Long listed for the 2009 Man Booker, I wanted this book to be good and I even saved it to take on holidays with me. Am, ok, well firstly I like Mr. Tobin. He’s a nice, erudite, well respected novelist, but this is not the first time I’ve been let down by one of his novels. I found Nora Webster uninspiring and The Blackwater Lightship a little lacklustre, however I didn’t want to give up on one of Ireland’s most illustrious writers, so I dived into Brooklyn with the conviction that Toibin’s everlasting reputation would meet my expectations. It didn’t.
Toibin is a good writer: not superb, fantastic, incredible or however else he’s rendered by an Irish media who seem to wheel him out as our foremost literary giant whenever a chat-show needs a foremost literary giant (who doesn’t need the publicity) to tell the masses of literary miniatures (who do) how unachievable literary growth is!
Oh anyway, the story features the young Ellis Lacey who can’t find work in 1950’s Wexford. With the help of her sister, Rose and a visiting Catholic priest, she emigrates to Brooklyn. Ellis works at a department store; lodges at a boarding house with other female emigrants; does some night classes, meets a guy at a dance; yada yada yada and has to make some decisions.
There’s nothing complex about this character, nothing challenging about the book or it’s subject matter and I guess in some ways that was a pleasant experience. Toibin is an old fashioned writer, a male Maeve Binchy, there's a lot of detail and he tells a simple story, simply. I guess his novels are like a place to rest, a safe harbour after the tumultuous seas of excessively complex and mentally overwhelming books on many lists these days. I would certainly recommend Mr. Toibin’s novels to anyone looking for that calm literary healing place.
Colm Toibin’s novels are not what I was expecting, that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy them, just don’t believe the hype.