I recently spent a week or two in the Irish village of Faha. I was there in 1962, a time of transition when televisions and electric light were replacing radios and tinsel. The Cuba Missile Crisis has just occurred but Faha is far from there, in another time and another place where time goes round and round and not forward.
Faha is not a real place. I have never been to Ireland and I was not alive in 1962. But such is reading Niall Williams, The Time of the Child, I could swear I was in Faha in Christmas 1962, ‘in what became known in the parish as the time of the child.’
To those who lived there, Faha was perhaps the last place on earth to expect a miracle. It had neither the history nor the geography for it. The history was remarkable for the one fact upon which all commenators agreed: nothing happened here. ― Niall Williams, Time of the Child
The first line of the book tells us a miracle child is arriving and then…the reader is taken on a slow meandering boat ride, observing the environment, the weather (mostly wet), and meeting the townsfolk, witnessing their resolve, their habits, and their eccentricities. Just a sprinkle, now and then, reference to the child. Which will arrive. I loved not knowing and the anticipation. So, I am not telling. You go and take the boat ride and find out for yourself.
The first point of view character is Doctor Troy, a man who understands he has lived more life than he has left.
Over time, the lessons of the Royal College had been replaced by life experience, and he had developed a diagnosis style informed by years of treating a marginal people of quiet dignity who had learned how to live in a place that was mostly water.
― Niall Williams, Time of the Child
Doctor Troy’s oldest daughter Ronnie:
…she had the natural reserve, not of one who had been left behind, but of one privy to the secrets of a household and surgery, who admited the patients, watched the levels in her father’s brandy bottle, and guarded all behind green eyes that were the same as her mother’s, only without the anxiety.― Niall Williams, Time of the Child
The third voice we hear is that of Jude Quinlan:
…twelve years, thin and winter-pale, a loop of brown hair falling forward. He had a look older than himself, that depth of expression that some say is the wisdom of suffering, and others the need not see see more of it. .― Niall Williams, Time of the Child
The three of them amid the web of relationships in the parish, the gossip, and the genuine care for neighbours will tell you about the time of the child, and if you are like me, you will fall in love with all of them.
If you are a listener of books, do listen. Hearing the book read in Irish accent is delightful.
The book is lyrical, and the language is divine. There were times when I rewound 30 seconds just to hear a perfect metaphor again. It is down-to-earth philosophical – profound in a way that makes you stop in your tracks – and rewind for 30 seconds to hear it again!
To add to all that, it is laugh-out-loud funny. Take the resident Harry:
…a black and white sheepdog who, in protest against living in a parish without sheep, always lay in the middle of the street, rising with the affronted dignity of a deposed monarch when a car wouldn’t go round him, returning after to the same spot in the restored delusion of dog’s dominion over the King of Sundays. ― Niall Williams, Time of the Child
Some years ago, Pocket Bookclub read William’s History of the Rain and we knew we would be in good hands again. I did not realise the History of the Rain and William’s This is Happiness are also set in Faha, so I can return for another holiday. I might even move in and live there.
“The purpose of ageing was to grow into your soul, the one you have been carrying all along.”
― Niall Williams, Time of the Child