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Available
Call number
Series
Collection
Publication
NYRB Classics (2002), Paperback, 470 pages
Description
"1919: After surviving the Great War, Major Brendan Archer makes his way to Ireland, hoping to discover whether he is indeed betrothed to Angela Spencer, whose Anglo-Irish family owns the once-aptly-named Majestic Hotel in Kilnalough. But his fiance;e is strangely altered and her family's fortunes have suffered a spectacular decline. The hotel's hundreds of rooms are disintegrating on a grand scale; its few remaining guests thrive on rumors and games of whist; herds of cats have taken over the Imperial Bar and the upper stories; bamboo shoots threaten the foundations; and piglets frolic in the squash court. Meanwhile, the Major is captivated by the beautiful and bitter Sarah Devlin. As housekeeping disasters force him from room to room, outside the order of the British Empire also totters: there is unrest in the East, and in Ireland itself the mounting violence of 'the troubles.' Troubles is a hilarious and heartbreaking work by a modern master of the historical novel"--Publisher description.… (more)
User reviews
LibraryThing member kidzdoc
Troubles, the winner of the Lost Man Booker Prize, is the first novel of Farrell's Empire Trilogy, which also includes The Siege of Krishnapur, the 1973 Booker Prize winner, and The Singapore Grip, which was published in 1978, just prior to his untimely death in a drowning accident the following
The novel begins in 1919, as Major Brendan Archer has been demobilized from the British Army at the end of World War I. He travels to a seaside town in Ireland to meet Angela Spencer, an Anglo-Irish Protestant woman who he met on leave during the Great War, who he may—or may not—have proposed to. Her widowed father, Edward, is the owner of the Majestic, an formerly opulent hotel that is slowly falling into ruin, overrun by jungle like foliage that has taken over the Palm Room and a massive colony of cats that own the upper floors. Angela initially welcomes the Major on his arrival, but soon disappears within the confines of the massive and mysterious Majestic. As he searches for Angela, Archer meets the hotel's residents, which include Angela's wild twin teenage sisters and her wayward brother, the elderly women that have become permanent fixtures, and the utterly useless staff.
Outside of the Majestic, the townspeople, who are mainly Irish Catholics at the edge of starvation, become increasingly concerned and involved in the Irish independence movement, which moves from the cities to the smaller towns. Farrell inserts news clippings about the Troubles throughout the novel, along with reports about independence and civil rights movements in India, the United States and elsewhere.
The Major leaves for England, but soon returns to become as much of a fixture as the Spencers and the elderly women. The hotel continues to crumble, and simultaneously the violence in town, led by members of Sinn Féin, creeps slowly toward the Majestic and its residents.
The novel is filled with the sharp and biting humor that enlivens The Siege of Krishnapur. A typical example is this exchange, which follows the discovery that the twins' pet rabbit has been shot by one of the Black and Tans, the unruly British soldiers that have been recruited to keep order during the Troubles:
Moved and angry (but the "men from the trenches" were not to know that this was not a wild rabbit), the Major went to break the news to the twins, who were down by the tennis courts trying to persuade Seán Murphy to teach them how to drive the Standard (though Edward had forbidden this until they were older). The twins were not as upset as the Major expected them to be.
"Can we eat him?" they wanted to know.
"He's already buried."
"We could dig him up," Faith suggested. "Aren't rabbits' feets supposed to be lucky?"
But the Major said he had forgotten where the grave was.
"Were the bullet-holes bad?"
"How d'you mean? They were bad for the rabbit."
"No, I was just thinking we could have made a fur hat," said Charity, "if there weren't too many holes in him."
Troubles is a slightly better novel than the excellent The Siege of Krishnapur, as its main characters are more complex and richly portrayed in the first book. The hotel is a superb metaphor for the decline of the British Empire, as Farrell's light but firm touch keeps it from being an overworked and heavy handed one.
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year.The novel begins in 1919, as Major Brendan Archer has been demobilized from the British Army at the end of World War I. He travels to a seaside town in Ireland to meet Angela Spencer, an Anglo-Irish Protestant woman who he met on leave during the Great War, who he may—or may not—have proposed to. Her widowed father, Edward, is the owner of the Majestic, an formerly opulent hotel that is slowly falling into ruin, overrun by jungle like foliage that has taken over the Palm Room and a massive colony of cats that own the upper floors. Angela initially welcomes the Major on his arrival, but soon disappears within the confines of the massive and mysterious Majestic. As he searches for Angela, Archer meets the hotel's residents, which include Angela's wild twin teenage sisters and her wayward brother, the elderly women that have become permanent fixtures, and the utterly useless staff.
Outside of the Majestic, the townspeople, who are mainly Irish Catholics at the edge of starvation, become increasingly concerned and involved in the Irish independence movement, which moves from the cities to the smaller towns. Farrell inserts news clippings about the Troubles throughout the novel, along with reports about independence and civil rights movements in India, the United States and elsewhere.
The Major leaves for England, but soon returns to become as much of a fixture as the Spencers and the elderly women. The hotel continues to crumble, and simultaneously the violence in town, led by members of Sinn Féin, creeps slowly toward the Majestic and its residents.
The novel is filled with the sharp and biting humor that enlivens The Siege of Krishnapur. A typical example is this exchange, which follows the discovery that the twins' pet rabbit has been shot by one of the Black and Tans, the unruly British soldiers that have been recruited to keep order during the Troubles:
Moved and angry (but the "men from the trenches" were not to know that this was not a wild rabbit), the Major went to break the news to the twins, who were down by the tennis courts trying to persuade Seán Murphy to teach them how to drive the Standard (though Edward had forbidden this until they were older). The twins were not as upset as the Major expected them to be.
"Can we eat him?" they wanted to know.
"He's already buried."
"We could dig him up," Faith suggested. "Aren't rabbits' feets supposed to be lucky?"
But the Major said he had forgotten where the grave was.
"Were the bullet-holes bad?"
"How d'you mean? They were bad for the rabbit."
"No, I was just thinking we could have made a fur hat," said Charity, "if there weren't too many holes in him."
Troubles is a slightly better novel than the excellent The Siege of Krishnapur, as its main characters are more complex and richly portrayed in the first book. The hotel is a superb metaphor for the decline of the British Empire, as Farrell's light but firm touch keeps it from being an overworked and heavy handed one.
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LibraryThing member Joycepa
As in The Siege of Krishanpur, Farrell, in this book set against the increasing violence against the English in the Irish struggle for independence, created, in his characters, parodies of the English ruling class, holding them up to ridicule rather than sympathy for being caught up in a tragedy.
The protagonist, Major Brendan Archer, newly “demobbed” from the army and still jittery from the trenches, arrives at the Majestic Hotel to see his “fiancée”—if that is really what Angela Spencer is—certainly no one is less certain of their status than Archer is. That alone gives a vital clue about Archer’s character—he is almost as hapless (although not quite) as Pierre Bezuhov in War and Peace. He eventually falls in love with a young Irish woman who leads him on a merry chase.
Edward, Angela’s father, is the owner of the Majestic, and a fierce Unionist—adamantly opposed to any kind of autonomy for the Irish whom he despises. Angela makes a brief appearance only to disappear, leaving the Major as confused as ever about their status; shortly, Archer learns that she’s died of leukemia; he never knew she was sick in all their long correspondence during the war. Ripon, Edward’s son, is a ne’er-do-well who is totally disinterested in having anything to do with the Majestic. There are a group of little old ladies, retired, nearly destitute but soldiering on in the Majestic, more or less on Edward’s complaisance. Which, it should be said is more out of an inability to tend to any sort of real business than from compassion. The old women, in the end, turn out to have more courage and common sense than the totality of all the other English combined. There is an old and definitely crazy Irish butler who spends most of his time ducking out of work. Any sane person would, in the Majestic.
The hotel is falling apart, but Edward is incapable of making the decision necessary to repair and maintain the place. Some of the best scenes in the book are the consequences of this total lack of attention. The major has no sheets on his bed and isn’t able to either seek them out or have some one bring them for days. Pieces of the building fall off. In one hilarious section, roots from trees in the palm court invade the building and push up through the rotting floors, looking like blanched legs of corpses.
The deteriorating hotel, of course, is symbolic of the falling apart of British rule in southern Ireland, set against a picture of starving Irish, with women scrounging through dumpsters for anything resembling food to feed their families. Some of the descriptions of the plight of the Irish are harrowing. through it all, except for the Major, the English are pretty much indifferent or else feel that the Irish somehow deserve their fate by being an inferior race. You're not left in any doubt why the Irish, again and again, rebelled violently against British occupation and rule.
Through all this, Edward pursues his twin enthusiasms of irrelevant projects and damning the Irish. Major Archer who, at first is sympathetic towards the Irish, soon falls under Edward’s sway to the extent that he, too, appalled by the daily violence and rising toll of corpses, sides with the Unionists, at least for a while.
In what is really the climax of the story, Edward, in a burst of enthusiasm to restore the majestic to its former glory, holds a ball—which, of course, is a disaster, but a brilliantly described one. The book continues to a bizarre but fitting end.
