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The Mangan Inheritance
Not so long ago James Mangan was a brilliant young poet. These days, however, he toils as a journalistÌý
and shivers in the shadow of his glamorous movie-star wife. And now she has left him for her lover. Adrift and depressed, Jamie takes refuge with his father, in whose house he turns up a 19th-century daguerreotype bearing the initials “J.M.� and depicting a man who, as it happens, is Jamie’s spitting image. Could this be the only existing photograph of his purported ancestor, the legendarily dissolute Irish poet James Clarence Mangan? Obsessed by this strange resemblance—and aided by an unexpected financial windfall—Jamie heads to Ireland thinking at last to discover that elusive himself. Instead, in the dreary coastal village of Drishane, he meets the derelict Eileen, sullen Dinny, drunken (and shrunken) Conor, and the sexy and very available Kathleen. They know something, for sure—something to do with Jamie, and something they don’t want him to find out.
Ìý Ìý The Mangan Inheritance is melodrama at its most inventive and suggestive, an inquiry into the problem of identity and the nature of ancestry that beguiles the reader with dark deeds, wild humor, and weird goings-on, on its way towards a shocking and terrifying—and utterly satisfying—conclusion.
and shivers in the shadow of his glamorous movie-star wife. And now she has left him for her lover. Adrift and depressed, Jamie takes refuge with his father, in whose house he turns up a 19th-century daguerreotype bearing the initials “J.M.� and depicting a man who, as it happens, is Jamie’s spitting image. Could this be the only existing photograph of his purported ancestor, the legendarily dissolute Irish poet James Clarence Mangan? Obsessed by this strange resemblance—and aided by an unexpected financial windfall—Jamie heads to Ireland thinking at last to discover that elusive himself. Instead, in the dreary coastal village of Drishane, he meets the derelict Eileen, sullen Dinny, drunken (and shrunken) Conor, and the sexy and very available Kathleen. They know something, for sure—something to do with Jamie, and something they don’t want him to find out.
Ìý Ìý The Mangan Inheritance is melodrama at its most inventive and suggestive, an inquiry into the problem of identity and the nature of ancestry that beguiles the reader with dark deeds, wild humor, and weird goings-on, on its way towards a shocking and terrifying—and utterly satisfying—conclusion.
368 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1979
18 people are currently reading
359 people want to read
About the author
Brian Moore
160Ìýbooks163ÌýfollowersBrian Moore (1921â€�1999) was born into a large, devoutly Catholic family in Belfast, Northern Ireland. His father was a surgeon and lecturer, and his mother had been a nurse. Moore left Ireland during World War II and in 1948 moved to Canada, where he worked for the Montreal Gazette, married his first wife, and began to write potboilers under various pen names, as he would continue to do throughout the 1950s.
The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne (1955, now available as an NYRB Classic), said to have been rejected by a dozen publishers, was the first book Moore published under his own name, and it was followed by nineteen subsequent novels written in a broad range of modes and styles, from the realistic to the historical to the quasi-fantastical, including The Luck of Ginger Coffey, An Answer from Limbo, The Emperor of Ice Cream, I Am Mary Dunne, Catholics, Black Robe, and The Statement. Three novels�Lies of Silence, The Colour of Blood, and The Magician’s Wife—were short-listed for the Booker Prize, and The Great Victorian Collection won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
After adapting The Luck of Ginger Coffey for film in 1964, Moore moved to California to work on the script for Alfred Hitchcock’s Torn Curtain. He remained in Malibu for the rest of his life, remarrying there and teaching at UCLA for some fifteen years. Shortly before his death, Moore wrote, “There are those stateless wanderers who, finding the larger world into which they have stumbled vast, varied and exciting, become confused in their loyalties and lose their sense of home. I am one of those wanderers.�
The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne (1955, now available as an NYRB Classic), said to have been rejected by a dozen publishers, was the first book Moore published under his own name, and it was followed by nineteen subsequent novels written in a broad range of modes and styles, from the realistic to the historical to the quasi-fantastical, including The Luck of Ginger Coffey, An Answer from Limbo, The Emperor of Ice Cream, I Am Mary Dunne, Catholics, Black Robe, and The Statement. Three novels�Lies of Silence, The Colour of Blood, and The Magician’s Wife—were short-listed for the Booker Prize, and The Great Victorian Collection won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
After adapting The Luck of Ginger Coffey for film in 1964, Moore moved to California to work on the script for Alfred Hitchcock’s Torn Curtain. He remained in Malibu for the rest of his life, remarrying there and teaching at UCLA for some fifteen years. Shortly before his death, Moore wrote, “There are those stateless wanderers who, finding the larger world into which they have stumbled vast, varied and exciting, become confused in their loyalties and lose their sense of home. I am one of those wanderers.�
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October 6, 2019This was cinematic and a page-turner. With a fifty-page head start I was able to finish it just in the moments of the final descent of a cross-country flight.
