look like a series of dramas or even a tragedy, if the narrator were different.
Williams, regardless of Catholicism, which permeates every Irish book, gives his reader a surprisingly bright view of things, an almost Buddhist humble serenity, and the ability to find a source of happiness in everything. Now the rain has stopped, well, isn't it happiness? Here they conduct electricity- happiness. Here they celebrate Easter after the deprivations of Lent. But the pole of the power line support fell on you during installation, but did not kill you, but only slightly crippled. Here it is, happiness!
And probably this is the only way to continue living our sad life without howling from mortal fear, longing and hopelessness. To find grains of happiness in everything, to collect it in crumbs, to give to near and far. I haven't said yet that the book is sometimes funny, and sometimes lyrical to the point of sentimentality, and this is really good.
A calm, unhurried, meditative, ironic and tender story about people who are so different from you and me, and exactly like us. Here it's raining - happiness.
Музыка и сказ
Жизнь так печальна, но все мы ее живеи.
"Маленькая жизнь" Ханья Янагихара
Ирландский прозаик и драматург Найлл Уильямс известен у себя на родине и за ее пределами. Спектакли по его пьесам с успехом идут на театральных сценах; романы, начиная с дебютных "Четырех писем о любви", становятся бестселлерами и переводятся на многие языки.
Для меня это первая встреча с его творчеством, за которую спасибо Шаши Мартыновой и Фантому. В такой последовательности: все, что переводит Шаши обязательно к прочтению, фантомовские книги желательны.
"Вот оно счастье" - это, в общем, не о счастье. Мучительная болезнь и смерть мамы рассказчика, смерть любимой женщины его друга, постепенное старение и дряхление бабушки с дедом, распад сельской общины, который влечет за собой безусловное благо электрификации. Все это могло бы выглядеть чередой драм или вовсе трагедией, когда бы рассказчик был другим.
Уильямс, безотносительно �� католицизму, которым проникнута всякая ирландская книга, дарит своему читателю удивительно светлый взгляд на вещи, почти буддистскую смиренную безмятежность, и умение находить источник счастья во всем. Вот дождь прекратился, ну не счастье ли? Вот электричество проводят- счастье. Вот празднуют Пасху после лишений Великого поста. А вот столб опоры ЛЭП упал на тебя во время установки, но не убил а только слегка покалечил. Вот оно, счастье!
И наверно это единственный способ продолжать жить нашу печальную жизнь, не воя от смертного страха, тоски и безнадежности. Находить крупинки счастья во всем, собирать его по крохам, дарить ближним и дальним. Я еще не сказала, что книга местами смешная, а местами лиричная до сентиментальности, и это по-настоящему хорошо.
Спокойный неспешный медитативный ироничный и нежный рассказ о людях, так не похожих на нас с вами, и в точности таких, как мы. Вот дождь пошел - счастье.
Life is so sad, but we all live it.
"Little Life" by Hanya Yanagihara
The Irish novelist and playwright Niall Williams is known at home and abroad. Performances based on his plays are successfully performed on theater stages; novels, starting with the debut "Four Letters of Love", become bestsellers and are translated into many languages.
For me, this is the first meeting with his work, for which I thank Shashi Martynova and Phantom. In this sequence: everything that Shashi translates is mandatory to read, phantom books are desirable.
"This is happiness" is, in general, not about happiness. The painful illness and death of the narrator's mother, the death of his friend's beloved woman, the gradual aging and decrepitude of his grandparents, the collapse of the rural community, which entails the unconditional benefit of electrification. All this could look like a series of dramas or even a tragedy, if the narrator were different.
Williams, regardless of Catholicism, which permeates every Irish book, gives his reader a surprisingly bright view of things, an almost Buddhist humble serenity, and the ability to find a source of happiness in everything. Now the rain has stopped, well, isn't it happiness? Here they conduct electricity- happiness. Here they celebrate Easter after the deprivations of Lent. But the pole of the power line support fell on you during installation, but did not kill you, but only slightly crippled. Here it is, happiness!
And probably this is the only way to continue living our sad life without howling from mortal fear, longing and hopelessness. To find grains of happiness in everything, to collect it in crumbs, to give to near and far. I haven't said yet that the book is sometimes funny, and sometimes lyrical to the point of sentimentality, and this is really good.
A calm, unhurried, meditative, ironic and tender story about people who are so different from you and me, and exactly like us. Here it's raining - happiness.
Музыка и сказ
Жизнь так печальна, но все мы ее живеи.
"Маленькая жизнь" Ханья Янагихара
Ирландский прозаик и драматург Найлл Уильямс известен у себя на родине и за ее пределами. Спектакли по его пьесам с успехом идут на театральных сценах; романы, начиная с дебютных "Четырех писем о любви", становятся бестселлерами и переводятся на многие языки.
Для меня это первая встреча с его творчеством, за которую спасибо Шаши Мартыновой и Фантому. В такой последовательности: все, что переводит Шаши обязательно к прочтению, фантомовские книги желательны.
"Вот оно счастье" - это, в общем, не о счастье. Мучительная болезнь и смерть мамы рассказчика, смерть любимой женщины его друга, постепенное старение и дряхление бабушки с дедом, распад сельской общины, который влечет за собой безусловное благо электрификации. Все это могло бы выглядеть чередой драм или вовсе трагедией, когда бы рассказчик был другим.
Уильямс, безотносительно �� католицизму, которым проникнута всякая ирландская книга, дарит своему читателю удивительно светлый взгляд на вещи, почти буддистскую смиренную безмятежность, и умение находить источник счастья во всем. Вот дождь прекратился, ну не счастье ли? Вот электричество проводят- счастье. Вот празднуют Пасху после лишений Великого поста. А вот столб опоры ЛЭП упал на тебя во время установки, но не убил а только слегка покалечил. Вот оно, счастье!
И наверно это единственный способ продолжать жить нашу печальную жизнь, не воя от смертного страха, тоски и безнадежности. Находить крупинки счастья во всем, собирать его по крохам, дарить ближним и дальним. Я еще не сказала, что книга местами смешная, а местами лиричная до сентиментальности, и это по-настоящему хорошо.
Спокойный неспешный медитативный ироничный и нежный рассказ о людях, так не похожих на нас с вами, и в точности таких, как мы. Вот дождь пошел - счастье.
February 21, 2020
The perfect antidote for the rush and anxiety of modern life and the superficiality of our connectedness, This Is Happiness reminds us of what it means to live fully, deeply, in the present, to experience our environment on its terms, without distraction. Narrated by Noe (short for Noel) Crowe as an old man looking back nearly sixty year to the summer his grandparent's village of Faha, in Co. Clare, was hooked up to the electrical grid, This Is Happiness is a sumptuous, sublime and softly rendered tale of love, memory, grief and family.
