Tale of ordinary lives in extraordinary times
Glenn Patterson’s new novel is a reassurance that an absurd upbringing can deliver you to sanity and wellbeing
Glenn Patterson, author of The Rest Just Follows: A Novel. Photograph: Dara Mac Dónaill
The Rest Just Follows
Faber & Faber
Three children in the early 1970s are starting their secondary education in Belfast. Though their lives, growing up, will take them through the violence, punk, the ceasefires and the peace talks, what unfolds mostly is the passage of time and the ordinary developments in young lives, the things that “just follow”. The title is a strong clue that we need not expect a tight plot with suspense or enormous upheavals.
We get to know these three characters, St John, Craig and Maxine, and to care about them, first as they try to comprehend the world through their self-centred young minds, and then as they respond to the crises that arise. As in real life, bad things happen by surprise, and so do good things.
They go to state schools; they live in a Protestant environment, and they don’t know any Catholics or show any curiosity about Catholics or disdain for them.
The language in the book, particularly at the start, is in the vernacular of Belfast children, and there is a marvel in it being both authentic and intelligible.
“Taking a shortcut across the wasteground that had used to be the Spar”, Maxine finds a pencil case and realises it was dropped by a boy being chased by her rough brother, Tommy. “Something Robinson she thought it was you called him.”
It is brave of a writer to chance a line like that and trust a reader not to have to take a second run at it. But it works.
St John is the “freak”. He is introduced to Craig by being forced to sit beside him at school. He lives with his eccentric mother and siblings in a big empty house and tries to maintain an orderly routine of getting himself to school in a family who decline to help. His mother, at one point, takes down all the curtains and tells her children they should live by natural light.
Craig is a bit too conscientious for his own good. Maxine is counting off the school days like a prisoner in a cell. One strong intervention by the Troubles is the arrest of Tommy and the trashing of their home by the RUC. At first this makes Maxine fascinating to the other children, who wonder if she has any other paramilitary brothers they might get to know. But then the graffiti says Tommy is a tout, and suddenly no one wants to talk to her.
There will be worse – a man shot dead in his bedroom, his partner stricken with grief – but there will also be parties and lovemaking and falling out and new hairdos. And these three will be all right, as the reader, becoming more engrossed in their lives, will need them to be all right.
The book works as a reassurance that an absurd upbringing can deliver you to sanity and wellbeing.
Glenn Patterson is, essentially, a kindly writer. He occasionally interjects an author’s comment, as in an account of the bombing of a car-tax office in which no one was hurt: “Such sometimes is the whimsical way of large explosive devices.”
Maxine looks at her dead father. “In truth he didn’t look as though dying had taken a lot out of him.”