The art of mockery is exactly that—an art. When overdone, it bores; underdone, and you’re left wondering what the point was and with annoyance with the author. I think that Farrell struck just the right balance, never overindulging, and presenting the story almost as a comedy of manners, only one with a tragic background and outcome. It’s an unusual, demanding, but truly outstanding read.
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In Farrell’s view, clearly the English have caused their own tragedy; he spotlights a (fictional) group of English people living at the deteriorating Majestic Hotel in County Wexford, Ireland as a way of demonstrating this belief.The protagonist, Major Brendan Archer, newly “demobbed” from the army and still jittery from the trenches, arrives at the Majestic Hotel to see his “fiancée”—if that is really what Angela Spencer is—certainly no one is less certain of their status than Archer is. That alone gives a vital clue about Archer’s character—he is almost as hapless (although not quite) as Pierre Bezuhov in War and Peace. He eventually falls in love with a young Irish woman who leads him on a merry chase.
Edward, Angela’s father, is the owner of the Majestic, and a fierce Unionist—adamantly opposed to any kind of autonomy for the Irish whom he despises. Angela makes a brief appearance only to disappear, leaving the Major as confused as ever about their status; shortly, Archer learns that she’s died of leukemia; he never knew she was sick in all their long correspondence during the war. Ripon, Edward’s son, is a ne’er-do-well who is totally disinterested in having anything to do with the Majestic. There are a group of little old ladies, retired, nearly destitute but soldiering on in the Majestic, more or less on Edward’s complaisance. Which, it should be said is more out of an inability to tend to any sort of real business than from compassion. The old women, in the end, turn out to have more courage and common sense than the totality of all the other English combined. There is an old and definitely crazy Irish butler who spends most of his time ducking out of work. Any sane person would, in the Majestic.
The hotel is falling apart, but Edward is incapable of making the decision necessary to repair and maintain the place. Some of the best scenes in the book are the consequences of this total lack of attention. The major has no sheets on his bed and isn’t able to either seek them out or have some one bring them for days. Pieces of the building fall off. In one hilarious section, roots from trees in the palm court invade the building and push up through the rotting floors, looking like blanched legs of corpses.
The deteriorating hotel, of course, is symbolic of the falling apart of British rule in southern Ireland, set against a picture of starving Irish, with women scrounging through dumpsters for anything resembling food to feed their families. Some of the descriptions of the plight of the Irish are harrowing. through it all, except for the Major, the English are pretty much indifferent or else feel that the Irish somehow deserve their fate by being an inferior race. You're not left in any doubt why the Irish, again and again, rebelled violently against British occupation and rule.
Through all this, Edward pursues his twin enthusiasms of irrelevant projects and damning the Irish. Major Archer who, at first is sympathetic towards the Irish, soon falls under Edward’s sway to the extent that he, too, appalled by the daily violence and rising toll of corpses, sides with the Unionists, at least for a while.
In what is really the climax of the story, Edward, in a burst of enthusiasm to restore the majestic to its former glory, holds a ball—which, of course, is a disaster, but a brilliantly described one. The book continues to a bizarre but fitting end.
The art of mockery is exactly that—an art. When overdone, it bores; underdone, and you’re left wondering what the point was and with annoyance with the author. I think that Farrell struck just the right balance, never overindulging, and presenting the story almost as a comedy of manners, only one with a tragic background and outcome. It’s an unusual, demanding, but truly outstanding read.
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LibraryThing member blackhornet
This is more controlled than the better known 'Siege of Krishnapur' and the Major is a far stronger character than any in the other novel. Still, I preferred 'Siege' simply because the action scenes are so over-the-top, hilarious in Farrell's own eccentric, unsettling way. Such eccentric humour
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runs all the way through 'Troubles' and throws light on the folly of doomed English colonial rule in Ireland in the same way as 'Siege' throws light on the situation on India. Part of the thrill of both novels is that they approach their subjects from such an unusual standpoint. It is not the done thing to write about the oppressor rather than the oppressed. But when the oppressors are so blind to the way history was to see them, they make for fascinating reading. Show Less
LibraryThing member liehtzu1
“Hm… actually one of our guests wrote a sort of poem, you know, about how the place probably used to look in the old days. Lovely bit of work. Angela embroidered some of it for me on a cushion. I’ll show it to you later on. I think you’ll appreciate it.”
“I’m sure I shall, ” agreed
The dog barked, doubtfully.
The English author J. G. Farrell is best known for his so-called Empire Trilogy, the centerpiece of which, The Siege of Krishnapur, won the Booker Prize in 1973 and was recently shortlisted for the “Best of the Booker” – though John Banville, in his introduction to the New York Review of Books edition (I have the introduction-free British paperback from Phoenix, but the NYRB helpfully prints Banville’s essay on their website), feels that the first of the trilogy, Troubles, “is surely his masterpiece, and the book of his that is certain to endure.” J. G. Farrell died while fishing in county Cork in 1979, at the age of forty four.
The New York Review of Books reprints editions of out-of-print books, and that they have found it worthwhile to reprint Farrell’s trilogy is a credit to them and an indicator of how neglected the author is in the United States. Yet I imagine that people who happen across Troubles must be secretly grateful, as all great “forgotten” books discovered and relished by readers have something of the sheen of buried treasure about them.
Troubles must have been an anomaly in 1973 – there’s something quaint in its lack of postmodernist pyrotechnics, its patience, and its faith in the good old-fashioned unfolding of a story. It is a gentle comedy, almost slapstick (though the book doesn’t lack for dialogue there is something in the movements of the characters, of their errors and frustrations, and of their constant up-down-around the hotel, that caused me to think of them as being trapped in a silent film comedy), that never loses sight of the darkness closing around it like a fog.
The bulk of the book takes place in Ireland in the late teens and early twenties, though in the opening pages we are shown the Majestic, the old luxury hotel where events will take place in flashback, is nothing more now than a skeleton, having burned to the ground some years before, though
here and there among the foundations one might still find evidence of the Majestic’s former splendour: the great number of cast-iron bathtubs, for instance, which had tumbled from one blazing floor to another until they hit the earth; twisted bedframes also, some of them not yet altogether rusted away; and a simply prodigious number of basins and lavatory bowls.
And then back – back to summer 1919, where after a stint in the hospital the Major arrives at the Majestic, which is already in an advanced state of neglect, to marry Angela, a girl he met on home leave from the war in 1916 and barely remembers:
Although he was sure he had never actually proposed to Angela during the few days of their acquaintance, it was beyond doubt that they were engaged: a certainty fostered by the fact that from the very beginning she had signed her letters ‘Your loving fiancé, Angela’. This had surprised him at first. But, with the odour of death drifting into the dug-out in which he scratched out his replies by the light of the candle, it would have been trivial and discourteous beyond words to split hairs about such purely social distinctions.
The Major is a bit of a buffoon, and the story is of his frustrations with women. He comes to claim a bride who acts indifferent towards him, then there’s the feisty Irish lass, and he finds himself stuck in an amiable madhouse that he’s unable to quite break free of. His English reserve and obsession with courtesy is borderline caricature that is contrasted time and again with the Irish; his inability to take a firm stance becomes his undoing. War has left him a little out of it, and he finds himself slowly – and, it seems, to his horror almost – feeling sympathetic towards the “terrorists.” But sympathy will not save him. It is only a matter of when the Major’s women troubles will recede and the violence and chaos, sprinkled generously as newspaper articles throughout the novel’s length, will take the fore. The author is patient. He carefully builds his house – from the get-go an amiable farce that just happens to be set in times of nuisance – and then, for the first but not the last time a quarter of the way through its length, pulls the tablecloth out from under and sends it crashing down.
But why write a book about the “troubles” in Ireland at the beginning of the century in 1973? Perhaps Farrell saw a current example of a powerful nation attempting to dominate a weaker one and excusing the ruthlessness of its behavior by dismissing the oppressed as “savages, ” backwards, in dire need of rescuing and civilizing. Farrell was too much the artist to make any such comparisons overt, but I doubt he failed to see the parallels. The book’s accomplishment, however, is that it is not a treatise on the evils of colonialism, or a tediously “political” book, but one that takes time to sketch characters and setting in fine detail. The absurdly decaying Majestic – an old ghost that the vines are rapidly reclaiming, with chunks of the ceiling annoyingly falling off onto the desk in the study, its owner slowly going mad, the dusty old ladies that won’t ever leave, and the alarmingly multiplying cats commanding the upper floors – is one of the great settings of modern literature. It is like the book itself: frequently hilarious and terribly sad. There is an element of lovingly recapturing a vanished world here, and the author is too generous to present any of the characters as truly hateful – at worst, misguided and to be pitied – but it’s obvious whose side he’s on. Troubles closes with a series of strange, hallucinogenic scenes until all that was there is no more, and we finally glimpse the Majestic as it was in the novel’s opening pages: as a burnt-out shell.
“I’m sure I shall, ” agreed
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the Major.The dog barked, doubtfully.
The English author J. G. Farrell is best known for his so-called Empire Trilogy, the centerpiece of which, The Siege of Krishnapur, won the Booker Prize in 1973 and was recently shortlisted for the “Best of the Booker” – though John Banville, in his introduction to the New York Review of Books edition (I have the introduction-free British paperback from Phoenix, but the NYRB helpfully prints Banville’s essay on their website), feels that the first of the trilogy, Troubles, “is surely his masterpiece, and the book of his that is certain to endure.” J. G. Farrell died while fishing in county Cork in 1979, at the age of forty four.