The linear squib sets out the plot: Jamie Mangan, perhaps a poet, is left by his movie actress wife; suddenly poor, he flounders; but he finds a daguerreotype of a long lost relative who looks exactly like him; Jamie inherits a fortune and sets off to Ireland to find the connection to this look-alike ancestor (also a poet); dark family secrets will be revealed.
The story is told in the third-person, but always in Jamie Mangan's point of view. Early on, I noted a passage, perhaps because of its Proustian reference. Looking back on it now though, I notice that it's the only time in the book that the story slides into the first person. And mid-paragraph at that.
So, you know, maybe important:
He did not switch on the lamp but, closing the door behind him, went confidently in the dark toward the single bed. Headlights from a passing car swept the ceiling, bringing back a clear memory of himself at nine lying there, pretending his bed a boat, the car headlights lighthouse beams, the ceiling an ocean. Longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure. But unlike Marcel, I did not lie here longing for Mama to come up and kiss me good night. I was happiest in those hours, the day done, the door shut, alone, turning beds into boats, an only child who did not want a little brother.
If I had been paying better attention, I would have understood that there is a kind of loneliness that is not tempered by plot. And that a shift in tense holds the ending's clue.
The linear squib sets out the plot: Jamie Mangan, perhaps a poet, is left by his movie actress wife; suddenly poor, he flounders; but he finds a daguerreotype of a long lost relative who looks exactly like him; Jamie inherits a fortune and sets off to Ireland to find the connection to this look-alike ancestor (also a poet); dark family secrets will be revealed.
The story is told in the third-person, but always in Jamie Mangan's point of view. Early on, I noted a passage, perhaps because of its Proustian reference. Looking back on it now though, I notice that it's the only time in the book that the story slides into the first person. And mid-paragraph at that.
So, you know, maybe important:
He did not switch on the lamp but, closing the door behind him, went confidently in the dark toward the single bed. Headlights from a passing car swept the ceiling, bringing back a clear memory of himself at nine lying there, pretending his bed a boat, the car headlights lighthouse beams, the ceiling an ocean. Longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure. But unlike Marcel, I did not lie here longing for Mama to come up and kiss me good night. I was happiest in those hours, the day done, the door shut, alone, turning beds into boats, an only child who did not want a little brother.
If I had been paying better attention, I would have understood that there is a kind of loneliness that is not tempered by plot. And that a shift in tense holds the ending's clue.
July 11, 2024
I've read Brian Moore before, but it has been a few years. I read awhile back and remember enjoying it, so with this mysterious cover on the NYRB edition of 'The Mangan Inheritance', I thought I'd give it a shot. If you hadn't read the summary of this book on the back cover (or even if you had), you may have thought that the majority of this would keep you in New York among theatre actors and the affluent of the time. This doesn't even cover 1/3 of the book, but is very much important. There are twists and turns and disturbances that at first make you wonder why the author includes them in the book and then it's all put together nicely at the ending. From what I know of Moore, the Catholic church is a predominant recurrence in many of his writings and you get that here too. If you're the type that likes flawed, broken or even immoral characters in your fiction, then look nowhere else. These type of people represent humanity at its panoramic glory; there's no sugar coating it.
