“Eureka Street, a novel of Ireland like no other”, by Robert McLiam Wilson
“The tragedy was that Northern Ireland (Scottish) Protestants thought themselves like the British. Northern Ireland (Irish) Catholics thought themselves like Eireans (proper Irish). The comedy was that any once-strong difference had long melted away and they resembled each other. The world saw this and mostly wondered, but round these parts folk were blind.”
“It had struck Chuckie that the political conflict that had occurred during his entire adult life had been a lie. Iy was a war between an army that said it didn’t want to flight and a group of revolutionaries who claimed that they didn’t want to fight either. It had nothing to do with imperialism, self-determination or revolutionary socialism. And these armies didn’t often kill each other. Usually they just killed whoever of the citizenry happened to be handy.”
“That was what I liked about Belfast hatred. It was a lumbering hatred that could survive comfortably on the memories of things that never existed in the first place. There was a certain admirable stamina in that.”
“I loved her like I didn’t know was possible. I loved her more than I thought was legal. The sight of her handwriting made my eyes fill with reasonless tears. When I heard sirens I convinced myself that they were ambulances going to the site where her shattered body lay. Sometimes at night, when she slept and I couldn’t, I lay with my arms around her, just loving her. I felt that if I had a zipper running down the front of me from throat to belly I would unzip myself and cram her inside and zip her up in there. I could never hold her close enough.”
“She was going the full way here, she was practically gasping. I think she thought I was some well-dressed desperado with a sensitive side that she could unlock. I think she watched too much television.”
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