The New York Review of Books reprints editions of out-of-print books, and that they have found it worthwhile to reprint Farrell’s trilogy is a credit to them and an indicator of how neglected the author is in the United States. Yet I imagine that people who happen across Troubles must be secretly grateful, as all great “forgotten” books discovered and relished by readers have something of the sheen of buried treasure about them.
Troubles must have been an anomaly in 1973 – there’s something quaint in its lack of postmodernist pyrotechnics, its patience, and its faith in the good old-fashioned unfolding of a story. It is a gentle comedy, almost slapstick (though the book doesn’t lack for dialogue there is something in the movements of the characters, of their errors and frustrations, and of their constant up-down-around the hotel, that caused me to think of them as being trapped in a silent film comedy), that never loses sight of the darkness closing around it like a fog.
The bulk of the book takes place in Ireland in the late teens and early twenties, though in the opening pages we are shown the Majestic, the old luxury hotel where events will take place in flashback, is nothing more now than a skeleton, having burned to the ground some years before, though
here and there among the foundations one might still find evidence of the Majestic’s former splendour: the great number of cast-iron bathtubs, for instance, which had tumbled from one blazing floor to another until they hit the earth; twisted bedframes also, some of them not yet altogether rusted away; and a simply prodigious number of basins and lavatory bowls.
And then back – back to summer 1919, where after a stint in the hospital the Major arrives at the Majestic, which is already in an advanced state of neglect, to marry Angela, a girl he met on home leave from the war in 1916 and barely remembers:
Although he was sure he had never actually proposed to Angela during the few days of their acquaintance, it was beyond doubt that they were engaged: a certainty fostered by the fact that from the very beginning she had signed her letters ‘Your loving fiancé, Angela’. This had surprised him at first. But, with the odour of death drifting into the dug-out in which he scratched out his replies by the light of the candle, it would have been trivial and discourteous beyond words to split hairs about such purely social distinctions.
The Major is a bit of a buffoon, and the story is of his frustrations with women. He comes to claim a bride who acts indifferent towards him, then there’s the feisty Irish lass, and he finds himself stuck in an amiable madhouse that he’s unable to quite break free of. His English reserve and obsession with courtesy is borderline caricature that is contrasted time and again with the Irish; his inability to take a firm stance becomes his undoing. War has left him a little out of it, and he finds himself slowly – and, it seems, to his horror almost – feeling sympathetic towards the “terrorists.” But sympathy will not save him. It is only a matter of when the Major’s women troubles will recede and the violence and chaos, sprinkled generously as newspaper articles throughout the novel’s length, will take the fore. The author is patient. He carefully builds his house – from the get-go an amiable farce that just happens to be set in times of nuisance – and then, for the first but not the last time a quarter of the way through its length, pulls the tablecloth out from under and sends it crashing down.
But why write a book about the “troubles” in Ireland at the beginning of the century in 1973? Perhaps Farrell saw a current example of a powerful nation attempting to dominate a weaker one and excusing the ruthlessness of its behavior by dismissing the oppressed as “savages, ” backwards, in dire need of rescuing and civilizing. Farrell was too much the artist to make any such comparisons overt, but I doubt he failed to see the parallels. The book’s accomplishment, however, is that it is not a treatise on the evils of colonialism, or a tediously “political” book, but one that takes time to sketch characters and setting in fine detail. The absurdly decaying Majestic – an old ghost that the vines are rapidly reclaiming, with chunks of the ceiling annoyingly falling off onto the desk in the study, its owner slowly going mad, the dusty old ladies that won’t ever leave, and the alarmingly multiplying cats commanding the upper floors – is one of the great settings of modern literature. It is like the book itself: frequently hilarious and terribly sad. There is an element of lovingly recapturing a vanished world here, and the author is too generous to present any of the characters as truly hateful – at worst, misguided and to be pitied – but it’s obvious whose side he’s on. Troubles closes with a series of strange, hallucinogenic scenes until all that was there is no more, and we finally glimpse the Majestic as it was in the novel’s opening pages: as a burnt-out shell.
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LibraryThing member brenzi
In 1970, J.G. Farrell wrote an epic novel that is bound to land on many reader’s “Best Historical Fiction” lists. Sprawling, wonderfully contrived, beautifully written, filled with complex characters and dark, biting humor, the book is part of Farrell’s Empire Trilogy, and came to my
The setting is 1919 Ireland; the “troubles” are the result of the undeclared war between the Sinn Fein/IRA Catholics and the British army, “a war without battles or trenches (Page 171).” In Kilnalough, stands the once aptly named 300 room Majestic Hotel, owned by the aristocratic Spencer family. Now overrun by cats and vegetation, its glory days are over and it is in a continually increasing state of disrepair. Enter Major Brendan Archer; recently recovered from shell shock. His service in the Great War now over, he has come to uncover the mystery surrounding his engagement to Angela Spencer, an engagement that he has no recollection of. His first glimpse of the hotel reveals its shabbiness, and as the book progresses this spirals into a situation of utter decay where its collapse may be imminent. The residents of the hotel, mostly a sparse group of elderly women who have nowhere else to go, as well as the dwindling staff, struggle to keep up appearances. The hotel serves as a metaphor for the British Empire as a whole, which is also disintegrating in much the same manner. Farrell demonstrates this by inserting brief news articles periodically throughout the narrative that outline this phenomenon, as well as the actual political strife in Ireland in 1919-1922.
For reasons unknown, the Major is drawn in by the hotel and its spirited owner, Edward Spencer and he is increasingly attracted to the lovely Sarah Devlin. So although there is nothing holding him there, he cannot force himself to leave and he continues in residence, moving among the hotel’s empty rooms and taking on more and more of the hotel’s burdens as Edward loses more and more of his sanity. In the background, the increasing violence of the “troubles” touches all of them:
“’It was perfectly fair!’ Edward repeated, cracking his knuckles. True, the Major was thinking. Edward probably did not see Sinn Feiners as people at all. He saw them as a species of game that one could only shoot according to a very brief and complicated season (that is to say, when one caught one of them in the act of setting off bombs).” (Page 428)
Farrell sprinkles his narrative with nightmarish and darkly humorous anecdotes of life at the hotel and it’s the minutiae of daily living that allows the reader to appreciate the horror of the situation. Painstakingly researched with carefully drawn characters and a driving plot aimed at a rising crescendo of violence combine to produce a work of historical fiction that is not to be missed. Very highly recommended.
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attention as the recent winner of the Lost Man Booker Prize for 1970.The setting is 1919 Ireland; the “troubles” are the result of the undeclared war between the Sinn Fein/IRA Catholics and the British army, “a war without battles or trenches (Page 171).” In Kilnalough, stands the once aptly named 300 room Majestic Hotel, owned by the aristocratic Spencer family. Now overrun by cats and vegetation, its glory days are over and it is in a continually increasing state of disrepair. Enter Major Brendan Archer; recently recovered from shell shock. His service in the Great War now over, he has come to uncover the mystery surrounding his engagement to Angela Spencer, an engagement that he has no recollection of. His first glimpse of the hotel reveals its shabbiness, and as the book progresses this spirals into a situation of utter decay where its collapse may be imminent. The residents of the hotel, mostly a sparse group of elderly women who have nowhere else to go, as well as the dwindling staff, struggle to keep up appearances. The hotel serves as a metaphor for the British Empire as a whole, which is also disintegrating in much the same manner. Farrell demonstrates this by inserting brief news articles periodically throughout the narrative that outline this phenomenon, as well as the actual political strife in Ireland in 1919-1922.
For reasons unknown, the Major is drawn in by the hotel and its spirited owner, Edward Spencer and he is increasingly attracted to the lovely Sarah Devlin. So although there is nothing holding him there, he cannot force himself to leave and he continues in residence, moving among the hotel’s empty rooms and taking on more and more of the hotel’s burdens as Edward loses more and more of his sanity. In the background, the increasing violence of the “troubles” touches all of them:
“’It was perfectly fair!’ Edward repeated, cracking his knuckles. True, the Major was thinking. Edward probably did not see Sinn Feiners as people at all. He saw them as a species of game that one could only shoot according to a very brief and complicated season (that is to say, when one caught one of them in the act of setting off bombs).” (Page 428)
Farrell sprinkles his narrative with nightmarish and darkly humorous anecdotes of life at the hotel and it’s the minutiae of daily living that allows the reader to appreciate the horror of the situation. Painstakingly researched with carefully drawn characters and a driving plot aimed at a rising crescendo of violence combine to produce a work of historical fiction that is not to be missed. Very highly recommended.
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LibraryThing member cameling
The seriousness of the Anglo-Irish problems in the 1920s is lightened with a touch of whimsy in this entertaining historical novel. The Irish fight for independence from the English is highlighted through short news articles scattered throughout the book, providing a progressive timeline to the
Having survived WWI, Major Brendan Archer makes his way to Ireland, to find out if, Angela, the woman with whom he'd been corresponding during the war, is indeed his fiance. When he arrives at Hotel Majestic, however, the pale and listless woman he is introduced to bears no resemblance to the woman he met and shared a kiss with before he shipped out. He meets Edward, the patriarch and conservative Protestant proprietor of the Majestic, Ripon, the wayward son and brother to Angela, and various elderly regular guests to the Majestic. The hotel is crumbling, sorely in need of repairs and mostly gloomy, giving the reader a sense of claustrophobia. By the by, the Major also meets and is fascinated by Sarah, an Irish girl.
