The Black ShoreBucknell University Press, 2000 - 263 páginas "In The Black Shore, O'Neill finally expresses his criticism of Ireland, Irish nationalism, and Irish Catholicism, often in hilariously satiric scenes and with a cast of characters as ugly and unsavory as any to be found in modern Anglo-Irish literature. The novel is also an Irish love story of sorts and traces the perverse relationship between the local doctor and the niece of the parish priest - he, the confirmed and vocal atheist in a fanatically Catholic country, who is sadly incapable of expressing love and she, the wife who, looking for romance and glamour, in the bogs of Ireland, sees herself the possible instrument of his salvation. The Black Shore is also a fitting final statement of the man Joseph O'Neill who spent twenty-five years buried in the bureaucracy of the Irish Department of Education, loathing the petty, bourgeois life he lived, longing for the heroic past, for the time - if it ever existed - when a man's thoughts and actions functioned in accord."--BOOK JACKET.Title Summary field provided by Blackwell North America, Inc. All Rights Reserved |
Contenido
| 7 | |
Annotation of Private Archives Sources and Collections | 31 |
A Selected Bibliography of the Works of Joseph ONeill | 32 |
A Note on the Text | 34 |
The Black Shore | 37 |
Notes | 256 |
Glossary of Irish Words and Slang | 261 |
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Términos y frases comunes
afraid Aran Islands atheist began Black Shore bloody Catholic coming craythur cried curate damn decent devil District Nurse divil doctor door Dublin Dublin Magazine Ederney's eyes face faith father feel fellow fool Gaelic girl give God's gone grand hand heart Holy hope husband Ireland Irish James Clogher Joseph O'Neill KELLY LYNCH knew lives Lochnamara looked Lordship Mary Culkin Mary Devenport O'Neill Maynooth Mickle John mind Nan's never night nodded novel Nurse O'Neill's O'Roarty parish priest Pat Culkin Philip Ederney pity poor road Roche round Roymore saint seaweed shebeen shook his head smell smiled softly sort soul stared stood stuff sure talk tell there's thim thing thought Tisn't Tony Culkin trouble turned typhus uncle village voice W. B. Yeats walked watched whin woman women words
Pasajes populares
Página 257 - The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Página 256 - Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
Página 234 - He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers...
Página 235 - IT is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in — glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendour, and joy.
Página 191 - Moyle, be the roar of thy water, Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. When shall the swan, her death-note singing, Sleep, with wings in darkness furled? When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit from this stormy world?
Página 234 - The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set.
Página 258 - They come as a boon and a blessing to men, The Pickwick, the Owl, and the Waverley Pen.
Página 256 - Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free!
Página 257 - Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. " Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.
Página 119 - I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers on a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me —