Forty-nine-year-old Mr Gilhooley is living two the one drinking in the pubs of Dublin, the other desperate and lonely, longing for love. A chance encounter with the innocent and yet destructive Nelly starts a chain of compelling, dark and menacing events.
This is the underworld of 1920's Dublin. Death, violence, sex, religion and love entwine and weave paths in this visually rich and passionate tragic-comedy.
Mr Gilhooley rivalled the fame of Joyce's Ulysses when it was first published, and was reviewed by W.B. Yeats as "a great novel."
This significant novelist, a major figure in the literary renaissance, also wrote short stories. Left-wing politics involved him as was his brother Tom Maidhc O'Flaherty (also a writer), and their father, Maidhc Ó Flaithearta, for a time.
This was just ok, not spectacular. Written in the 1920s, it has all the mild, overt sexism one might expect of a novel from this era. Women are either virtuous or ruined, the central female character isn't fleshed out well and exists seemingly just to provide the impetuous for Mr. Gilhooley's life to unravel. Oh, and did I mention that she is manipulative with her feminine wiles? Because, of course, that's almost a given.
Gilhooley himself is sort of an interestingly despicable character. O'Flaherty, whose short fiction I admire, did seem to have a keen sense of psychology, a skill which he applied here, but the writing just wasn't to the standard I expect from him. The dialog was a bit stiff and he seemed overly fond of using ellipsis, presumably to give it more of a natural-speech feel, but . . . it got a bit . . . tedious to read . . . page . . . after page . . . like this. I don't remember his short fiction being similarly befouled with gratuitous punctuation. It also seemed a bit padded with descriptive ramblings that added little to the novel (mere throw away characters might a few whole pages devoted to them). Really, this might have done better with a firm edit down to short-story or novella length.