One gets the feeling of being on a train when reading this book, slowly pulling out of the station, gradually building up speed, and then hurtling towards a final destination. It's such a pleasure reading Farrel's beautiful prose. His injection of humor and whimsy in the characters from time to time only serves to contrast sharply with the darker metaphors represented.
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rebellion. But it's the characters that are the subtle gems in this book.Having survived WWI, Major Brendan Archer makes his way to Ireland, to find out if, Angela, the woman with whom he'd been corresponding during the war, is indeed his fiance. When he arrives at Hotel Majestic, however, the pale and listless woman he is introduced to bears no resemblance to the woman he met and shared a kiss with before he shipped out. He meets Edward, the patriarch and conservative Protestant proprietor of the Majestic, Ripon, the wayward son and brother to Angela, and various elderly regular guests to the Majestic. The hotel is crumbling, sorely in need of repairs and mostly gloomy, giving the reader a sense of claustrophobia. By the by, the Major also meets and is fascinated by Sarah, an Irish girl.
One gets the feeling of being on a train when reading this book, slowly pulling out of the station, gradually building up speed, and then hurtling towards a final destination. It's such a pleasure reading Farrel's beautiful prose. His injection of humor and whimsy in the characters from time to time only serves to contrast sharply with the darker metaphors represented.
Show Less
LibraryThing member Smiler69
Major Brendan Archer, just released from treatment for shell-shock after the first war, is headed to the Majestic Hotel in Kilnalough, Ireland, to meet a young woman who may or may not be his fiancée. He's not quite sure what the agreement he made with Angela Spencer was that one time they met in
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1916 and shared a drunken kiss, but she's written to him throughout the war in great detail about her family and their life at the Majestic Hotel, which is owned by her father, Edward Spencer, each time signing the letters as his betrothed. When he arrives at the hotel, he's surprised to find it in a state of utter disrepair and with no service or proper amenities to speak of. He sees Angela once or twice very briefly and has no chance to straighten things out with her before she's taken to her bed with a grave illness. As he gets better acquainted with the hotel's permanent elderly guests, who haven't paid for their stay in many years, and grows accustomed to the growing army of cats overtaking the place, he also befriends Edward and finds some sort of routine amid the wreckage of the once splendid resort. He shares his time with the bereaved Spencer family, who are mourning Angela's passing, with Edward sinking quickly into more and more bizarre behaviour, Angela's infernal twin sisters, and a local Catholic Kilnalough girl called Sarah, who may or may not be an invalid. All this amid the chaos of an Ireland shaken by mounting violence and terrorism as the Irish republicans, seek to free themselves from British rule and brutality. Filled with humour and amusing anecdotes, and interspersed with news clippings, this is a novel that gives plenty for the reader to reflect upon. Strongly recommended. Show Less
LibraryThing member Kristelh
Reason Read: 2023/November botm
I've owned this one for awhile and I liked the previous novel by Farrell that I read but never seemed to get around to reading this one.
This is the Lost Booker that was awarded for books of 1970 that never got a chance to win the Booker. Farrell wrote this Trilogy
I've owned this one for awhile and I liked the previous novel by Farrell that I read but never seemed to get around to reading this one.
This is the Lost Booker that was awarded for books of 1970 that never got a chance to win the Booker. Farrell wrote this Trilogy
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about the British Empire and the end of that empire. In this one, we are emersed in "the troubles" which was an ethno-nationalist conflict in Northern Ireland that lasted about 30 years from the late 1960s to 1998 and perhaps it isn't completely resolved. The story is told around a hotel called The Majestic. We think grandeur but it is a decaying ruin. I saw the hotel as representing the British government in Ireland that was no longer grand and losing its hold on Ireland. I saw the two girls; Angela (protestant) and Sarah (Catholic) also representing "the troubles". One reserved and dying out and the other growing in strength from wheelchair to ambulatory. The story occurs at this hotel so in many ways it is isolated from what is happening outside the hotel but slowly the outside turmoil invades the hotel. Another great read by the author who died too young. Show Less
LibraryThing member TadAD
This is a rather odd book. It starts off feeling rather quaint, like something that might have come from Angela Thirkell or D. E. Stevenson. Between there and the bleak end, we wander through an almost love story, characters that are reminiscent of Fawlty Towers in their comedic value, legions of
Surprisingly, this hodgepodge works. Set in a massive, dilapidated hotel in Ireland during the time of Partitioning, Farrell has given us an extended metaphor for the crumbling of the British Empire and the reactions of both those affected positively and those affected negatively. Somehow, the bizarre journey from a comedy of manners to a semi-tragedy is apropos. It’s angry and tragic and bleak. I’m reminded of Rory’s line in The Devil’s Own: “Don’t look for a happy ending. It’s not an American story. It’s an Irish one.”
This story won the “Lost Booker” that was awarded retroactively to cover books published in 1970 since that year’s books were ineligible for the normal Man Booker Prize due to a rule change. I’m no judge if this book will survive the test of time as one of the great examples of fiction arising out of the Troubles but it’s certainly an experience to read it.
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feral cats, discourses on existentialism…with side orders of terrorist attacks, religious persecution, and date rape. Surprisingly, this hodgepodge works. Set in a massive, dilapidated hotel in Ireland during the time of Partitioning, Farrell has given us an extended metaphor for the crumbling of the British Empire and the reactions of both those affected positively and those affected negatively. Somehow, the bizarre journey from a comedy of manners to a semi-tragedy is apropos. It’s angry and tragic and bleak. I’m reminded of Rory’s line in The Devil’s Own: “Don’t look for a happy ending. It’s not an American story. It’s an Irish one.”
This story won the “Lost Booker” that was awarded retroactively to cover books published in 1970 since that year’s books were ineligible for the normal Man Booker Prize due to a rule change. I’m no judge if this book will survive the test of time as one of the great examples of fiction arising out of the Troubles but it’s certainly an experience to read it.
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LibraryThing member JBD1
Oh so weird and so funny and soooo weird. Like Cold Comfort Farm plus Gormenghast plus Evelyn Waugh plus the Troubles.
LibraryThing member burritapal
Troubles is a historical fiction, set in the Hotel Majestic on the Horth peninsula, close to Dublin, and taking place in the teens of the 20th century, in the midst of the Independence troubles. There are 300 rooms, though many have fallen into disrepair.
the Major, now invalided out of the army,
The Major's character drives me crazy, because first, going back there to see what the situation is with his "fiancee," a young woman he had met before the war, in Brighton, and shared a brief kiss with, seems like such an unlikely situation. He had never really proposed matrimony to her, but while he was in the trenches of World War I, in France, she would write him weekly letters, signing herself as his fiancee.
SHe's the daughter of Edward, the proprietor of the Majestic. But she's strangely reticent around the Major, and eventually retires to her rooms, and all Major knows of her is Traces of uneaten food coming to and from her room, by the cook.
When Angela is no longer available to him (she died from TB), the Major focuses on her "Best friend," Sarah, the daughter of the Manager of the bank in nearby Kilnalough.
Descriptions of the Majestic or something to imagine:
"The Palm Court proved to be a vast, shadowy cavern in which Dusty white chairs stood in silent, empty groups, just visible here and there amid the gloomy foliage. For the palms had completely run riot, shooting out of their wooden tubs ( some of which had cracked open to trickle little cones of black soil onto the tiled floor ) towards the distant murky skylight, hammering and interweaving themselves against the greenish glass that's sullenly glowed overhead. Here and there between the tables beds of oozing mold supported banana and rubber plants, hairy ferns, elephant grass and creepers that dangled from above like emerald intestines. In places there was a hollow ring to the tiles -- there must be some underground irrigation system, the major reasoned, to provide water for all this vegetation. But now, here he was."
The room that the servant Murphy shows him to has an ugly surprise waiting for him. The Major had noticed a rather sickeningly sweet smell upon entering the room and putting down his bag. When he investigated, he found a horror:
"a small cupboard stood beside the bed. He wrenched open the door. On the top shelf there was nothing. On the bottom shelf was a chamber-pot and in the chamber-pot was a decaying object crawling with white maggots. From the middle of this object a large eye, bluish and corrupt, gazed up at the Major, who scarcely had time to reach the bathroom before he began to vomit Brown soup and steamed bacon and cabbage. Little by little the smell of the object stole into the bathroom and enveloped him."