Three intersecting plotlines — the scheme to bring electricity to this forgotten corner of Ireland; the arrival of a stranger who seeks forgiveness; and Noe's young adult awakening to love — are woven into observations of an Ireland that is awakening, slowly, sleepily, to the modern world.
Niall Williams's writing is so gorgeous, so expressive and fine, I want to press the pages to my skin in hopes of absorbing some of his mastery.
“It came in sweeps, in waves, sometimes in veils. It came dressed as drizzle, as mizzle, as mist, as showers, frequent and widespread, as a wet fog, as a damp day, a drop, a dreeping, and an out-and-out downpour. It came the bright day, the fine day, and the day promised dry. It came at any time of the day and night, and in all seasons, regardless of calendar and forecast, until in Faha your clothes were rain and your skin was rain and your house was rain with a fireplace.”
But this story begins at the moment it stops raining in Faha, as if the world is holding its breath, knowing all is about to change. Williams offers just a glimpse of this stopped moment in time before it vanishes, lost forever to "progress".
This is a rare and welcome contemporary novel that does not rely on tricks and twists, or meta-winks, that respects a reader's intelligence, and satisfies our need to read passages of beauty while allowing a story to unfold in its time, with characters that cling to the heart long after the final page is turned.
Highly recommended.
Three intersecting plotlines — the scheme to bring electricity to this forgotten corner of Ireland; the arrival of a stranger who seeks forgiveness; and Noe's young adult awakening to love — are woven into observations of an Ireland that is awakening, slowly, sleepily, to the modern world.
Niall Williams's writing is so gorgeous, so expressive and fine, I want to press the pages to my skin in hopes of absorbing some of his mastery.
“It came in sweeps, in waves, sometimes in veils. It came dressed as drizzle, as mizzle, as mist, as showers, frequent and widespread, as a wet fog, as a damp day, a drop, a dreeping, and an out-and-out downpour. It came the bright day, the fine day, and the day promised dry. It came at any time of the day and night, and in all seasons, regardless of calendar and forecast, until in Faha your clothes were rain and your skin was rain and your house was rain with a fireplace.”
But this story begins at the moment it stops raining in Faha, as if the world is holding its breath, knowing all is about to change. Williams offers just a glimpse of this stopped moment in time before it vanishes, lost forever to "progress".
This is a rare and welcome contemporary novel that does not rely on tricks and twists, or meta-winks, that respects a reader's intelligence, and satisfies our need to read passages of beauty while allowing a story to unfold in its time, with characters that cling to the heart long after the final page is turned.
Highly recommended.
December 31, 2022
To paraphrase Niall Williams, we all have a story, the one we are living. In his novel This is Happiness he invites us to slow down and hear the story of the late 1950's in the town of Faha in rural Ireland. There are three intersecting plot lines: the electrification of the area, Christy McMahon's desire to right a past wrong, and the coming of age of Noel (Noe) Crowe. The plot lines are full of everyday drama--the hopes, dreams, fears, loves, hurts, and deaths of members of a tight knit-community. The story is told from seventy-something year old Noe's perspective looking back on his 17th year. Like life and the tales of many a raconteur, Williams story meanders.
“At the time you’re living it you can sometimes think your life is nothing much. It’s ordinary and everyday and should be and could be in this or that way better. It is without the perspective by which any meaning can be derived because it’s too sensual and urgent and immediate, which is the way life is to be lived. We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying. There’s something to consider in that.”
Williams has a keen eye for detail and a deep love of his land and people which is clearly evident in his writing.
"One of the privileges of living in a place forgotten is the preservation of individuality. In Faha, because the centre was distant and largely unknown, eccentric was the norm."
He offers up some of his life philosophy.
"you could stop at, not all, but most of the moments of your life, stop for one heartbeat and, no matter what the state of your head or heart, say This is happiness, because of the simple truth that you were alive to say it."
This is part of my life philosophy as well, though not quite so lyrically articulated. If we would all take this advice, wouldn't the world be a better place?
"grief has to find a home, has to find a place to settle, or the dark wings will overwhelm you and you will fall down in the road."
"After the prayers, there was a cupped moment. Heads were still bowed. The sunlight was veiled but radiant still, and in that country graveyard it seemed was one of the fundaments of existence, a spirit of community. It sat there, in some part not assuaging but making liveable the harrowing knowledge of 'I will not see that person in this life again.' "
In Faha, that role is filled by the Catholic Church. While I am no longer a believer, I was raised in this faith and still find solace in the rituals of the funeral mass. Maybe because I have been to so many and they were ingrained in my psyche before I began to question these beliefs I find comfort in the familiar and the rote and sharing this ritual in community with many of my loved ones who are believers.
One of my favorite passages in this book because it captures one of my long held beliefs:
“Books, music, painting are not life, can never be as full, rich, complex, surprising or beautiful, but the best of them can catch an echo of that, can turn you back to look out the window, go out the door aware that you’ve been enriched, that you have been in the company of something alive that has caused you to realise once again how astonishing life is, and you leave the book, gallery or concert hall with that illumination, which feels I’m going to say holy, by which I mean human raptness.”
If you love a beautifully written, slow, meandering tale, this novel just might be for you.
“At the time you’re living it you can sometimes think your life is nothing much. It’s ordinary and everyday and should be and could be in this or that way better. It is without the perspective by which any meaning can be derived because it’s too sensual and urgent and immediate, which is the way life is to be lived. We’re all, all the time, striving, and though that means there’s a more-or-less constant supply of failure, it’s not such a terrible thing if you think that we keep on trying. There’s something to consider in that.”
Williams has a keen eye for detail and a deep love of his land and people which is clearly evident in his writing.
"One of the privileges of living in a place forgotten is the preservation of individuality. In Faha, because the centre was distant and largely unknown, eccentric was the norm."
He offers up some of his life philosophy.
"you could stop at, not all, but most of the moments of your life, stop for one heartbeat and, no matter what the state of your head or heart, say This is happiness, because of the simple truth that you were alive to say it."
This is part of my life philosophy as well, though not quite so lyrically articulated. If we would all take this advice, wouldn't the world be a better place?
"grief has to find a home, has to find a place to settle, or the dark wings will overwhelm you and you will fall down in the road."
"After the prayers, there was a cupped moment. Heads were still bowed. The sunlight was veiled but radiant still, and in that country graveyard it seemed was one of the fundaments of existence, a spirit of community. It sat there, in some part not assuaging but making liveable the harrowing knowledge of 'I will not see that person in this life again.' "
In Faha, that role is filled by the Catholic Church. While I am no longer a believer, I was raised in this faith and still find solace in the rituals of the funeral mass. Maybe because I have been to so many and they were ingrained in my psyche before I began to question these beliefs I find comfort in the familiar and the rote and sharing this ritual in community with many of my loved ones who are believers.