Many of us hear about old family ties from centuries past and while combing through old family records may find an early daguerreotype or photo that has a great resemblance to you or current day family member. This doesn't mean you should seek out who that is. Some of us look in the mirror and don't like what we see, but that person you're searching for could be even worse.
Many of us hear about old family ties from centuries past and while combing through old family records may find an early daguerreotype or photo that has a great resemblance to you or current day family member. This doesn't mean you should seek out who that is. Some of us look in the mirror and don't like what we see, but that person you're searching for could be even worse.
September 29, 2011
A very good book. I was initially taken in by the writing, which is very strong, and the plot resembles a Greek myth--loss, identity crisis, rebirth after discovering origins but with a disappointment in the past that leads the protagonist to move forward.
There are points when the two styles clash a bit. At one point this book feels like it is on the "big con" game, is everybody out to rip off the rich American? And I always enjoy a good mystery so no complaints here. But mixing it up with poetic allusion (yes, I'm stealing from Christopher Ricks's' intro here) can seem a bit strange. He is an idiot how is going lose all his money? Or a man who is realizing the meaning of poetry and life, and poetry in life.
The ending did seem a touch obvious--not really any surprise about the symmetrical uncle--but I like I thought it was probably the best way to do it. Better than a more dramatic climax where all the characters come out from the woodwork. Anyway, I think it is a very good book, and well worth reading, particularly for anyone who is interested in Ireland, or Irish poetry. And the identity crisis was good, a topic that is often overblown and boring, i.e. Eat, Pray, Love.
There are points when the two styles clash a bit. At one point this book feels like it is on the "big con" game, is everybody out to rip off the rich American? And I always enjoy a good mystery so no complaints here. But mixing it up with poetic allusion (yes, I'm stealing from Christopher Ricks's' intro here) can seem a bit strange. He is an idiot how is going lose all his money? Or a man who is realizing the meaning of poetry and life, and poetry in life.
The ending did seem a touch obvious--not really any surprise about the symmetrical uncle--but I like I thought it was probably the best way to do it. Better than a more dramatic climax where all the characters come out from the woodwork. Anyway, I think it is a very good book, and well worth reading, particularly for anyone who is interested in Ireland, or Irish poetry. And the identity crisis was good, a topic that is often overblown and boring, i.e. Eat, Pray, Love.
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July 27, 2017Shit! Damn! I love a book that really truly subverts genre stuff, where you’ve got no goddamn idea what’s happening next. Legitimately, disturbing, weird, erotic, dope, totally read this. Will I Keep It: I done just told you I was, didn’t I?
April 5, 2014
This is one of the best novels--most engaging, most moving--I've read recently. The characters are so well-drawn I felt slightly bereft when I finished, and I empathized with the protagonist so much that when he got hurt it upset me. It reminded me a bit of John Fowles at his best.
November 29, 2011
This book seems simple enough. A guy whose life was completely overshadowed by his wife seeks to find himself and to discover whether an obscure but celebrated in his time Irish poet is a distant relative. The action moves from New York City to Montreal to the wild backwaters of Ireland. Jamie Mangan finds out more than he might want to about his family in Ireland. The book is incredibly well written and gets creepier as it progresses. I have to admit that I probably should read it a second time to really get a deeper sense of what transpires in this book. It's spellbinding, and yet another example of how much we all should celebrate the existence of NYRB Classics. Thanks, Cheryl, for the positive review that encouraged me to quit putting off reading this great book!
October 24, 2011
This book, originally published in 1979, has been reissued and I liked its rough and tumble feeling as the main character trips along, digging his hole a little deeper with each misstep. The characters are fully drawn and the story, though less shocking in 2011 than it undoubtedly was in 1979, still resonated.
