Sir, – Keith Ridgway’s review of a new translation of Tomás O’Crohan’s The Islander (Weekend Review, October 13th) is a tad unfair and calls for a response. I have not bought the Bannister/Sowby translation, but have the original An t-Oileánach (1929) and Robin Flower’s 1937 translation before me as I write.
I suggest that Mr Ridgway’s lack of empathy with O’Crohan may lie in an ignorance of the life and, dare I say it, the culture of those Blasket Islanders, who lived and toiled in a unique and isolated community from the second half of the 19th and into the early 20th century. Survival in a harsh environment was based on community co-operation in a constant battle with the elements.
It is incorrect to say that O’Crohan was humourless and had no interest in the outside world or that his marriage was the result of “apparent pressure from his family”. The text is scattered with wry self-deprecating comments, reflecting the type of dry humour that will be familiar to anyone with roots in rural Ireland. To say he had no curiosity about the wider world scarcely deserves comment. O’Crohan’s world was the Blasket Islands and the occasional trip to Dunquin or nearby towns. People carrying local news to the Blaskets after market days were of more importance than what he termed the “New Land” (America) or elsewhere. His reference to a visitor to the Blaskets being from the capital of Ireland also speaks volumes in that regard. O’Crohan writes beautifully about celebrations in the chapter “A Merry Christmas” and the chapter, “Shrovetide, 1878” about his marriage certainly contradicts the impression given in the review; O’Crohan refers to “singing in plenty, dancing and all sorts of amusement, and food and drink enough and to spare . . .” Mr Ridgway should be aware that matchmaking was the accepted norm in certain rural communities almost up to the end of the 20th century, so comment of “apparent pressure” is superfluous.
It must also be remembered that the islanders (and other rural people) were very private and stoical. The fact that O’Crohan did not elaborate or give vent to his obvious grief on the deaths of most of his children, or that of his wife, should not be glibly interpreted as evidence of an uncaring or wooden individual.
We should be grateful that we have the treasury of writings by the Blasket Islanders, Tomás O’Crohan, Peig Sayers and Muiris Ó Súilleabháin (Twenty Years A-Growing) in the original Irish and translations. They are unique resources that will be read at home and abroad for generations to come. Ní fheicfimid a leithéid arís. – Yours, etc,