One of my favorite passages in this book because it captures one of my long held beliefs:
“Books, music, painting are not life, can never be as full, rich, complex, surprising or beautiful, but the best of them can catch an echo of that, can turn you back to look out the window, go out the door aware that you’ve been enriched, that you have been in the company of something alive that has caused you to realise once again how astonishing life is, and you leave the book, gallery or concert hall with that illumination, which feels I’m going to say holy, by which I mean human raptness.”
If you love a beautifully written, slow, meandering tale, this novel just might be for you.
January 10, 2022
"Αυτο ειναι ευτυχια." ηταν μια πολυ συμπυκνωμενη εξηγηση, αλλα ηρθε ο καιρος που καταλαβα τι εννοουσε. Οτι υπαρχουν στιγμες, οχι ολες, αλλα οι πιο πολλες σε τουτη τη ζωη, που μπορεις πανω τους να σταθεις, να σταματησεις ο, τι κανεις για μια στιγμη, οσο διαρκει ενα καρδιοχτυπι, και, ανεξαρτητως του τι συμβαινει μες στο μυαλο σου ή στην καρδια σου, να πεις Αυτο ειναι ευτυχια, λογω της απλης αληθειας οτι εισαι ζωντανος και μπορεις να το πεις. Το σκεφτομαι συχνα αυτο. Μπορουμε ολοι να σταματησουμε ο, τι κανουμε τωρα, εδω, να σηκωσουμε ψηλα το κεφαλι, να παρουμε μια ανασα και να δεχτουμε οτι Αυτο ειναι ευτυχια... "
Πραγματικα θα μπορουσα να πω τοσα πολλα γιαυτο το βιβλιο.. Για τη σπουδαιοτητα μεσα στην απλοτητα της θεματολογιας του. Για τα συναισθηματα χαρας, συγκινησης, νοσταλγιας για ενα παρελθον και μια εποχη που εχει πια χαθει και καποιοι ισως καν να μην την εζησαν, για προσωπα που ουτε καν ξερεις και ομως νοιωθεις οτι θα σου λειψουν. Ομως ύστερα απο ενα τετοιο αποσπασμα, αισθανομαι πως ο, τι και να πω απλα περισσευει.. Απλα η απολυτη αναγνωστικη αρχη του 2022, αυτο ειναι ευτυχια και αυτο ειναι λογοτεχνια...
🌟🌟🌟🌟🌠/5
Πραγματικα θα μπορουσα να πω τοσα πολλα γιαυτο το βιβλιο.. Για τη σπουδαιοτητα μεσα στην απλοτητα της θεματολογιας του. Για τα συναισθηματα χαρας, συγκινησης, νοσταλγιας για ενα παρελθον και μια εποχη που εχει πια χαθει και καποιοι ισως καν να μην την εζησαν, για προσωπα που ουτε καν ξερεις και ομως νοιωθεις οτι θα σου λειψουν. Ομως ύστερα απο ενα τετοιο αποσπασμα, αισθανομαι πως ο, τι και να πω απλα περισσευει.. Απλα η απολυτη αναγνωστικη αρχη του 2022, αυτο ειναι ευτυχια και αυτο ειναι λογοτεχνια...
🌟🌟🌟🌟🌠/5
June 26, 2022
This book could not be more beautiful if Christy McMahon himself sang every word, on a starlit night, in a darkened pub, after a couple of beers or more.
July 17, 2020
This guy has a way with words, unquestionably. But there are just too many of them. Words, that is.
At one point in the novel the narrator tells us:
"One of the unwritten tenets of the local poetics was that a story must never arrive at the point, or risk conclusion."
Well said, Mr. Williams. You described your novel quite pithily.
I made it two-thirds of the way through this book, and it took me weeks........and weeks........and weeks. Then I set it aside for awhile because I had other things going on in my life. I came back to it tonight, read two chapters, and couldn't bring myself to continue. I asked myself, do I care if Christy ever gets Annie Mooney to forgive him? Nope. Do I care if Noe ever gets Sophie to pay attention to him? Nope. Am I going to finish this book? Nope again.
There is a lot of glowing praise for the book here on Goo Dreads. Don't let me stop you from giving it a chance. There are some spectacular turns of phrase and impressive observations about life and human nature. Just be prepared to excavate mountains and mountains of other words to find the gems. If you're bothered by the density of the prose and meandering narrative style, be smarter than I was and let it go early on. You won't like it more later on if you don't like it at the beginning.
At one point in the novel the narrator tells us:
"One of the unwritten tenets of the local poetics was that a story must never arrive at the point, or risk conclusion."
Well said, Mr. Williams. You described your novel quite pithily.
I made it two-thirds of the way through this book, and it took me weeks........and weeks........and weeks. Then I set it aside for awhile because I had other things going on in my life. I came back to it tonight, read two chapters, and couldn't bring myself to continue. I asked myself, do I care if Christy ever gets Annie Mooney to forgive him? Nope. Do I care if Noe ever gets Sophie to pay attention to him? Nope. Am I going to finish this book? Nope again.
There is a lot of glowing praise for the book here on Goo Dreads. Don't let me stop you from giving it a chance. There are some spectacular turns of phrase and impressive observations about life and human nature. Just be prepared to excavate mountains and mountains of other words to find the gems. If you're bothered by the density of the prose and meandering narrative style, be smarter than I was and let it go early on. You won't like it more later on if you don't like it at the beginning.
August 11, 2022
«Αυτό είναι ευτυχία». Ήταν μία πολύ συμπυκνωμένη εξήγηση, αλλά ήρθε ο καιρός που κατάλαβα τι εννοούσε. Ότι υπάρχουν στιγμές, όχι όλες, αλλά οι πιο πολλές σε τούτη τη ζωή, που μπορείς πάνω τους να σταθείς, να σταματήσεις ό,τι κανείς για μία στιγμή, όσο διαρκεί ένα καρδιοχτύπι, και, ανεξαρτήτως του τι συμβαίνει μες στο μυαλό σου ή στην καρδιά σου, να πεις «Αυτό είναι ευτυχία», λόγω της απλής αλήθειας ότι είσαι ζωντανός και μπορείς να το πεις».