Edward spencer, the proprietor of the majestic hotel, is a protestant, and loathe the Roman Catholicism population surrounding him. I was baptized, had for communion, and confirmation in the Catholic church; moreover, I went to Catholic School from 1st through 5th grade. This is so hilarious to me:
"little by little, as they moved back towards each other, Edward's thoughts turned to the main and unbridgeable chasm, the Roman Catholicism of the Noonans [Sarah's family]: the unhealthy smell of incense, the stupefying and bizarre dogmatic precepts, the enormous families generated by ignorance and a doctrine of 'the more souls the better' ( no matter whether their corporeal envelopes went barefoot or not ), the absurd squadron of saints buzzing overhead like chaps in the Flying Corps supposedly ever ready to lend a hand to the blokes on the ground ( and each with his own speciality ), the Pope with all his unhealthy finery, the services in a gibberish of Latin that no one understood, least of all the ignorant, narrow-minded and hypocritical priests. well, such thoughts do not actually have to occur by a process of thinking; they run in the blood of the Protestant irish."
A supposed miracle ( a bloke in a pub had a small crucifix, that he swore bled drops of blood from the Christ wounds ) draws a huge crowd of the villagers. Edward and the Major are "motoring" to the Golf Club, when the author shares the character of the Major's feelings toward the Irish with us:
" 'what a rabble!' he thought unsympathetically. He hated the Irish. He stared at the faces that floated by as the Daimler inched its way through against the tide of humanity sounding its horn. Dull, granitic faces, cheekbones sculpted like axe-handles, purple cheeks and matted hair, bovine, the women huge and heavy-breasted, arms dimpled and swollen like loaves of bread. But no, they did not look like refugees; in their faces he read a strained, expectant look. Something was up. The Major shouted at a toothless old man dangling his legs on the back of a cart to ask him what it was all about. But the fellow did not seem to understand, merely touched his forelock and looked away furtively."
From The aforementioned Palm Court, whose plants are running riot, comes more problems, seemingly contagious:
"By now they were strolling in the residents' lounge, shielded from the curiosity of the whist players by a bank of potted shrubs which had been evacuated from the Palm Court by Edward.
" 'Take a look at this. Grasping a heavy plush sofa that stood in the middle of the room beside a table of warped walnut, he dragged it aside. Beneath, the wooden blocks of parquet flooring bulged ominously upward like a giant abscess. Something was trying to force its way up through the floor.
'good heavens! What is it?'
The Major knelt and removed three or four of the blocks to reveal a white, hairy wrist.
'It's a root. God only knows where it comes from: probably from the Palm Court -- one of those wretched tropical things. There's a 2-foot gap between this floor and the brick ceiling in the cellars, packed with Earth and gravel and wringing wet from some burst drain or waste pipe.' "
This was enjoyable for the amount of History that I read from it, more than I had known before. Especially as my ancestors are from ireland, I am interested in learning of this. Moreover, there is history notes of other places in the world, especially those that are involved in fighting for their independence from the British empire.
the Major, now invalided out of the army,
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comes to stay there, and gets to know the owner Edward Spencer. The Major's character drives me crazy, because first, going back there to see what the situation is with his "fiancee," a young woman he had met before the war, in Brighton, and shared a brief kiss with, seems like such an unlikely situation. He had never really proposed matrimony to her, but while he was in the trenches of World War I, in France, she would write him weekly letters, signing herself as his fiancee.
SHe's the daughter of Edward, the proprietor of the Majestic. But she's strangely reticent around the Major, and eventually retires to her rooms, and all Major knows of her is Traces of uneaten food coming to and from her room, by the cook.
When Angela is no longer available to him (she died from TB), the Major focuses on her "Best friend," Sarah, the daughter of the Manager of the bank in nearby Kilnalough.
Descriptions of the Majestic or something to imagine:
"The Palm Court proved to be a vast, shadowy cavern in which Dusty white chairs stood in silent, empty groups, just visible here and there amid the gloomy foliage. For the palms had completely run riot, shooting out of their wooden tubs ( some of which had cracked open to trickle little cones of black soil onto the tiled floor ) towards the distant murky skylight, hammering and interweaving themselves against the greenish glass that's sullenly glowed overhead. Here and there between the tables beds of oozing mold supported banana and rubber plants, hairy ferns, elephant grass and creepers that dangled from above like emerald intestines. In places there was a hollow ring to the tiles -- there must be some underground irrigation system, the major reasoned, to provide water for all this vegetation. But now, here he was."
The room that the servant Murphy shows him to has an ugly surprise waiting for him. The Major had noticed a rather sickeningly sweet smell upon entering the room and putting down his bag. When he investigated, he found a horror:
"a small cupboard stood beside the bed. He wrenched open the door. On the top shelf there was nothing. On the bottom shelf was a chamber-pot and in the chamber-pot was a decaying object crawling with white maggots. From the middle of this object a large eye, bluish and corrupt, gazed up at the Major, who scarcely had time to reach the bathroom before he began to vomit Brown soup and steamed bacon and cabbage. Little by little the smell of the object stole into the bathroom and enveloped him."
Edward spencer, the proprietor of the majestic hotel, is a protestant, and loathe the Roman Catholicism population surrounding him. I was baptized, had for communion, and confirmation in the Catholic church; moreover, I went to Catholic School from 1st through 5th grade. This is so hilarious to me:
"little by little, as they moved back towards each other, Edward's thoughts turned to the main and unbridgeable chasm, the Roman Catholicism of the Noonans [Sarah's family]: the unhealthy smell of incense, the stupefying and bizarre dogmatic precepts, the enormous families generated by ignorance and a doctrine of 'the more souls the better' ( no matter whether their corporeal envelopes went barefoot or not ), the absurd squadron of saints buzzing overhead like chaps in the Flying Corps supposedly ever ready to lend a hand to the blokes on the ground ( and each with his own speciality ), the Pope with all his unhealthy finery, the services in a gibberish of Latin that no one understood, least of all the ignorant, narrow-minded and hypocritical priests. well, such thoughts do not actually have to occur by a process of thinking; they run in the blood of the Protestant irish."
A supposed miracle ( a bloke in a pub had a small crucifix, that he swore bled drops of blood from the Christ wounds ) draws a huge crowd of the villagers. Edward and the Major are "motoring" to the Golf Club, when the author shares the character of the Major's feelings toward the Irish with us:
" 'what a rabble!' he thought unsympathetically. He hated the Irish. He stared at the faces that floated by as the Daimler inched its way through against the tide of humanity sounding its horn. Dull, granitic faces, cheekbones sculpted like axe-handles, purple cheeks and matted hair, bovine, the women huge and heavy-breasted, arms dimpled and swollen like loaves of bread. But no, they did not look like refugees; in their faces he read a strained, expectant look. Something was up. The Major shouted at a toothless old man dangling his legs on the back of a cart to ask him what it was all about. But the fellow did not seem to understand, merely touched his forelock and looked away furtively."
From The aforementioned Palm Court, whose plants are running riot, comes more problems, seemingly contagious:
"By now they were strolling in the residents' lounge, shielded from the curiosity of the whist players by a bank of potted shrubs which had been evacuated from the Palm Court by Edward.
" 'Take a look at this. Grasping a heavy plush sofa that stood in the middle of the room beside a table of warped walnut, he dragged it aside. Beneath, the wooden blocks of parquet flooring bulged ominously upward like a giant abscess. Something was trying to force its way up through the floor.
'good heavens! What is it?'
The Major knelt and removed three or four of the blocks to reveal a white, hairy wrist.
'It's a root. God only knows where it comes from: probably from the Palm Court -- one of those wretched tropical things. There's a 2-foot gap between this floor and the brick ceiling in the cellars, packed with Earth and gravel and wringing wet from some burst drain or waste pipe.' "
This was enjoyable for the amount of History that I read from it, more than I had known before. Especially as my ancestors are from ireland, I am interested in learning of this. Moreover, there is history notes of other places in the world, especially those that are involved in fighting for their independence from the British empire.
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LibraryThing member Gwendydd
After WWI, an English Major goes to Ireland to marry his fiance, a woman he has corresponded with for years but has barely met in person. Her family owns the Majestic Hotel, a huge and formerly glorious hotel that suffers from neglect and is falling apart. The Major stays in the hotel for a few
This is one of those books where not much happens - it's a long, slow burn (perhaps too long). The writing is good, the humor is droll, and the symbolism of the decaying hotel is appropriately ponderous. It's a bit of a class satire as the English cower in fear from the Irish and get increasingly irrational in their retaliation. It's mostly the writing that makes this book worth reading: the writing is deceptively simple and very engaging.
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years as it crumbles around him and its primarily English residents. Meanwhile, The Troubles are happening, and the English bemoan the incivility of the Irish.This is one of those books where not much happens - it's a long, slow burn (perhaps too long). The writing is good, the humor is droll, and the symbolism of the decaying hotel is appropriately ponderous. It's a bit of a class satire as the English cower in fear from the Irish and get increasingly irrational in their retaliation. It's mostly the writing that makes this book worth reading: the writing is deceptively simple and very engaging.
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LibraryThing member ebethe
Good throughout, very good to great for most of the last third. Farrell writes in a way that I feel embarrassed for those who are embarrassed, watching those being watched, and very much a part of the book. This is not as gripping as the other two titles in the end of Empire trilogy.