September 14, 2018
I am a sucker for these dramatic full-book covers, and will somewhat obsessively grab them up at fundraisers and used book stores.
This wasn't a bad book. It had some interesting features and the writing was very polished. Moore has, in great swathes, a gentlemanly tone that suggests a type of formality which makes the actual story kind of hard to date, despite the presence of all of the standard trappings and technolgies of the late 70's. There is a lot of attention given to the South Ireland setting, and the novel feels at times almost outdoor-gothic, which was kind of neat.
I did spend the entire read trying to figure out exactly what kind of story this was. There was a sort-of characterless depression to the whole thing, and I feel as that translated into story despondancy. Ostensibly, this is the story of a man who feels like he lost all sense of self while livng in the shadow of his famous wife's life and personality. After their seperation and her death, he travels to Ireland to search out some family history. His hope, it seems, is to discover ties to a notorious dead poet who lived a destructive life and gained some local fame in the 1800's. This, Jamie feels, will help him begin to redefine himself, I guess. But there was no thematic movement here. It was a bit of a mystery, though the dramas that unfolded as he met his still-living Irish relatives often forced that historical mystery to the background. It wasn't a thriller by any stretch, and it was only occasionally suspensful. I suppose "gothic mystery" is the best I can do here. And really, I suppose it's no good at all to unneccessarily pigeon-hole something. I guess I just wasn't sure why I was ultimately reading the book. The mystery that did eventually get solved was not quite the one he originally set off to investigate, and I'm not too sure that Jamie's lack of overall character growth justified the meandering we took in his trashy relatives' lives.
I think it's worth noting that there is some cringey subject matter in ths book, as well. The sympathies and shrug-offs are defintely tokens of the timeframe that it was written. For readers particularly sensitive to such things, it may be a troubling read. The tragic female character in this book suffers a lot with few apologies.
Overall, I was intrigued by individual aspects of this book, but finished feeling slightly indignant and the rest was indifference. I might try another Moore at some point, though, if I stumble across another flashy cover at a book sale. I think his writing skill might shine better elsewhere.
This wasn't a bad book. It had some interesting features and the writing was very polished. Moore has, in great swathes, a gentlemanly tone that suggests a type of formality which makes the actual story kind of hard to date, despite the presence of all of the standard trappings and technolgies of the late 70's. There is a lot of attention given to the South Ireland setting, and the novel feels at times almost outdoor-gothic, which was kind of neat.
I did spend the entire read trying to figure out exactly what kind of story this was. There was a sort-of characterless depression to the whole thing, and I feel as that translated into story despondancy. Ostensibly, this is the story of a man who feels like he lost all sense of self while livng in the shadow of his famous wife's life and personality. After their seperation and her death, he travels to Ireland to search out some family history. His hope, it seems, is to discover ties to a notorious dead poet who lived a destructive life and gained some local fame in the 1800's. This, Jamie feels, will help him begin to redefine himself, I guess. But there was no thematic movement here. It was a bit of a mystery, though the dramas that unfolded as he met his still-living Irish relatives often forced that historical mystery to the background. It wasn't a thriller by any stretch, and it was only occasionally suspensful. I suppose "gothic mystery" is the best I can do here. And really, I suppose it's no good at all to unneccessarily pigeon-hole something. I guess I just wasn't sure why I was ultimately reading the book. The mystery that did eventually get solved was not quite the one he originally set off to investigate, and I'm not too sure that Jamie's lack of overall character growth justified the meandering we took in his trashy relatives' lives.
I think it's worth noting that there is some cringey subject matter in ths book, as well. The sympathies and shrug-offs are defintely tokens of the timeframe that it was written. For readers particularly sensitive to such things, it may be a troubling read. The tragic female character in this book suffers a lot with few apologies.
Overall, I was intrigued by individual aspects of this book, but finished feeling slightly indignant and the rest was indifference. I might try another Moore at some point, though, if I stumble across another flashy cover at a book sale. I think his writing skill might shine better elsewhere.