Ίσως από τις πιο σύντομες κριτικές που έχω ανεβάσει για ένα βιβλίο που μου άρεσε. Συνήθως παθιάζομαι πολύ και προσπαθώ μέσα από το λόγο μου να πείσω τον υπόλοιπο κόσμο να διαβάσει και εκείνος το εκάστοτε βιβλίο. Αυτή τη φορά σκέφτηκα να διαλέξω τον δρόμο που διάλεξε και ο συγγραφέας του βιβλίου, αυτόν της απλότητας. Με πολύ μεγάλη ειλικρίνεια το «αυτό είναι ευτυχία» δεν είναι ένα βιβλίο που θα θυμάμαι για καιρό. Αν υπάρχει όμως ένας λόγος που με έκανε να το αγαπήσω όσο το διάβαζα είναι η «ησυχία» του. Αυτή η ησυχία του και η απλότητα στη γραφή του μπορεί να το κάνει φοβερά ανιαρό για άλλους αναγνώστες. Ωστόσο επειδή περνάω μια περίοδο που λόγω εξαντλητικών ωραρίων διαβάζω λίγο και αυτό που διαβάζω συνήθως δε με ικανοποιεί, το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο μου θύμισε κάτι. Πολλές φορές ως αναγνώστες και δικαίως θα πει κάποιος, ψάχνουμε στα βιβλία που θα διαβάσουμε το καινούριο, το πρωτοποριακό, το έντονο, την πλοκή που θα μας αφήσει με το στόμα ανοιχτό και ξέρεις τι είναι μια τίμια απαίτηση. Οι εποχές όμως αλλάζουν το ίδιο και οι ρυθμοί της. Μήπως και αναγνωστικά πρέπει να αρχίσουμε να επιζητούμε μια άλλη εποχή;
Το «αυτό είναι ευτυχία» είναι ένα βιβλίο που μου θύμισε λίγο τη ζωή. Μπορεί να λέω χαζομάρες τώρα απλά είμαι σε μια φάση που σκεφτόμουν ότι πολλές φορές απαιτούμε από τους εαυτούς μας ν’ ακολουθήσουμε τη μάζα, να θέλουμε πράγματα που τα θέλουν και οι άλλοι ενώ στην πραγματικότητα δε μας ενδιαφέρουν. Την ίδια ώρα πείθουμε τον εαυτό μας ότι έχουμε αποτύχει επειδή δεν καταφέραμε μέσα στη μέρα μας να κάνουμε κάτι «μεγάλο» και ξεχωριστό και την ίδια ώρα απορρίπτουμε ή δεν αντιλαμβανόμαστε ότι τα μικρά πράγματα, τα πιο απλά έχουν την δική τους ομορφιά και είναι αυτά που στην πραγματικότητα θα λύσουν τους γόρδιους δεσμούς που κουβαλάει ο καθένας στην ψυχή του. Για κάποιο λόγο η απλότητα της γραφής του συγγραφέα μου θύμισε ακριβώς αυτό. Γιατί πρέπει πάντα να γίνεται κάτι φοβερό για να είναι ωραίο. Γιατί πρέπει πάντα να διαβάζουμε ένα βιβλίο που σε μία σελίδα πρέπει να γίνονται τα πάντα. Όπως και στη ζωή γιατί να πρέπει να μεθύσω για να θεωρούμαι κουλ ενώ μου αρκεί το ένα ποτό; Δεν ξέρω αν η παρομοίωση που προσπαθώ να κάνω σας βγάζει κάποιο νόημα. Αυτό που προσπαθώ να πω ότι καμιά φορά ευτυχία είναι η τρυφερότητα, η θαλπωρή, η ευγένεια και η απλότητα και είναι κρίμα που το ξεχνάμε είτε στα βιβλία που διαβάζουμε είτε στην ίδια τη ζωή.
«Την ώρα που τη ζεις μπορεί μερικές φορές να πιστέψεις ότι η ζωή σου δεν είναι και τίποτα σπουδαίο. Είναι τετριμμένη και συνηθισμένη και σίγουρα θα μπορούσε ή θα έπρεπε να είναι καλύτερη με τον άλφα ή με τον βήτα τρόπο. Λείπει η προοπτική που επιτρέπει στο οποιοδήποτε νόημα να αναδυθεί, γιατί την ώρα που τη ζεις υπάρχει μόνο αίσθηση και σπουδή και αμεσότητα ― όπως πρέπει δηλαδή να βιώνεται η ζωή. Όλοι αγωνιζόμαστε διαρκώς και, μολονότι αυτό συνεπάγεται μια λίγο-πολύ σταθερή ροή από αποτυχίες, μάλλον δεν πρόκειται για κάτι και τόσο τρομερό, αν σκεφτείς ότι τελικά συνεχίζουμε να αγωνιζόμαστε».
Ίσως από τις πιο σύντομες κριτικές που έχω ανεβάσει για ένα βιβλίο που μου άρεσε. Συνήθως παθιάζομαι πολύ και προσπαθώ μέσα από το λόγο μου να πείσω τον υπόλοιπο κόσμο να διαβάσει και εκείνος το εκάστοτε βιβλίο. Αυτή τη φορά σκέφτηκα να διαλέξω τον δρόμο που διάλεξε και ο συγγραφέας του βιβλίου, αυτόν της απλότητας. Με πολύ μεγάλη ειλικρίνεια το «αυτό είναι ευτυχία» δεν είναι ένα βιβλίο που θα θυμάμαι για καιρό. Αν υπάρχει όμως ένας λόγος που με έκανε να το αγαπήσω όσο το διάβαζα είναι η «ησυχία» του. Αυτή η ησυχία του και η απλότητα στη γραφή του μπορεί να το κάνει φοβερά ανιαρό για άλλους αναγνώστες. Ωστόσο επειδή περνάω μια περίοδο που λόγω εξαντλητικών ωραρίων διαβάζω λίγο και αυτό που διαβάζω συνήθως δε με ικανοποιεί, το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο μου θύμισε κάτι. Πολλές φορές ως αναγνώστες και δικαίως θα πει κάποιος, ψάχνουμε στα βιβλία που θα διαβάσουμε το καινούριο, το πρωτοποριακό, το έντονο, την πλοκή που θα μας αφήσει με το στόμα ανοιχτό και ξέρεις τι είναι μια τίμια απαίτηση. Οι εποχές όμως αλλάζουν το ίδιο και οι ρυθμοί της. Μήπως και αναγνωστικά πρέπει να αρχίσουμε να επιζητούμε μια άλλη εποχή;
Το «αυτό είναι ευτυχία» είναι ένα βιβλίο που μου θύμισε λίγο τη ζωή. Μπορεί να λέω χαζομάρες τώρα απλά είμαι σε μια φάση που σκεφτόμουν ότι πολλές φορές απαιτούμε από τους εαυτούς μας ν’ ακολουθήσουμε τη μάζα, να θέλουμε πράγματα που τα θέλουν και οι άλλοι ενώ στην πραγματικότητα δε μας ενδιαφέρουν. Την ίδια ώρα πείθουμε τον εαυτό μας ότι έχουμε αποτύχει επειδή δεν καταφέραμε μέσα στη μέρα μας να κάνουμε κάτι «μεγάλο» και ξεχωριστό και την ίδια ώρα απορρίπτουμε ή δεν αντιλαμβανόμαστε ότι τα μικρά πράγματα, τα πιο απλά έχουν την δική τους ομορφιά και είναι αυτά που στην πραγματικότητα θα λύσουν τους γόρδιους δεσμούς που κουβαλάει ο καθένας στην ψυχή του. Για κάποιο λόγο η απλότητα της γραφής του συγγραφέα μου θύμισε ακριβώς αυτό. Γιατί πρέπει πάντα να γίνεται κάτι φοβερό για να είναι ωραίο. Γιατί πρέπει πάντα να διαβάζουμε ένα βιβλίο που σε μία σελίδα πρέπει να γίνονται τα πάντα. Όπως και στη ζωή γιατί να πρέπει να μεθύσω για να θεωρούμαι κουλ ενώ μου αρκεί το ένα ποτό; Δεν ξέρω αν η παρομοίωση που προσπαθώ να κάνω σας βγάζει κάποιο νόημα. Αυτό που προσπαθώ να πω ότι καμιά φορά ευτυχία είναι η τρυφερότητα, η θαλπωρή, η ευγένεια και η απλότητα και είναι κρίμα που το ξεχνάμε είτε στα βιβλία που διαβάζουμε είτε στην ίδια τη ζωή.
