John Evans's first novel is both the narrative of Michael Dwyer, a man in self-imposed exile, and a broader examination of modern-day emigration. The mass exodus of the 1980s and early 1990s has provided rich material for many young novelists, who write of the interstices between home and away and of longing and belonging.
Evans is no exception, but he has cleverly staked out a new ground for himself. Pilgrims is like the aeroplane flight between "away" and "home"; Michael moves between Ireland and Frankfurt but physical place becomes irrelevant as the true discussion of belonging takes place within the confines of his own head. This is not to say that place is unimportant in Pilgrims; it is vital, but Evans has determined to mull over the implications of physical flight through the inner life of Michael Dwyer. It is a brave move to make your protagonist a fundamentally dislikeable character. Although it's common enough in comic novels, most Bildungsromans rely on a sense of empathy, admiration or even pity. Michael Dwyer, however, is not a particularly nice man. He leaves his pregnant girlfriend to pursue a short-lived fling with an old flame whom he had abandoned without a word. He leaves his recently widowed mother to celebrate Christmas alone. He leaves people pleading on his answer phone and doesn't pick up; in short, he does a lot of leaving. However, Evans manages to keep our curiosity and concern by letting us hear Michael's inner debate and by articulating the unspoken battle between what he knows is right and his own panicky need for internal peace.
It all starts with a midnight phone call when Michael's mother rings from Wexford to tell him his father has just died. For Michael, it is an unwelcome trip home; "Ireland is just a little shit-hole. A dive. And every Paddy seems to think that it's some sort of Mecca that he has to work his arse off to get back to some day. Well, not this Paddy. I'm not coming back." He comes back for the funeral, though, with his partner, Maria, of whom his parents do not entirely approve. Memories start surfacing. Some are welcome, like those of Claire, the old girlfriend with whom he quickly starts a new affair; other memories, of his father's reproaches and his own feelings of claustrophobia, are not quite so easily resolved.
When Michael returns to Germany after the funeral, everything starts to deteriorate. He shuts himself off from Maria, turning the same cold and scornful eye upon her as he does upon his parents and Ireland. His image of Claire, on the other hand, is tinged with a sense of unattainable freedom. With very bad timing, Michael finally tells Maria to leave him just as she discovers she is pregnant. Much of the rest of the book is taken up with Michael's meandering route towards a kind of self-knowledge, if not self-fulfilment.
Both Claire and Maria know Michael and his past record well - Maria returns to Ireland and has the baby by herself, Claire is wary of Michael's expressions of devotion and sudden emotional failings. When Michael finally decides he should commit to Claire, it ends in a tragedy which finally proves to the reader, if not to Michael, that his problems are grim and seemingly unsolvable. He is the most unreliable of men, determined to betray even himself, despite himself.
Michael's fumbling journey to a pathetic acceptance of his own failures is endlessly frustrating for the reader, who must stick with him through mistake after mistake. However, such is Evans's skill in depicting the ruthless contrariness of Michael as well as the impervious twists of fate, that one can't help but fall in with this infuriating but somehow enthralling character. As the reader understands the "why" behind his actions, a more complex picture of the ambiguous feelings of a young emigrant emerges. Michael is successful in his new-found home but has an unhealthy load of Pavlovian reflexes that kick in whenever old feelings resurface. When he finds that his problems with Ireland and with his well-meaning parents survive and flourish even in a different country, and faced with a different set of relationships, he realises finally that the frustrations are rooted within himself and not within Ireland. With Michael Dwyer, Evans has added a knotty and enduring character to the body of modern Irish literature.
Louise East is an Irish Times columnist