LibraryThing member gbelik
Written in the 1970's but set in 1919 and 1920, this novel is set in the decrepit Majestic Hotel in Ireland, now frequented only by elderly ladies of reduced means. It is visited by a British Major of independent means who is a bit shell-shocked from his war experiences, but has managed during one
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of his army leaves to get engaged to the Anglo-Irish daughter of the hotel proprietor. He becomes increasing entangled in the affairs of the hotel and of an increasing violent Ireland, as Sinn Fein and the British police engage in escalating retributions. The characters are wonderfully drawn as they become defined and controlled by the troubling situation they find themselves in. Yet they can't seem to withdraw from Ireland as the hotel and the country crumble around them. Show Less
LibraryThing member gypsysmom
I am fascinated by Ireland and the Irish people and that includes the history this small island has experienced. When this book was proposed as a Group Read for the 1001 Books group on LibraryThing I was delighted to pick it up. And I'm glad I did; it was fascinating (in the way that watching a car
Major Brendan Archer met the daughter of the owner of a large hotel in Ireland while he was home on leave from the trenches of World War I. Angela Spencer seemed pleasant enough and when she started writing to him as his fiancee he was a little confused but happy enough to continue the correspondence. After the war was over and he was recovered from shell shock he travelled to Ireland to stay in the Majestic and perhaps claim Angela as his bride. His first glimpse of the Majestic astonished the Major with its size but he soon noticed signs of decay and disuse. And his fiancee disappeared almost as soon as he arrived so he was left to wander the hotel and grounds by himself. Although the Major wants to pull away from the decrepit pile he finds himself unable to do so, much as the British landlords found it hard to abandon Ireland despite the threats from the Sinn Feiners. The Major's entanglement with the life of the Majestic is like a fly caught in a spider's web, the harder he struggles, the more he is caught.
This book is not all doom and gloom though. There are many instances where the divers characters ensconced in the Majestic provoke snorts of laughter from the reader although they probably didn't find it humourous. One such occasion is when the permanent guests of the hotel decide to liven things up by having a whist party. The ladies dressed up in their finest which in those days included wearing elaborate hats. One woman's hat was a complete pheasant with long dangling feathers. As the players moved around the room this woman came close to the marmalade cat that was sitting on the lap of an elderly woman who was too blind to play. Overcome by the temptation this headpiece posed the cat jumped from its cozy spot to the top of the woman's head and proceeded to wrestle with the pheasant. And yet, perhaps this incident isn't as funny as it first seemed because the offending cat met an unfortunate end.
In fact, cats have a pretty tough time of it in this book. It was distressing to me and may be one of the things I remember most about this book. If you are bothered by animal hardship then this book may not be one for you.
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accident unfold is).Major Brendan Archer met the daughter of the owner of a large hotel in Ireland while he was home on leave from the trenches of World War I. Angela Spencer seemed pleasant enough and when she started writing to him as his fiancee he was a little confused but happy enough to continue the correspondence. After the war was over and he was recovered from shell shock he travelled to Ireland to stay in the Majestic and perhaps claim Angela as his bride. His first glimpse of the Majestic astonished the Major with its size but he soon noticed signs of decay and disuse. And his fiancee disappeared almost as soon as he arrived so he was left to wander the hotel and grounds by himself. Although the Major wants to pull away from the decrepit pile he finds himself unable to do so, much as the British landlords found it hard to abandon Ireland despite the threats from the Sinn Feiners. The Major's entanglement with the life of the Majestic is like a fly caught in a spider's web, the harder he struggles, the more he is caught.
This book is not all doom and gloom though. There are many instances where the divers characters ensconced in the Majestic provoke snorts of laughter from the reader although they probably didn't find it humourous. One such occasion is when the permanent guests of the hotel decide to liven things up by having a whist party. The ladies dressed up in their finest which in those days included wearing elaborate hats. One woman's hat was a complete pheasant with long dangling feathers. As the players moved around the room this woman came close to the marmalade cat that was sitting on the lap of an elderly woman who was too blind to play. Overcome by the temptation this headpiece posed the cat jumped from its cozy spot to the top of the woman's head and proceeded to wrestle with the pheasant. And yet, perhaps this incident isn't as funny as it first seemed because the offending cat met an unfortunate end.
In fact, cats have a pretty tough time of it in this book. It was distressing to me and may be one of the things I remember most about this book. If you are bothered by animal hardship then this book may not be one for you.
Show Less
LibraryThing member John
J.G. Farrell
Farrell (1935-1979) was born in Liverpool, of Irish descent. He died at 44, swept out to sea while fishing from the shore in Ireland. Farrell wrote eight novels (two published posthumously), but he is best known for the Empire Trilogy: Troubles (1970), The Siege of Krishnapur (1973),
Troubles
The time is 1919-1921, a period of escalating anti-British and sectarian violence that slowly engulfs the protagonists. The place is the small town of Kilnalough, Ireland. The setting is the visit by Major Brendan Archer, British, to the increasingly decrepit Majestic Hotel owned by Edward Spencer, stalwart Unionist, and father of Angela whom Brendan met, and kissed, while on leave three years earlier, and with whom he had since maintained a lengthy correspondence while in the trenches and afterwards, as he recovered from shell-shock, and with whom, he might or might not, be betrothed. And so proceeds one of the saddest stories I have read, but one pulsing with wonderful descriptions of people, places, emotions, and real humour all within a historical moment of change fraught with violence and uncertainty. The tone, as John Banville describes it in his preface, is: "...one of vague, helpless desperation, while the wit is dry to the point of snapping."
The writing is a pleasure: "Thereafter the meal became lugubrious and interminable, even to the Major who thought that in hospital he had explored the very depths of boredom....The food was entirely tasteless except for a dish of very salty steamed bacon and cabbage that gave off a vague, wispy odour of humanity." And this description of the first time Brendan and Angela met: "He now only retained a dim recollection of that time, dazed as he was by the incessant, titanic thunder of artillery that cushioned it thickly, before and after. They had been somewhat hysterical--Angela perhaps feeling amid all the patriotism that she too should have something personal to lose, the Major that he should have at least one reason for surviving."
While Farrell has nothing good to portray about the British colonial experience, he is no less acerbic about the Irish whom he describes as surrendering to, "the country's vast and narcotic inertia", characterized by the stultifying hand of the church, the rigid sectarian and class divisions of society, the poverty of people on the edge of starvation while their British landlords live warm and well, the lack of education and opportunities, and above all, the enervating tribalism. Early in the novel, when the Major is told that he too will become critical of Catholics, he says, "I hope not to be so bigoted. Surely there's no need to abandon one's reason simply because one is in Ireland." The riposte is, "In Ireland you must choose your tribe. Reason has nothing to do with it."
The novel has a contemporary feel in reminding us that while techniques change, terrorism itself is not a new phenomenon: "The Major only glanced at the newspaper these days, tired of trying to comprehend a situation which defined comprehension, a war without battles or trenches....Every now and then, however, he would become aware with a feeling of shock that, for all its lack of pattern, the situation was different, and always a little worse." Farrell reminds us that Ireland was not alone in the turmoil of the time. There are frequent insertions of news articles of the day detailing clashes in Italy, Russia, Poland, India, Middle East, South Africa, all struggling with nationalist pressures and revolutions.
The nationalist and sectarian violence swells and laps at the walls of the Majestic Hotel. The reaction of the British, however dressed in high-sounding phrases, is extremely violent, thus feeding the spiral of hate and more violence that seems to offer no solution. If one stays in Ireland, there is neither escape nor neutral ground.
There is a second, major protagonist in the novel: the Majestic Hotel itself, a 300-room monster on the seaside, that in its heyday was a preferred holiday destination as the epitome of class and comfort, with numberless public rooms, outside amenities, a huge ballroom, and expansive dining room, all maintained by a small army of staff. Now it is home for a number of elderly ladies who have nowhere else to go, strangers such as the Major who come, by accident, for their own reasons or no reason at all, and occasional visitors who return for memories and are disappointed: "they would taste the bittersweet knowledge that nothing is invulnerable to growth, change and decay, not even one's most fiercely guarded memories."
The hotel is huge and it looms over the novel as well; it is the perfect metaphor for the glory of a rich lifestyle for those in power, but now, like the brittle and waning British colonialism, it is a site of decline and decrepitude; Farrell's descriptions of the irremediable decay of the hotel and its reversion to a state of nature are brilliant.
Thinking it through, there is not a single happy person in this novel. The closest one is perhaps the elderly, irascible town doctor who looks upon everyone and everything with a stoical eye, regularly intoning that all is change, everything must pass. But this does not make for an uninteresting novel; far from it: the characters are true to the vagaries of life that continue even in the midst of turmoil; they are varied and well-drawn as they play out individual hopes and fears, generational struggles, love, lust and relationships in a very unsettled and unsettling time.
It is years since I read The Siege of Krishnapur and The Singapore Grip. I enjoyed both and having now added Troubles, I have no hesitation in recommending the trilogy for fine writing and fine stories in pointed historical fiction with strong political and social edges.