«Την ώρα που τη ζεις μπορεί μερικές φορές να πιστέψεις ότι η ζωή σου δεν είναι και τίποτα σπουδαίο. Είναι τετριμμένη και συνηθισμένη και σίγουρα θα μπορούσε ή θα έπρεπε να είναι καλύτερη με τον άλφα ή με τον βήτα τρόπο. Λείπει η προοπτική που επιτρέπει στο οποιοδήποτε νόημα να αναδυθεί, γιατί την ώρα που τη ζεις υπάρχει μόνο αίσθηση και σπουδή και αμεσότητα ― όπως πρέπει δηλαδή να βιώνεται η ζωή. Όλοι αγωνιζόμαστε διαρκώς και, μολονότι αυτό συνεπάγεται μια λίγο-πολύ σταθερή ροή από αποτυχίες, μάλλον δεν πρόκειται για κάτι και τόσο τρομερό, αν σκεφτείς ότι τελικά συνεχίζουμε να αγωνιζόμαστε».
July 3, 2021
Another very enjoyable novel with a rural Irish setting - after the brilliant History of the Rain Williams' mature writing goes from strength to strength.
This is a wonderful mixture of nostalgia and realism set in a small Clare village in the 1950s. The central characters are the narrator Noe (Noel), who is looking back as an old man to the year in the late 1950s when electricity came to the village, bringing with it the lodger Christy, whose reasons for being there have their own history, and whose presence changes Noe's perceptions on almost everything.
Noe has lost his mother and after rejecting his seminary education due to a loss of faith goes to stay with his grandparents in the village, Faha. The events of the novel are set in a rare extended dry spell that includes Easter. Their lodger Christy is a casual worker who has returned to Ireland after many years travelling, and now works for the electricity board extracting consent for electricity work from reluctant locals, a task in which he recruits Noe as an unofficial assistant.
One major theme of the novel concerns Christy's presence in the village,, and another is Christy and Noe's quest to find and hear the legendary Clare fiddler Junior Crehan. Nothing goes according to plan, but Christy's quiet strength in the face of adversity helps Noe through his own crises.
As always with Williams the atmosphere and writing and the evident love he has for its setting are almost more important than the plot, which moves rather slowly, perhaps appropriately for the setting, a village in which very little happens.
This is a wonderful mixture of nostalgia and realism set in a small Clare village in the 1950s. The central characters are the narrator Noe (Noel), who is looking back as an old man to the year in the late 1950s when electricity came to the village, bringing with it the lodger Christy, whose reasons for being there have their own history, and whose presence changes Noe's perceptions on almost everything.
Noe has lost his mother and after rejecting his seminary education due to a loss of faith goes to stay with his grandparents in the village, Faha. The events of the novel are set in a rare extended dry spell that includes Easter. Their lodger Christy is a casual worker who has returned to Ireland after many years travelling, and now works for the electricity board extracting consent for electricity work from reluctant locals, a task in which he recruits Noe as an unofficial assistant.
One major theme of the novel concerns Christy's presence in the village,, and another is Christy and Noe's quest to find and hear the legendary Clare fiddler Junior Crehan. Nothing goes according to plan, but Christy's quiet strength in the face of adversity helps Noe through his own crises.
As always with Williams the atmosphere and writing and the evident love he has for its setting are almost more important than the plot, which moves rather slowly, perhaps appropriately for the setting, a village in which very little happens.
May 10, 2022
Υπάρχει ένα σημείο στο βιβλίο που εξηγεί αυτό που αισθάνομαι όταν έχω διαβάσει κάτι που μετακινεί κάπως το μέσα μου. Ότι τα βιβλία, οι μουσικές, οι ζωγραφιές δεν θα μπορέσουν ποτέ να είναι τόσο γεμάτα όσο η ζωή, ένα καλό βιβλίο όμως μπορεί να πιάσει τον απόηχό της, μπορεί να σε κάνει να στραφείς και να κοιτάξεις γύρω σου και να νιώσεις ότι πέρασες λίγο καιρό συντροφιά με κάτι ζωντανό που σε έκανε να προσέξεις ξανά τι εκπληκτικό πράγμα που είναι η ζωή.
Ο 70άρης πλέον Νόου στρέφεται στο πατάρι της παιδικής του ηλικίας, το μέρος όπου συναισθηματικοί γέροντες φυλάνε όσα τους κρ��τούν όρθιους και μας δίνει μια χούφτα αναμνήσεις από τη Φάχα, το μικρό χωριό της Ιρλανδίας που έγινε το καταφύγιό του στα 17, όταν έχασε τη μητέρα του. Ο ηλεκτρισμός θα ερχόταν σύντομα στο χωριό και οι κάτοικοι θα έμπαιναν στη νέα εποχή με προσδοκίες για πάτημα ενός διακόπτη που θα έδιωχνε τις δυσκολίες.