January 31, 2012
The somewhat aimless writer-husband of a recently dead movie-star travels to Ireland on the premise that he can discover whether or not he is indeed the descendant of Irish poet James Clarence Mangan. He is lured on by a mysterious photograph which might be of the original James Clarence Mangan, but happens to look exactly like our protagonist.
The pleasures of the book are ethnographic in nature. Moore summons up a 1970s actor's world and an impoverished Irish countryside with equal skill. Are these accurate pictures? I have no way of knowing, but they are well-fleshed out and engaging worlds, drawn up with what seems like no effort at all. The book is clearly conversant with a lot of other twentieth-century fictional accounts of the Irish countryside, so it will ring "true" to aficionados of mid-twentieth-century middlebrow Irish literature.
The book relies a bit too heavily on the idea that the sexual exploitation of young girls is somewhat comic, so I would hesitate to recommend it to anyone, even though it was unquestionably a well-written book. The logic of the plot ultimately exposes this comedy as problematic, but didn't really make all the ogling and heaving along the way worth it.
The pleasures of the book are ethnographic in nature. Moore summons up a 1970s actor's world and an impoverished Irish countryside with equal skill. Are these accurate pictures? I have no way of knowing, but they are well-fleshed out and engaging worlds, drawn up with what seems like no effort at all. The book is clearly conversant with a lot of other twentieth-century fictional accounts of the Irish countryside, so it will ring "true" to aficionados of mid-twentieth-century middlebrow Irish literature.
The book relies a bit too heavily on the idea that the sexual exploitation of young girls is somewhat comic, so I would hesitate to recommend it to anyone, even though it was unquestionably a well-written book. The logic of the plot ultimately exposes this comedy as problematic, but didn't really make all the ogling and heaving along the way worth it.
July 19, 2021
The Mangan Inheritance is a dark, beguiling tale of a middle-aged Canadian man who comes to the sad realization that he's viewed by both others and himself as no more than a failed poet and ex-husband, and subsequently endeavors to resolve this shortcoming by travelling to Ireland to learn about his ancestry to use it as a source of inspiration for his future poetical aspirations. This ends up going as smoothly as the Irish economy in the decade of the 2000s.
There's a blurb on the back cover of this edition from Joyce Carol Oates saying "Moore's reputation as a supremely entertaining 'serious' writer is secure", and from the glimpse I've seen of his writing from this book I can see why. Its written in a shrewd, visceral, and enigmatic way that keeps the pages turning. Not to mention that as an Irish-Canadian drinker and book lover, reading a story about an Irish-Canadian book lover who adopts the life of the drink, this book hit quite close to home as well, which was fun.
There's a blurb on the back cover of this edition from Joyce Carol Oates saying "Moore's reputation as a supremely entertaining 'serious' writer is secure", and from the glimpse I've seen of his writing from this book I can see why. Its written in a shrewd, visceral, and enigmatic way that keeps the pages turning. Not to mention that as an Irish-Canadian drinker and book lover, reading a story about an Irish-Canadian book lover who adopts the life of the drink, this book hit quite close to home as well, which was fun.
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January 4, 2025Moore had a strong 1970s, with the previous book purportedly only denied the 1976 Booker Prize due to the prudishness of Mary Wilson (wife of PM, Harold), who objected to the sex scenes. I recently watched Melvyn Bragg's 1976 interview with Mary Wilson and although she did not specify Brian Moore as a culprit, it was clear enough that a traditional clean-cut story in the 1920s mould was Wilson's cup of tea. This follow up (from 1979) contains more scenes that would have got such traditionalists hot under the collar, but its storytelling is classic in its way - the dash across the Atlantic, the glimpsed hillside figures, the cautionary words from local figures... Much of this Hibernian tale could be favourably compared with John Buchan's Scottish-anchored output of the 1910s and 1920s.
