The Swinging ’60s bypassed the Ireland of Niall Williams’ latest novel, Time of the Child. And another decade passed until the centuries-old strictures of poverty, chastity and obedience loosened their grip on the ragged romance of the Irish Republic. But this reality exists in an unknowable future in the mythical village of Faha, in County Clare. Time moves at an untroubled pace in the household of Doctor Jack Troy and his daughter, Ronnie.
A realm where love and passion are as cold as the porridge served on a Sunday morning before Mass, except for one critical element: the promise of the Feast of Advent. I grew up reading the short stories of Seán Ó Faoláin, and the poetry of Seamus Heaney and Sinéad Morrissey. Williams conjures magic realism with language such as, ‘it was a nearness more than a contact, a film of milk between his flesh and the child’s mouth’.
Irish, Scots and Welsh writers have the knack of teasing out the poetry of the life of villages and small cities. Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood, comes to mind, as does Ulysses by James Joyce.
For me, Time of the Child is in this tradition. If you are curious about rural Irish life in the 1960s, buy this novel. And if you find yourself baffled by the Gordian Knot of local relationships, sit back and revel in the beauty of the English language, as crafted by one of the undisputed masters of the idiom, Irish author Niall Williams.
Reviewed by Henry Johnston
ABOUT THE AUTHOR






Born in Dublin in 1958, studied English and French Literature at University College, Dublin. He moved to New York in 1980 where he married Christine Breen, whom he had met while she was also a student at UCD. His first job in New York was opening boxes of books in Fox & Sutherland’s Bookshop in Mount Kisco.


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