Με τρυφερότητα και συμπόνια ο Ουίλιαμς δίνει ζωντάνια στους χαρακτήρες κρατώντας μόνο αγάπη στα φίλτρα του ηλικιωμένου αφηγητή που αντιλαμβάνεται την αξία του να βλέπουμε την καλοσύνη στους άλλους, που γνωρίζει ότι τις περισσότερες φορές ο άλλος άνθρωπος είναι η γιατρειά του ανθρώπου. Με περιγραφές που θυμίζουν πισίνα με μαρσμέλοουζ που βυθίζεσαι και νιώθεις θαλπωρή και γλύκα, που σε κάνουν να απορείς που δεν έβλεπες έτσι όσα περιγράφει γιατί είναι τόσο προφανή, σκέφτομαι ότι είναι από τα πιο όμορφα βιβλία που έχω διαβάσει, εννοώ αυτή την ομορφιά που σε κάνει (έστω για λίγο) να δεις τη ζωή έξω απ'τα μικρά μηχανικά καθημερινά που τη συνθέτουν, που κάνουν το μέσα σου να ανοίξει (έστω για λίγο) και να νιώσεις τυχερός που μπορείς να κάνεις τα βήματά σου πάνω απ'το χώμα και μοιράζεσαι το θαύμα της ζωής με άλλους. Και αυτό είναι ευτυχία.
Ίσως να βοηθάνε τα τόσα κοινά στοιχεία που έχει η ελληνική επαρχία με την ιρλανδική, ίσως οι συμπτώσεις σε σκέψεις μου που είδα γραμμένες και οικείες σκηνές, δεν είναι μακριά τα χρόνια που ο νεαρός μπαμπάς μου έκανε τις μελέτες ηλεκτροδότησης για την ορεινή περιοχή που γεννήθηκε και οι ήρωες του βιβλίου πήραν τα πρόσωπα των ιστοριών που μου έλεγε όταν ηλικιωμένες τον υποδέχονταν σαν τον κομιστή του Φωτός, αναφωνώντας: "της ΔΕΗς είστε; Μπεκάτε μέσα".
*Μπορώ να καταλάβω αυτούς που κουράστηκαν από τις περιγραφές και δεν ένιωσαν να ταυτίζονται, δεν υπάρχει κάποια συγκεκριμένη πλοκή, ή μάλλον υπάρχει αλλά είναι εξαιρετικά αργή ενώ μόνο προς το τέλος φαίνεται να ακολουθούμε κάποια ροή. Σίγουρα δεν είναι ένα βιβλίο για αναγνώστες που θέλουν μια ιστορία με αρχή, μέση και τέλος, έχω σημειώσει ένα σωρό πράγματα με το μολύβι μου και όλα θα μπορούσαν να διαβαστούν και να εκτιμηθούν κι από κάποιον που δεν είχε καμία επαφή με το βιβλίο.
*Εξαιρετική μετάφραση που κυλούσε σαν δροσερό νεράκι, Qulara, είμαι πολύ περήφανη για σένα.
Ο 70άρης πλέον Νόου στρέφεται στο πατάρι της παιδικής του ηλικίας, το μέρος όπου συναισθηματικοί γέροντες φυλάνε όσα τους κρ��τούν όρθιους και μας δίνει μια χούφτα αναμνήσεις από τη Φάχα, το μικρό χωριό της Ιρλανδίας που έγινε το καταφύγιό του στα 17, όταν έχασε τη μητέρα του. Ο ηλεκτρισμός θα ερχόταν σύντομα στο χωριό και οι κάτοικοι θα έμπαιναν στη νέα εποχή με προσδοκίες για πάτημα ενός διακόπτη που θα έδιωχνε τις δυσκολίες.
Με τρυφερότητα και συμπόνια ο Ουίλιαμς δίνει ζωντάνια στους χαρακτήρες κρατώντας μόνο αγάπη στα φίλτρα του ηλικιωμένου αφηγητή που αντιλαμβάνεται την αξία του να βλέπουμε την καλοσύνη στους άλλους, που γνωρίζει ότι τις περισσότερες φορές ο άλλος άνθρωπος είναι η γιατρειά του ανθρώπου. Με περιγραφές που θυμίζουν πισίνα με μαρσμέλοουζ που βυθίζεσαι και νιώθεις θαλπωρή και γλύκα, που σε κάνουν να απορείς που δεν έβλεπες έτσι όσα περιγράφει γιατί είναι τόσο προφανή, σκέφτομαι ότι είναι από τα πιο όμορφα βιβλία που έχω διαβάσει, εννοώ αυτή την ομορφιά που σε κάνει (έστω για λίγο) να δεις τη ζωή έξω απ'τα μικρά μηχανικά καθημερινά που τη συνθέτουν, που κάνουν το μέσα σου να ανοίξει (έστω για λίγο) και να νιώσεις τυχερός που μπορείς να κάνεις τα βήματά σου πάνω απ'το χώμα και μοιράζεσαι το θαύμα της ζωής με άλλους. Και αυτό είναι ευτυχία.
Ίσως να βοηθάνε τα τόσα κοινά στοιχεία που έχει η ελληνική επαρχία με την ιρλανδική, ίσως οι συμπτώσεις σε σκέψεις μου που είδα γραμμένες και οικείες σκηνές, δεν είναι μακριά τα χρόνια που ο νεαρός μπαμπάς μου έκανε τις μελέτες ηλεκτροδότησης για την ορεινή περιοχή που γεννήθηκε και οι ήρωες του βιβλίου πήραν τα πρόσωπα των ιστοριών που μου έλεγε όταν ηλικιωμένες τον υποδέχονταν σαν τον κομιστή του Φωτός, αναφωνώντας: "της ΔΕΗς είστε; Μπεκάτε μέσα".
*Μπορώ να καταλάβω αυτούς που κουράστηκαν από τις περιγραφές και δεν ένιωσαν να ταυτίζονται, δεν υπάρχει κάποια συγκεκριμένη πλοκή, ή μάλλον υπάρχει αλλά είναι εξαιρετικά αργή ενώ μόνο προς το τέλος φαίνεται να ακολουθούμε κάποια ροή. Σίγουρα δεν είναι ένα βιβλίο για αναγνώστες που θέλουν μια ιστορία με αρχή, μέση και τέλος, έχω σημειώσει ένα σωρό πράγματα με το μολύβι μου και όλα θα μπορούσαν να διαβαστούν και να εκτιμηθούν κι από κάποιον που δεν είχε καμία επαφή με το βιβλίο.
*Εξαιρετική μετάφραση που κυλούσε σαν δροσερό νεράκι, Qulara, είμαι πολύ περήφανη για σένα.
January 12, 2023
I am Irish by marriage, and so I have been to County Clare where my beloved’s people are from and where this story is set. But County Clare is now different from the place that Williams describes in so many ways. Now there is electricity; now there are cell phones; and so much has changed. But this book is a trip and a treat recalling that earlier time in perfect language and tone.
The little village that Williams writes about is Faha (It really exists!) and the inhabitants are know as "the Fahaeans." Williams is writing as an old man looking back at his youth. He has the rhythms of a natural storyteller and early on he notes: "In the early part of the evening I hadn’t the guile to draw the stories, and in the latter the brown bottles had, as Siney O Shea would say, separated me from my wits. I cannot be sure what I heard that night, what I heard later and added to the fog-memory, and what invented, a perplex that deepens after sixty years, but with less consequence. The truth turns into a story when it grows old. We all become stories in the end."