Farrell (1935-1979) was born in Liverpool, of Irish descent. He died at 44, swept out to sea while fishing from the shore in Ireland. Farrell wrote eight novels (two published posthumously), but he is best known for the Empire Trilogy: Troubles (1970), The Siege of Krishnapur (1973),
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and The Singapore Grip (1978). The overarching theme of the Trilogy, which is clearly on display in Troubles, is the human and political consequences and costs of British colonial rule.Troubles
The time is 1919-1921, a period of escalating anti-British and sectarian violence that slowly engulfs the protagonists. The place is the small town of Kilnalough, Ireland. The setting is the visit by Major Brendan Archer, British, to the increasingly decrepit Majestic Hotel owned by Edward Spencer, stalwart Unionist, and father of Angela whom Brendan met, and kissed, while on leave three years earlier, and with whom he had since maintained a lengthy correspondence while in the trenches and afterwards, as he recovered from shell-shock, and with whom, he might or might not, be betrothed. And so proceeds one of the saddest stories I have read, but one pulsing with wonderful descriptions of people, places, emotions, and real humour all within a historical moment of change fraught with violence and uncertainty. The tone, as John Banville describes it in his preface, is: "...one of vague, helpless desperation, while the wit is dry to the point of snapping."
The writing is a pleasure: "Thereafter the meal became lugubrious and interminable, even to the Major who thought that in hospital he had explored the very depths of boredom....The food was entirely tasteless except for a dish of very salty steamed bacon and cabbage that gave off a vague, wispy odour of humanity." And this description of the first time Brendan and Angela met: "He now only retained a dim recollection of that time, dazed as he was by the incessant, titanic thunder of artillery that cushioned it thickly, before and after. They had been somewhat hysterical--Angela perhaps feeling amid all the patriotism that she too should have something personal to lose, the Major that he should have at least one reason for surviving."
While Farrell has nothing good to portray about the British colonial experience, he is no less acerbic about the Irish whom he describes as surrendering to, "the country's vast and narcotic inertia", characterized by the stultifying hand of the church, the rigid sectarian and class divisions of society, the poverty of people on the edge of starvation while their British landlords live warm and well, the lack of education and opportunities, and above all, the enervating tribalism. Early in the novel, when the Major is told that he too will become critical of Catholics, he says, "I hope not to be so bigoted. Surely there's no need to abandon one's reason simply because one is in Ireland." The riposte is, "In Ireland you must choose your tribe. Reason has nothing to do with it."
The novel has a contemporary feel in reminding us that while techniques change, terrorism itself is not a new phenomenon: "The Major only glanced at the newspaper these days, tired of trying to comprehend a situation which defined comprehension, a war without battles or trenches....Every now and then, however, he would become aware with a feeling of shock that, for all its lack of pattern, the situation was different, and always a little worse." Farrell reminds us that Ireland was not alone in the turmoil of the time. There are frequent insertions of news articles of the day detailing clashes in Italy, Russia, Poland, India, Middle East, South Africa, all struggling with nationalist pressures and revolutions.
The nationalist and sectarian violence swells and laps at the walls of the Majestic Hotel. The reaction of the British, however dressed in high-sounding phrases, is extremely violent, thus feeding the spiral of hate and more violence that seems to offer no solution. If one stays in Ireland, there is neither escape nor neutral ground.
There is a second, major protagonist in the novel: the Majestic Hotel itself, a 300-room monster on the seaside, that in its heyday was a preferred holiday destination as the epitome of class and comfort, with numberless public rooms, outside amenities, a huge ballroom, and expansive dining room, all maintained by a small army of staff. Now it is home for a number of elderly ladies who have nowhere else to go, strangers such as the Major who come, by accident, for their own reasons or no reason at all, and occasional visitors who return for memories and are disappointed: "they would taste the bittersweet knowledge that nothing is invulnerable to growth, change and decay, not even one's most fiercely guarded memories."
The hotel is huge and it looms over the novel as well; it is the perfect metaphor for the glory of a rich lifestyle for those in power, but now, like the brittle and waning British colonialism, it is a site of decline and decrepitude; Farrell's descriptions of the irremediable decay of the hotel and its reversion to a state of nature are brilliant.
Thinking it through, there is not a single happy person in this novel. The closest one is perhaps the elderly, irascible town doctor who looks upon everyone and everything with a stoical eye, regularly intoning that all is change, everything must pass. But this does not make for an uninteresting novel; far from it: the characters are true to the vagaries of life that continue even in the midst of turmoil; they are varied and well-drawn as they play out individual hopes and fears, generational struggles, love, lust and relationships in a very unsettled and unsettling time.
It is years since I read The Siege of Krishnapur and The Singapore Grip. I enjoyed both and having now added Troubles, I have no hesitation in recommending the trilogy for fine writing and fine stories in pointed historical fiction with strong political and social edges.
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LibraryThing member DeltaQueen50
Troubles by J. G. Farrell is part of his Empire Trilogy. Set against the backdrop the Irish War of Independence (1919 – 1921), this novel focuses on a crumbling, once grand Irish hotel called The Majestic and the people who are part of it. The author uses this run-down hotel to showcase the
Englishman Major Brendan Archer arrives at the hotel and although he never actually proposed to Angela Spencer, the daughter of Edward, the owner of the hotel, he has spent his war years receiving letters from her which she addressed to her dear fiancee. The Major spends most of the book observing the very dysfunctional Spencer family. This family is of Anglo-Irish descent, they are Protestants and strongly Unionist in their attitude. Apart from infrequent news reports and the occasional remarks about it, these Irish “Troubles” serve more as a backdrop to the actual events taking place within the hotel.
As the Major fumbles along trying to determine if he is indeed engaged to Angela, the hotel continues to fall apart around the various eccentric characters that come and go. This is a long novel that I thought at times could have been shorter but it was also both insightful and humorous. The author’s use of the hotel as an allegory to the crumbling British Empire creates a dark, ironic and exceeding fascinating read.
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downfall of the Anglo-Irish as the violent insurgency advances in favor of the Republicans. Although these three novels, Troubles, The Singapore Grip and The Siege of Krishnapur are not connected by storyline, they all share similar themes about the loss of influence and control of the British Empire.Englishman Major Brendan Archer arrives at the hotel and although he never actually proposed to Angela Spencer, the daughter of Edward, the owner of the hotel, he has spent his war years receiving letters from her which she addressed to her dear fiancee. The Major spends most of the book observing the very dysfunctional Spencer family. This family is of Anglo-Irish descent, they are Protestants and strongly Unionist in their attitude. Apart from infrequent news reports and the occasional remarks about it, these Irish “Troubles” serve more as a backdrop to the actual events taking place within the hotel.
As the Major fumbles along trying to determine if he is indeed engaged to Angela, the hotel continues to fall apart around the various eccentric characters that come and go. This is a long novel that I thought at times could have been shorter but it was also both insightful and humorous. The author’s use of the hotel as an allegory to the crumbling British Empire creates a dark, ironic and exceeding fascinating read.
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LibraryThing member Mercury57
From the first page of Troubles, we're thrust into a rather bizarre world of a once-grand but now dilapidated hotel on the western edge of Southern Ireland. The Majestic Hotel is inhabited by guests who are similarly frayed around the edges. They get to share the accommodation with an army of feral
What happens to the Majestic and its disintegrating occupants is a metaphor for the story of Ireland between 1919 and 1921, a period which saw a violent battle for independence from British rule. If the hotel cannot maintain the very fabric of its existence or the way of life it represents, neither can the old order of the privileged Anglo-Irish in Ireland maintain control against the larger and increasingly hostile group of Nationalists and Republicans.
All of which makes it sound as if Troubles is a book in which the story is secondary to the message the author wants to push at us. In other word that this is a book that screams "serious message".
That would however be doing O'Farrell a great disservice.
Troubles is the first part of his Empire trilogy (the two other novels are The Seige of Krishnapur which is set in India and Singapore). Although the political upheaval in Ireland and the challenge to the imperial order is the background to Troubles, he doesn't often refer to it directly or get his characters to indulge in long discussions about the merits or otherwise of the varying factions. The outside world only intrudes upon the Majestic in an oblique way, via occasional newspaper cuttings or chance remarks by the characters in the story. The reader is really left to recognise the inferences and to interpret the multiple metaphors for themselves.
We see the events through the eyes of Major Brendan Archer – an ex Army Officer who has come home from World War 1 and now wants to be re-united with the girl he thinks (but is not absolutely sure about) is his fiancee, Angela Spencer. Angela and her father own the Majestic but are not particularly good at hotel management — when the Major arrives, he is astounded that there is no-one at reception, he's left to his own devices to choose a bedroom; the whole place is covered in dust and there is a funny smell in his room...
The 'engagement' doesn't last long but the major finds himself unable to leave and so becomes a witness to the downward spiral of the hotel and the country.
Farrell tells this story with the same mix of comic and elegaic style that I discovered when reading The Seige of Krishnapur. There are times it borders on the preposterous and times when it's simply bizarrely funny. I loved the picture he paints early in the book when the Major has his first encounter with the ageing inhabitants. He finds them in the Palm Court, slowly being overtaken by the foliage.
"[it]....was really amazingly thick; there were creepers not only dangling rom above but also running in profusion over the floor, leaping out to seize any unwary object that remained in one place for too long. A standard lamp at his elbow, for instance had been throttled by a snake of greenery that had circled up its slender metal stem as far as the black bulb that crowned it like a bulging eyeball."
It was also rather fun trying to work out the nature of some of the allusions. For example, who or what is represented by a massive marmalade cat that prowls the corridors and then squats in the ample lap of one of the most aristocratic female guests, glowering with acid green eyes at everything and everyone around it.