As ever, Moore manages to combine highbrow and lowbrow, with something for everyone (except perhaps the Marys Wilson and Whitehouse). My main reservation with Moore is the self-referencing repetitions that are undoubtedly deliberate, but so strong that it can invoke deja vu. Another marriage on the rocks, more references to an unfeeling Pacific Coast, some ghosts, one more unsuccessful writer trying to find themselves yet having to get by at a newspaper... Was this Fergus? An Answer from Limbo? Cold Heaven? The Luck of Ginger Coffey? They can meld into one with the sense that Moore is using his same old Meccano set of biographical plot parts to assemble a near identikit narrative.
Like Meccano, the prose is sturdy, deftly put together, and absorbing. Like the afficianados of build-your-own kits, though, it had me wondering about the mindset of Moore, whose fixations (divorce, writing, Catholicism) across all these books present him as the sort of obsessive who writes a series of letters to the local newspaper. He writes passionately about what he cares for, but I look forward to those other moments (including earlier in the same decade of the 1970s, e.gs, Revolution Script; Victorian Collection) when Moore let his imagination rove more freely.
As ever, Moore manages to combine highbrow and lowbrow, with something for everyone (except perhaps the Marys Wilson and Whitehouse). My main reservation with Moore is the self-referencing repetitions that are undoubtedly deliberate, but so strong that it can invoke deja vu. Another marriage on the rocks, more references to an unfeeling Pacific Coast, some ghosts, one more unsuccessful writer trying to find themselves yet having to get by at a newspaper... Was this Fergus? An Answer from Limbo? Cold Heaven? The Luck of Ginger Coffey? They can meld into one with the sense that Moore is using his same old Meccano set of biographical plot parts to assemble a near identikit narrative.
Like Meccano, the prose is sturdy, deftly put together, and absorbing. Like the afficianados of build-your-own kits, though, it had me wondering about the mindset of Moore, whose fixations (divorce, writing, Catholicism) across all these books present him as the sort of obsessive who writes a series of letters to the local newspaper. He writes passionately about what he cares for, but I look forward to those other moments (including earlier in the same decade of the 1970s, e.gs, Revolution Script; Victorian Collection) when Moore let his imagination rove more freely.
November 20, 2022
I loved this story mostly set in the south-east corner of Ireland. I resonated with the task of meeting up with unmet relatives in Ireland---the descriptions of the Irish characters and the writing was first class. A bit dark towards the end but a good read.
7.5/10
7.5/10
February 28, 2013
James Mangan grew up in Montreal, follows his father into journalism but is pretty average. Love flares doing an interview with an actor and they marry - after 6 years his wife is a famous film star and he's still nothing, but it doesn't matter whilst their marriage lasts. It doesn't. She leaves him and dies within a week in a car crash, leaving him her fortune. Mangan heads to Ireland to (metaphorically) dig up his ancestors, one of whom was a minor Irish poet who happens to look excatly like him from an 1847 photo. It then becomes typical new American with money in backward Ireland (Local Hero). Much weird manoevrings as Mangan gets drawn into Ireland and involved with his irish cousins and distant relatives. Compelling, funny, cruel, disturbing.
As with many NYRB books a hidden gem.
As with many NYRB books a hidden gem.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 2, 2013
I have to say I was disappointed because I expect more depth from Moore, but the book isn't a waste of time. The pursuit of identity by searching for roots and genealogy is familiar to many descended from the diaspora, and Moore attaches a gift (poetry) to a besetting weakness. These two recur about once a generation, and the two-edged sword is an interesting premise. Add the mystery of an important Irish poet as potential ancestor, and Moore has the makings of a story that can hit several notes. Sadly, it plays for the sensational, which doesn't satisy. It isn't the unresolved ending that bothers--that's a staple in Irish writing--but the decision not to engage fully woth the framework Moore gave himself. Maybe he never planned to.