My GR friend, Paul Secor, and I have both enjoyed this book and have traded favorite quotations. Take a look at his review for a nice selection
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
I will leave this review with just one:
"Christy sang. I cannot tell you how startling it was. If you believe in a soul, as I do, then my soul stirred. The song was not composed by Christy, but by the alchemy of performance, you felt it was. It seems to me the quality that makes any book, music, painting worthwhile is life, just that. Books, music, painting are not life, can never be as full, rich, complex, surprising or beautiful, but the best of them can catch an echo of that, can turn you back to look out the window, go out the door aware that you’ve been enriched, that you have been in the company of something alive that has caused you to realise once again how astonishing life is, and you leave the book, gallery or concert hall with that illumination, which feels I’m going to say holy, by which I mean human raptness….He sang. After the first few lines I couldn’t look at him. Nobody could look at him. It felt like an intimacy you weren’t entitled to, but knew it privileged you and you didn’t dare move in case you broke whatever had made it happen."
The little village that Williams writes about is Faha (It really exists!) and the inhabitants are know as "the Fahaeans." Williams is writing as an old man looking back at his youth. He has the rhythms of a natural storyteller and early on he notes: "In the early part of the evening I hadn’t the guile to draw the stories, and in the latter the brown bottles had, as Siney O Shea would say, separated me from my wits. I cannot be sure what I heard that night, what I heard later and added to the fog-memory, and what invented, a perplex that deepens after sixty years, but with less consequence. The truth turns into a story when it grows old. We all become stories in the end."
My GR friend, Paul Secor, and I have both enjoyed this book and have traded favorite quotations. Take a look at his review for a nice selection
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
I will leave this review with just one:
"Christy sang. I cannot tell you how startling it was. If you believe in a soul, as I do, then my soul stirred. The song was not composed by Christy, but by the alchemy of performance, you felt it was. It seems to me the quality that makes any book, music, painting worthwhile is life, just that. Books, music, painting are not life, can never be as full, rich, complex, surprising or beautiful, but the best of them can catch an echo of that, can turn you back to look out the window, go out the door aware that you’ve been enriched, that you have been in the company of something alive that has caused you to realise once again how astonishing life is, and you leave the book, gallery or concert hall with that illumination, which feels I’m going to say holy, by which I mean human raptness….He sang. After the first few lines I couldn’t look at him. Nobody could look at him. It felt like an intimacy you weren’t entitled to, but knew it privileged you and you didn’t dare move in case you broke whatever had made it happen."
May 29, 2020
This writing is so rich that I found myself immediately relating to it as food. To have that make any sense, I have to tell you how I eat—which is really to explain what I don't eat, which revelation may elicit mockery. I don't eat sugar, animals, bread, or anything with white flour in it. In addition, I don't love cooking, but oddly I find cooking shows, and particularly Martha Stewart's, with her consonant-popping pronunciation and soothing voice, hypnotic. I've watched Martha dump sugar and fat into everything, waxing poetic about ingredients I would never put into my body; I've listened to her gush about slices of dead animals who I'd rather name than eat. I ignore the content of her cooking and instead enjoy her voice. Occasionally this requires turning off parts of myself.
Niall Williams's voice is my perfect meal and requires and invites my whole self. His voice, his writing, his individual words are as rich as something baked in fat and veined with sugar with none of the verboten ingredients. It is so filling that a chapter satiates me instantly and I have to put it aside and savor all the aftertastes—none of which make me sleepy, dull, or drugged, as processed carbs do. Instead, I'm fully awake, reliving the sensation of the words on my tongue and down my gastrointestinal tract. One brogued sentence, winding and twisting and coming full circle back to its subject can start this process for me; it is so compelling that even though once, while reading, I sneezed a carrot into my sinuses, I never paused from the poetry but simply hacked and blew till the offending piece exited a nostril.
I'm not a poetry reader, but this kind of poetry fills me, maybe because there's nothing self-conscious about it: Williams is not "trying to be poetic." It's just his voice. And plot is almost incidental—as incidental as book reviewing is to an essay that starts with my eating habits and Martha Stewart's popping "P"s and takes a tangent into carrot bits in my nose.
Perhaps this is best explained by Niall Williams:
Niall Williams's voice is my perfect meal and requires and invites my whole self. His voice, his writing, his individual words are as rich as something baked in fat and veined with sugar with none of the verboten ingredients. It is so filling that a chapter satiates me instantly and I have to put it aside and savor all the aftertastes—none of which make me sleepy, dull, or drugged, as processed carbs do. Instead, I'm fully awake, reliving the sensation of the words on my tongue and down my gastrointestinal tract. One brogued sentence, winding and twisting and coming full circle back to its subject can start this process for me; it is so compelling that even though once, while reading, I sneezed a carrot into my sinuses, I never paused from the poetry but simply hacked and blew till the offending piece exited a nostril.
I'm not a poetry reader, but this kind of poetry fills me, maybe because there's nothing self-conscious about it: Williams is not "trying to be poetic." It's just his voice. And plot is almost incidental—as incidental as book reviewing is to an essay that starts with my eating habits and Martha Stewart's popping "P"s and takes a tangent into carrot bits in my nose.
Perhaps this is best explained by Niall Williams:
Once he got going, my grandfather's way of telling a story was to go pell-mell, throwing Aristotle's unities of action, place and time into the air and in a tumult let the details tumble down the stairs of his brain and out his mouth. (210)And, although I admit to often feeling like an impatient six-year-old screaming, "Just tell me what happens next!", like a contrite child, I recognize that when the tossing of words and the meandering of tangents is done by a writer as magnificent as Niall Williams, it works. Because
. . . Irish music was a language of its own, accommodating expression of ecstasy and rapture and lightness and fun as well as sadness and darkness and loss, and that in its rhythms and repetitions was the trace of history and humanity thereabouts, going round and round. (367)
April 15, 2020
Niall Williams’s This Is Happiness is exquisite, beautifully written and searchingly wise. I have not been quite as taken with a novel in a long while, and adding to my overwhelming response is the fact that I was pretty much blindsided by the novel’s depth and power, not having read anything by Williams before. I only turned to it having seen a few mentions by others on GR.
