Book Review: Long Island

 By Colm Tóibín

• Pub Date: 2024

• Genre: Irish fiction

• Where I bought this book: The Book Loft, Columbus, Ohio 

• Why I bought this book: I'm a fan of Tóibín's work  

 ***

     The opening here sets up a memorable conflict: A man knocks on the door of his neighbor's house. Relates how her husband got his wife pregnant. When the child is born, he says, he is going to drop the kid on her doorstep, and it will be her problem. Then he leaves.

    Thus we return to the trials and tribulations of Eilis Fiorello, nee Lacey, an Irish woman from the County Wexford who emigrated to Brooklyn and now lives on Long Island with her husband Tony and their two teenage children. It's an uncomfortable arrangement. Tony's large Italian family -- parents, two brothers, their wives, and children -- live in four clustered houses on a cul-de-sac in Lindenhurst, some 50 miles from New York.

    So far, so good. The story is interesting; the characters -- especially the mother-in-law, Francesca -- are colorful, and the writing, so far, is tight and easy. 

    But midway through, things go off the rails.

    We first met Eilis in the novel Brooklyn. Saoirse Ronan played her in the movie of the same name. The dust jacket on this novel calls her Tóibín's "most compelling and unforgettable character."

    But she's not.

    Instead, she's a morose, secretive, lost woman trying to find her way in a world she doesn't care to understand. Now 40, and living during the 1970s, she assures one and all she does not want the baby, does not like her living arrangements, and does not enjoy her in-laws' claustrophobic lifestyles. The feelings are mutual (except grandma wants to raise the kid).

    Not to give away more of the plot, but eventually Eilis returns to her hometown for a visit. (I am sure in the eventual movie there will be montages of the town of Enniscorthy and the surrounding green fields, and it will be lovely.)

    Here, the plot really breaks down. None of the characters -- the ones in America or the ones in Ireland -- are particularly likeable. In many ways, they border on stereotypes: The Italians are insular and deceitful. The Irish are moody and critical. Their activities are mundane: Having tea, drinking in the pub, sneaking around the town.

    The writing also seems to decline here. Perhaps it's the characters' whinging, or their incessant gossiping. And we can see the ending coming, although by now we could care less about their lives and their futures.