November 7, 2022
I've never read a more padded novel in my life. Seriously. The first ninety-two pages could easily be skipped. And much of the rest of the book as well--unless you like reading descriptions of every rock and tree the protagonist passes as he drives somewhere in his car. Or what the furnishings are like in every room he enters. It would be different if Moore were a better writer, but in this novel he's pedestrian at best. His metaphors and similes are comic imitations of metaphors and similes. At one point the protagonist is kicked in the back while lying on a men's room floor, and Moore describes it as making a "noise like a woman beating carpets on a line." What? And that's typical.
July 23, 2023
What a whirlwind! This novel, about a thirty something dude who, curious to learn more about his ancestry upon discovering an old 1847 daguerreotype of his supposed great great grandfather (and spitting image of himself), ventures to Ireland in search of finding out more about his family, was creepy, dark, vivid, and addicting. One of those books that’s most effective going into without a lot of plot summary, and do yourself a favor and skip the introduction, as it spoils much of the magic and the revelations.
An extremely underrated novel from the late 1970s, reissued by the always reliable NYRB Classics. 5/5
An extremely underrated novel from the late 1970s, reissued by the always reliable NYRB Classics. 5/5
December 7, 2011
I kept having to check the title page of this book to make sure I was NOT reading Mordecai Richler! A man (feeling unworthy of himself), from Montreal, a writer/journalist, his father part of the newspaper empire, with various idiosyncrasies and some questionable sexual exploits.... Certainly the theme is not new - taking a leave in Ireland to find oneself and/or one's roots - but overall I did enjoy the book. The storyline was engaging and you weren't really sure how it would all work out in the end. certainly anyone who considers themselves a poet would enjoy this book.
November 7, 2012
This novel was much better than I thought it was going to be. For those familiar with Irish heritage tales (both on paper & in person) there were quite a few cliches, but the characters were so real, it didn't seem to matter. Sort of an amazing twist that allows the protagonist to drop everything and make his heritage journey, but that's what's needed to make the journey so, so be it. Quick read for a rainy weekend.
February 7, 2017
After reading and absolutely loving a previous book by Brian Moore (The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne) I had to of course read another. Another one his masterpieces, yes, masterpieces that was released years ago from NYRB, The Mangan Inheritance is equally astonishing. I'll continue to find and read as much from Moore as I can get my hands on.
July 16, 2011
Enjoyed this rather strange book, but being set in Co Cork and read in Co Donegal on holiday (they are very similar as counties) it was just right for me, and I released it with bookcrossing up in Downings, Co Donegal!
August 6, 2011
I read it through in one setting, which is hardly something I do anymore, and am wondering why. Enough mystery, history, and adventure. But it was published in the '70s, a time when I came of age as a reader, and think somehow it is a period style that caused the response.
August 24, 2011
I read The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearn a couple of years ago that sparked my interest in Brian Moore. This is an amazing book - I never heard of it until this release by NYRB - but I may have to start working my way through the Moore canon.
April 3, 2012
I love this irish author who grahame green described as one of the greatest authors of all time
An English professor friend of mine gave me a copy to read he was studying it with his 3rd year students at the time and I found that I then got hooked on the author
An English professor friend of mine gave me a copy to read he was studying it with his 3rd year students at the time and I found that I then got hooked on the author
September 6, 2011
Great novel! Tortured souls, gorgeous writing.
Want to read
February 25, 2012I ordered this book to read. Although not much of a reader, the person portrayed in the book is a cousin of my great grandfather, James Clarence Mangan, who was a famous poet from Ireland.
October 11, 2012
Dark. Uneven. But a good, compelling read.
December 24, 2013
Brian Moore featured high on my favourite writers list 20 years ago, but I was disappointed that this now feels so dated ( and now socially insensitive). Was glad it was over really
April 12, 2014
Well written. Disturbing and bizarre.