There’s been some scholarly work linking Irish and Southern (American) literature, and This Is Happiness no doubt will eventually come under such critical attention, as its themes and concerns dovetail closely with those found in the classic forms of these two traditions, focused on the importance of place, family, community, history, tradition, and memory—and the grinding assault on all that by forces of modernity. The novel is told as an extended recollection by 78-year-old Noel (Noe) Crowe, recalling a time in the 1950s when, having abandoned seminary, he had gone to live with his grandparents, Doady and Ganga, in the small Irish town of Faha. Faha is in the Irish backwater, a town that time has largely forgot, as underscored by Doady and Ganga’s traditional lifestyles. But change is on the way: not long after Noe arrives, the village is slated for the arrival of electricity, a step into modernity that will transform town life. Townspeople must decide whether to be hooked up or not, and for some it’s an agonizing decision as they know their lives and ways will drastically change.
It’s Noe’s relationship with one of the electrical workers, Christy, who moves in as a boarder at Doady and Ganga’s, that stands at the heart of the novel. Christy is sixty-something, somewhat rakish and powerfully appealing, a man with a mysterious past that only becomes revealed over time as the novel unfolds. There are suggestive hints sprinkled throughout, as when he tells Noe of his poor vision, “I used up most of my eyesight on the wonders of the world and the beauty of women.” Noe is in awe of Christy and they become buddies, Christy taking the young Noe under his wing and offering advice about life, love, and happiness. Much later, after a number of escapades, Noe is able to return the favor to a brokenhearted Christy, who, as we learn, years before had left one of the village women standing at the altar.
This is one of those novels where the storytelling is everything, and Noe is simply an expert, following in the line of Ganga who was known as one of the town’s master storytellers. The description below of Ganga’s skills also speak to Noe’s (and of course Williams’s):
A key thing to understand about Ganga was that he loved a story. He believed that human beings were inside a story that had no ending because its teller had started it without conceiving of one, and that after ten thousand tales was no nearer to finding the resolution of the last page. Story was the stuff of life, and to realise you were inside one allowed you to sometimes surrender to the plot, to bear a little easier the griefs and sufferings and to enjoy more fully the twists that come along the way.
And this:
Once he got going, my grandfather’s way of telling a story was to go pell-mell, throwing Aristotle’s unities of action, place and time into the air and in a tumult let the details tumble down the stairs of his brain and out his mouth. He had grown up in an age when storytelling was founded on the forthright principles of passing the time and dissolving the hours of dark. . . My point, the story had to compete with an emphatic actuality, and defeat it by an air-construct of the imagination, adhering to the Virgilian principle that if you can take the mind, the body will follow. To conquer both time and reality then, one of the unwritten tenets of local poetics was that a story must never arrive at the point, or risk conclusion. And because in Faha, like in all places time was the only thing people could afford, all stories were long, all storytellers took their, and your, and anyone else’s, time, and all gave it up willingly, understanding that tales of anything as aberrant and contrary as human beings had to be long, not to say convoluted, had to be so long that they wouldn’t, and in fact couldn’t, be finished this side of the grave, and only for the fire gone out and the birds of dawn singing might be continuing still.
This Is Happiness is a novel to savor and relish, a novel that ultimately affirms the wonder of being alive. That’s what the title refers to, and it’s precisely that that Noe comes to understand when he hears Christy say the words: “I came to understand him to mean you could stop at, not all, but most of the moments of your life, stop for one heartbeat and, no matter what the state of your head or heart, say This is happiness, because of the simple truth that you were alive to say it.” Indeed, and you probably have guessed how I’ll end. Reading this novel, yes, this is happiness.
There’s been some scholarly work linking Irish and Southern (American) literature, and This Is Happiness no doubt will eventually come under such critical attention, as its themes and concerns dovetail closely with those found in the classic forms of these two traditions, focused on the importance of place, family, community, history, tradition, and memory—and the grinding assault on all that by forces of modernity. The novel is told as an extended recollection by 78-year-old Noel (Noe) Crowe, recalling a time in the 1950s when, having abandoned seminary, he had gone to live with his grandparents, Doady and Ganga, in the small Irish town of Faha. Faha is in the Irish backwater, a town that time has largely forgot, as underscored by Doady and Ganga’s traditional lifestyles. But change is on the way: not long after Noe arrives, the village is slated for the arrival of electricity, a step into modernity that will transform town life. Townspeople must decide whether to be hooked up or not, and for some it’s an agonizing decision as they know their lives and ways will drastically change.
It’s Noe’s relationship with one of the electrical workers, Christy, who moves in as a boarder at Doady and Ganga’s, that stands at the heart of the novel. Christy is sixty-something, somewhat rakish and powerfully appealing, a man with a mysterious past that only becomes revealed over time as the novel unfolds. There are suggestive hints sprinkled throughout, as when he tells Noe of his poor vision, “I used up most of my eyesight on the wonders of the world and the beauty of women.” Noe is in awe of Christy and they become buddies, Christy taking the young Noe under his wing and offering advice about life, love, and happiness. Much later, after a number of escapades, Noe is able to return the favor to a brokenhearted Christy, who, as we learn, years before had left one of the village women standing at the altar.
This is one of those novels where the storytelling is everything, and Noe is simply an expert, following in the line of Ganga who was known as one of the town’s master storytellers. The description below of Ganga’s skills also speak to Noe’s (and of course Williams’s):
A key thing to understand about Ganga was that he loved a story. He believed that human beings were inside a story that had no ending because its teller had started it without conceiving of one, and that after ten thousand tales was no nearer to finding the resolution of the last page. Story was the stuff of life, and to realise you were inside one allowed you to sometimes surrender to the plot, to bear a little easier the griefs and sufferings and to enjoy more fully the twists that come along the way.
And this:
Once he got going, my grandfather’s way of telling a story was to go pell-mell, throwing Aristotle’s unities of action, place and time into the air and in a tumult let the details tumble down the stairs of his brain and out his mouth. He had grown up in an age when storytelling was founded on the forthright principles of passing the time and dissolving the hours of dark. . . My point, the story had to compete with an emphatic actuality, and defeat it by an air-construct of the imagination, adhering to the Virgilian principle that if you can take the mind, the body will follow. To conquer both time and reality then, one of the unwritten tenets of local poetics was that a story must never arrive at the point, or risk conclusion. And because in Faha, like in all places time was the only thing people could afford, all stories were long, all storytellers took their, and your, and anyone else’s, time, and all gave it up willingly, understanding that tales of anything as aberrant and contrary as human beings had to be long, not to say convoluted, had to be so long that they wouldn’t, and in fact couldn’t, be finished this side of the grave, and only for the fire gone out and the birds of dawn singing might be continuing still.
This Is Happiness is a novel to savor and relish, a novel that ultimately affirms the wonder of being alive. That’s what the title refers to, and it’s precisely that that Noe comes to understand when he hears Christy say the words: “I came to understand him to mean you could stop at, not all, but most of the moments of your life, stop for one heartbeat and, no matter what the state of your head or heart, say This is happiness, because of the simple truth that you were alive to say it.” Indeed, and you probably have guessed how I’ll end. Reading this novel, yes, this is happiness.
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