Books like The First Verse — picked by fans

Indispensable. And the scandal of this autobiographical novel hasn’t worn off in a hundred-plus years. Stephen Dedalus is our young man, the self-appointed artist-priest. We see turn-of-the-century Ireland through his eyes and Irish Catholicism, too, each with its special richness and oppressiveness. Ultimately, it’s Stephen’s desire to escape "these nets" that drives his story. He’ll find God in his own way or, failing that, replace him with Art. 

McGahern is famous for writing slow-burning accounts of life in mid-century rural Ireland.

The Pornographer, however, is about a lonely bachelor who writes porn in his suburban bedsit then gets the bus into town to seduce women in gloomy dancehalls. He makes one of them pregnant and a battle of wills begins: he thinks she should obtain an abortion, she thinks they marry. This is remarkable because it is set in 1960s Dublin, a time and place in which the Catholic Church reigned supreme.

The book’s depiction of a night-time city composed of grimy pubs and starchy hospital wards is unforgettable, but its fascination for me lies in the protagonist’s casual cruelty towards his lover: this was what I had in mind when developing Cormac, the protagonist of my book – a passive, affable, but ultimately detached man who wreaks emotional havoc by accident and reflects a very Irish, still… show more.

I was engrossed by this beautifully written book about the way that things that happened in a previous generation can affect one’s happiness without one even knowing about them.

I totally identified with protagonist Veronica as she looks for clues as to why her brother committed suicide by imagining scenes from her parents’ past.

When I registered the subtle moment that was crucial to it all, everything fell into stark and terrible place, and it took my breath away. Both witty and sad, the book left a deep impression on me.

A non-fiction recommendation this time, and a recent release.

Hennigan’s essay collection is a beautifully written account of the final years, and opaque recollections, of her grandmother Phil, who spent much of her life in various psychiatric institutions.

I have been interested in this theme for years – Ireland, in the first decades after independence from Britain, has some of the highest rates of citizen incarceration in the world: prisons, borstals, orphanages, magdalen laundries, and psychiatric hospitals both provided employment and regulation and also kept a whole population of ‘problem’ people out of sight).

This fact, and its repercussions in culture today, fascinate me, and Hennigan’s gentle and loving consideration of Phil’s trauma, loneliness, mania, and the maternal lineage it involves (her own mother was institutionalized) is also an angry illustration of just how badly women and the working class have been treated here.

This book has so much I love about it: it’s set in Dublin, the home of my father and therefore part of my heritage.

It features a group of feisty women, the youngest of whom is in her fifties (way younger than me), while the rest are old enough to know better. It’s packed full of humour—who wouldn’t laugh at the idea of the older generation behaving worse than the teenagers. And there’s a huge dollop of old Irish magic to add to the mix.

Despite the fact that this wonderful group of women seem to attract dead bodies like magnets, this is definitely in the cosy sub-genre. And I loved every word of this book and the rest of the series.

Wonderful, fast-paced urban fantasy set in Dublin, Ireland. Gargoyles are former avenging angels who now watch over churches – that hook was simply irresistible to me. When some artifacts go missing from his cathedral, it’s up to the gargoyle Padraig and an elderly Knight of Malta (whose modern-day steed is a Rolls Royce) to find the sinister culprit and set things aright. The charming descriptions of Dublin, along with the witty banter of the heroes and the interesting nuggets of Celtic lore made me wish Kurtz had written a whole series of Gargoyle books. Sadly, she did not. Trigger assurance: the religious aspects are carefully handled so as to enhance the atmosphere of the story, not to insult or preach. St. Patrick’s Gargoyle is 200 of the fastest pages I have ever read.

As the song goes: “It ain’t whacha say, it’s the way how’s ya say it.” And that’s what I love about all five of these books. It isn’t exactly the place, or the time, or a particular character; it’s the style. 

Joyce’s early stories, though, do cast magic over a certain time and place and make them come alive as if they were written yesterday.

The Dead, probably the best known of them, and made into a touching movie (John Houston’s last), is a great example of the feeling Joyce could evoke in us, the readers, with the carefully chosen words of a poet.

Mistaken is the tale of two boys (Kevin and Gerald) who are remarkably similar in appearance, though far from similar in affluence and background. The story is set in Dublin and told from the point of view of Kevin, now older and having just attended Gerald’s funeral. It slipstreams through past and present, and at nearly every corner it leaves Kevin questioning his own identity and memories, and wondering if perhaps the boys’ connection had even greater implications than he thought. In my book, there is a fictional novel within the novel, about twins who aren’t twins, and it is loosely inspired by the meeting of Kevin and Gerald in Mistaken.

Neil Jordan is an underrated talent, and his writing is superbly atmospheric here.

Here I am recommending three books in one, because I think they should be read one after the other in a single holiday week where the rain is pouring down outside and you can lock yourself away and completely disappear into Doyle’s working-class Dublin universe. If you do not fall in love with the Rabbite family in all their imperfections, then uplit is not for you. I guarantee that no bad vibes will penetrate your mind while you are reading the Barrytown trilogy.

Christmas brings memories of other Christmases and can, therefore, be as much a melancholy time as a wonderful one.

The last story in James Joyce’s Dubliners ends with this burden of memory, and within a marriage, strikes a note of separation at the time of festivity. Before then, he brings to life for us Christmas parties, Edwardian Dublin in late December, conviviality, and the pain and delight of music.

It’s as good a story as anyone ever wrote and as Christmassy in its sadness as Dickens is in its joy.