January 31, 2024
What an odd notion of genetics Moore seems to have. In this novel, an ancestor's face reappears time and again in his descendants -- the *exact* same face, not merely a similar one, almost like the ancestor had been cloned. You would think the descendants of James Clarence Mangan, mediocre nineteenth-century Irish "poete maudit," had no mothers, only fathers, to shape either their physiognomy or their temperaments, and perhaps this erasure of the female contribution is not insignificant in a book about a man searching for a masculine role model and being diverted from that quest by bizarre lusts. I wanted to sympathize with the hero as he set off for Ireland in search of his ancestors, but I couldn't help feeling a growing contempt. He is fresh off a divorce from his beautiful and highly successful actress wife, and years of being in essence a kept man, pursuing his poetic vocation (which we have to take on faith; we never see a sample of his poetry) only in the most desultory way. His quest seems honorable, promising. But what happens the minute he locates some of his Irish relatives in County Cork? He lets himself become the slave of a cousin, a trashy, alcoholic, half-deranged eighteen-year-old girl (he is 36), and even though we are given a quasi-scientific explanation of his enthrallment, it was hard to respect him. In the end, he manages to pull out of this bog of degeneracy his Mangan blood line has bequeathed to him and, we are told, move forward with his life. Well, maybe.
I did enjoy this novel, despite reservations. Mangan's quest for identity was intriguing, and I liked being transported to Ireland, though it struck me that Moore did not do justice to the beauty of the landscape. The hero's journey takes place in the winter when, granted, it is harder to appreciate that beauty, and he certainly *did* do justice to the rain, wind, mud, and gloom, LOL.
I did enjoy this novel, despite reservations. Mangan's quest for identity was intriguing, and I liked being transported to Ireland, though it struck me that Moore did not do justice to the beauty of the landscape. The hero's journey takes place in the winter when, granted, it is harder to appreciate that beauty, and he certainly *did* do justice to the rain, wind, mud, and gloom, LOL.
December 1, 2023
7.5 / 10
An odd book that I'm really fond of. Seems like the kind of thing that'll stick with me as well. This is an interesting one, because in many ways it feels like a pretty bog standard piece of 70s literary fiction: The story of a sad mid-30s man, dealing with a divorce, and trying to rediscover himself in a new place (at least partially through a lot of sex with a girl half his age). It's dialogue focused and a breezy, simple read. But to the book's credit, it manages to take turn after turn, frequently leading down unexpected paths that may read easily, but have more going on under the surface than they may seem. The ending 50 pages or so in particular are really wonderful and unexpected, without losing that readability.
There are major thematic elements explored � the implications of artistic success and integrity, the meaning(lessness) of trying to understand yourself through family history, the comfort we find in others vs. internal motivations � and it explores these pretty beautifully, but it somehow still does read like a piece of "cinematic" erotic melodrama a lot of the time. I really do admire a piece of writing that can fool you into thinking it's one thing after a page or two, but will gradually unfurl into something with more depth once you've seen the entire shape. I can't say I was completely in love here (the prose is way too plain for me to truly adore the novel), but I really admire what's being done here. Looking forward to mo(o)re.
An odd book that I'm really fond of. Seems like the kind of thing that'll stick with me as well. This is an interesting one, because in many ways it feels like a pretty bog standard piece of 70s literary fiction: The story of a sad mid-30s man, dealing with a divorce, and trying to rediscover himself in a new place (at least partially through a lot of sex with a girl half his age). It's dialogue focused and a breezy, simple read. But to the book's credit, it manages to take turn after turn, frequently leading down unexpected paths that may read easily, but have more going on under the surface than they may seem. The ending 50 pages or so in particular are really wonderful and unexpected, without losing that readability.
There are major thematic elements explored � the implications of artistic success and integrity, the meaning(lessness) of trying to understand yourself through family history, the comfort we find in others vs. internal motivations � and it explores these pretty beautifully, but it somehow still does read like a piece of "cinematic" erotic melodrama a lot of the time. I really do admire a piece of writing that can fool you into thinking it's one thing after a page or two, but will gradually unfurl into something with more depth once you've seen the entire shape. I can't say I was completely in love here (the prose is way too plain for me to truly adore the novel), but I really admire what's being done here. Looking forward to mo(o)re.
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