In short Troubles was a fantastic read. Its value was recognised in 2010 when it was was awarded the Lost Man Booker Prize, a one-time award chosen among books published in 1970 which had not been considered for the Man Booker Prize at the time. Sadly, there are not many other novels by O'Farrell for me to explore because his career came to an abrupt end when he was drowned in a storm in 1979 at the age of 44.
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cats that takes up residence in the hotel's once grand Imperial Bar, the tendrils of rubber plants and creepers which engulf the Palm Court and tree roots that burst through floors. Little of this seems to disturb the equilibrium of the few remaining inhabitants. As they play whist and gossip, their main concern is when - or if - afternoon tea will materialise. They seem equally impervious to the forces of change gathering momentum in the world outside the hotel.What happens to the Majestic and its disintegrating occupants is a metaphor for the story of Ireland between 1919 and 1921, a period which saw a violent battle for independence from British rule. If the hotel cannot maintain the very fabric of its existence or the way of life it represents, neither can the old order of the privileged Anglo-Irish in Ireland maintain control against the larger and increasingly hostile group of Nationalists and Republicans.
All of which makes it sound as if Troubles is a book in which the story is secondary to the message the author wants to push at us. In other word that this is a book that screams "serious message".
That would however be doing O'Farrell a great disservice.
Troubles is the first part of his Empire trilogy (the two other novels are The Seige of Krishnapur which is set in India and Singapore). Although the political upheaval in Ireland and the challenge to the imperial order is the background to Troubles, he doesn't often refer to it directly or get his characters to indulge in long discussions about the merits or otherwise of the varying factions. The outside world only intrudes upon the Majestic in an oblique way, via occasional newspaper cuttings or chance remarks by the characters in the story. The reader is really left to recognise the inferences and to interpret the multiple metaphors for themselves.
We see the events through the eyes of Major Brendan Archer – an ex Army Officer who has come home from World War 1 and now wants to be re-united with the girl he thinks (but is not absolutely sure about) is his fiancee, Angela Spencer. Angela and her father own the Majestic but are not particularly good at hotel management — when the Major arrives, he is astounded that there is no-one at reception, he's left to his own devices to choose a bedroom; the whole place is covered in dust and there is a funny smell in his room...
The 'engagement' doesn't last long but the major finds himself unable to leave and so becomes a witness to the downward spiral of the hotel and the country.
Farrell tells this story with the same mix of comic and elegaic style that I discovered when reading The Seige of Krishnapur. There are times it borders on the preposterous and times when it's simply bizarrely funny. I loved the picture he paints early in the book when the Major has his first encounter with the ageing inhabitants. He finds them in the Palm Court, slowly being overtaken by the foliage.
"[it]....was really amazingly thick; there were creepers not only dangling rom above but also running in profusion over the floor, leaping out to seize any unwary object that remained in one place for too long. A standard lamp at his elbow, for instance had been throttled by a snake of greenery that had circled up its slender metal stem as far as the black bulb that crowned it like a bulging eyeball."
It was also rather fun trying to work out the nature of some of the allusions. For example, who or what is represented by a massive marmalade cat that prowls the corridors and then squats in the ample lap of one of the most aristocratic female guests, glowering with acid green eyes at everything and everyone around it.
In short Troubles was a fantastic read. Its value was recognised in 2010 when it was was awarded the Lost Man Booker Prize, a one-time award chosen among books published in 1970 which had not been considered for the Man Booker Prize at the time. Sadly, there are not many other novels by O'Farrell for me to explore because his career came to an abrupt end when he was drowned in a storm in 1979 at the age of 44.
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LibraryThing member lizchris
This is the story set in 1919 about a crumbling Irish hotel, English people who are still living in Ireland but fearful of Irish Nationalism and local violence, and of peculiar, mismatched relationships.
Our narrator is a British Major who has accidentally ended up engaged to the daughter of the
Throw in feral cats, plants taking over inside the hotel and a cast of elderly ladies (why are they there?), and this is a book that's hard to categorise, populated by characters that can be funny but are more often exasperating.
I should probably have read this as a metaphor for the overall collapse of English political and moral authority in Ireland but that seems both too heavy and too obvious.
Our narrator is a British Major who has accidentally ended up engaged to the daughter of the
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hotel owner; he turns up and seems unable to leave. It's frustrating at times. Although he says a lot, we know very little about why he acts as he does. Throw in feral cats, plants taking over inside the hotel and a cast of elderly ladies (why are they there?), and this is a book that's hard to categorise, populated by characters that can be funny but are more often exasperating.
I should probably have read this as a metaphor for the overall collapse of English political and moral authority in Ireland but that seems both too heavy and too obvious.
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LibraryThing member sianpr
A wonderful and totally engrossing book full of poignancy, humour and acerbic insight into British colonialism in Ireland set in a decrepit hotel, The Majestic, that has seen better days.
LibraryThing member drudmann
"Troubles" appears to be symbolically describing the complex relationship between Britain and Ireland through characters who stay at the Magestic hotel. It's a little like the Eagle's "Hotel California"--the visiting English travelers have a tendency to stay there for much too long. Humorous, very
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well written, and engaging, but feels long--not for a lack of interesting events, so much as the main characters are often unlikeable (in realistic ways). A very interesting book; one that I probably would have gotten more out of, if I had a greater knowledge of the English-Ireland "troubles." Show Less
LibraryThing member billt568
I read Farrell's troubles because the Siege of Krishnapur is fantastic, but the book is a comedy, and in the end it sort of nihilistically forgets about every character arc and plot point. It doesnt kill people off or anything, it just doesnt address them, and the comedy isnt funny because of the
Its like a book about a decaying corpse, but tries to make unsuccessful jokes about decay being funny, when we know its not. I'm pretty mad it went to such shit so late in the novel, as now I feel like I wasted my time.
oh and btw irish civil war, except it only manifests itself in sexual dilly-dallying with loose women and black and tans, random acts of banditry that end up in wacky but depressing situations, and newspaper clippings.
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background tragedy. The romances are unfulfilled, the tension is unreleased.Its like a book about a decaying corpse, but tries to make unsuccessful jokes about decay being funny, when we know its not. I'm pretty mad it went to such shit so late in the novel, as now I feel like I wasted my time.
oh and btw irish civil war, except it only manifests itself in sexual dilly-dallying with loose women and black and tans, random acts of banditry that end up in wacky but depressing situations, and newspaper clippings.
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LibraryThing member Oregonreader
The story is told from the perspective of an English soldier; a Major has just returned from WWI France and his story unfolds against the backdrop of the Irish uprising that led to the creation of the Republic. The Major goes to visit a girl he met prewar, whose English family owns a decrepit old
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hotel in an Irish coastal village. The title refers to the political unrest and fighting in Ireland and also to the unfolding of the Major's life. We meet some fascinating characters, her family, Irish hired help and the English aging guests who are fading as fast as the hotel. The Major is enough of an outsider to be able to step back from the contempt the English characters have for the Irish and the hate the Irish return. The decaying of the hotel mirrors the collapse of the society around it and the owner is just as oblivious to that as he is to his role in the village unrest In spite of this setting, parts of the novel are actually very humorous. The author's description of the slow collapse of the ancient hotel and how the occupants adjust is wickedly funny. I really enjoyed this one. Show Less
LibraryThing member japaul22
Troubles is a darkly humorous look at the clash between Ireland and England in the years immediately following WWI. Major Brendan Archer travels to Kilnalough after returning from WWI (and a stay in a hospital recovering from shell shock) to meet a girl named Angela who he met and became engaged to
There is a lot of symbolism here. The decaying hotel can be seen both as a reflection of "the Troubles" in Ireland as it fights for independence and as the British Empire crumbling after WWI. The subject is grim but there is a dark humor in this book that keeps it from feeling like a serious book, even considering the serious times.
I really loved reading this and think it will be a memorable book for me.
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during the war. They've only met once and he's not quite sure what he's getting in to - in fact he can barely remember her. He visits her at her family's hotel, the Majestic. The Majestic was an enormous, grand, hotel decades ago, but it is falling apart. Angela dies, but the Major is sucked in to life at the hotel. He becomes friends with Edward, Angela's father, and falls in love with a different girl in Kilnalough. Though the Major tries to leave once or twice, he can't seem to tear himself away from this decaying hotel and the old ladies who are the few remaining guests. There is a lot of symbolism here. The decaying hotel can be seen both as a reflection of "the Troubles" in Ireland as it fights for independence and as the British Empire crumbling after WWI. The subject is grim but there is a dark humor in this book that keeps it from feeling like a serious book, even considering the serious times.
I really loved reading this and think it will be a memorable book for me.
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LibraryThing member EricCostello
A deeply claustrophobic novel set in a hotel of incredible decrepitude in Co. Wexford, Ireland, and how the decaying Anglo-Irish types who live in the hotel deal with the decaying Anglo-Irish situation in the Ireland of 1919-1922. A number of very sharp comic set-pieces and some very vivid
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characterizations. Well worth picking up. Show Less
Subjects
Awards
Lost Man Booker Prize (Winner — winner)
Language
Original publication date
1970
Physical description
480 p.; 8.01 inches
ISBN
1590170180 / 9781590170182