The Blackwater Lightship by Colm Toibin

When reading this simple story, you find yourself holed up in a house at the edge of an Irish cliff with three generations of a family. Almost all of the scenes in the book take place in that confined setting and the experience is not unlike watching a play. The Blackwater Lightship would translate well onto the stage; perhaps it’s been done already, I haven’t checked.

Helen, the main character has come to stay at her grandmother’s house with her long estranged mother, to look after her dying brother. He has drawn the family into that place during his last days in the hope of some sort of reconciliation, but that is never going to be easy. They are joined by two of his friends, and so the sextet is complete, a web of disunited relationships, long held bitternesses and unearthed prejudices – Declan, the brother, and his two friends are gay.

There is little more to say about the plot of this novel. Most of the events described are domestic – walks along the strand, grandmother having a go at driving, arguments in the kitchen. The language Toibin uses also blends with that background: his prose style verges on the mundane. But somehow the overall effect is staggering. When Toibin gives us such meagre sustenance in variety of setting or narrative nourishment, we are left with only the characters: characters that are real, familiar and intricately drawn. This story takes place in the spaces between those characters. It is a book of many long conversations, and nearly all we learn about its cast is conveyed through their dialogue.

To be honest, it’s not quite my thing. I like a bit of verbal flourish and parry from my authors. I like to learn a new word every now and then and make a note of it. There’s no chance of that with Toibin, but I still loved The Blackwater Lightship. Gradually I was drawn into searching each utterance for the hidden meanings of what is said, what is unsaid and what can never be said. It is perhaps because there is so little of everything else that we are left with the conviction that human relationships are all that matter, even when his main character makes exactly the opposite point. (A quote from Helen’s soliloquy when she is alone on the strand should go here, but all my books are in boxes with the house being decorated, so I can’t find it).

That impression, that its only the relationships that count is reinforced by the lack of detail and apparent boredom that overcomes the author when he strays into giving account of any other domains of life. The computer business of Helen’s mother, for example, is blandly and somewhat unconvincingly described with no particulars, but it doesn’t really matter.

Moving is a word that is easy to apply to Colm Toibin’s work and my own recommendation would be to avoid reading it when moving yourself. My partner read the final pages to me aloud as I drove along the M27 to visit my own ailing mother, and soon we were both in tears. High octane emotional literature like this should be banned in cars along with mobile phones. The Blackwater Lightship is far more demanding of your attention than any mobile phone conversation.