Ireland -A Novel by Frank Delaney

Author:Frank Delaney [Delaney, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2008-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

Ronan’s next piece of learning came not from Professor Ryle but by post; a college secretary handed him a letter sent two days earlier, postmarked “Ballinamore.” He fingered the bulky, rain-stained package; blue paper again; the stamp had been placed with old exactness; and there was the same mannered, breathtaking handwriting. Inside—no introduction, no address.

A JOURNEYMAN’S TRADE

ASTORY HAS ONLY ONE MASTER—ITS NARRATOR; he decides what he wants his story to do. I know, I have always known, what I want my stories to achieve—I want to make people believe. Believe what I tell. Believe in it. Believe me. Belief is the one effect I’m always looking for, and I apply every device, every pause, every gesture, every verbal nuance and twirl, to that end. To achieve it, I myself have to believe; if I don’t, who will? I must believe ancient Ireland was as I describe it. The swords really did ring loudly off the shields. And the armor surely gleamed in the sun.

In fact, I want my listeners to believe so deeply that I almost have them saying to themselves, “No, he couldn’t have been there, that’s impossible!” In order to get them close to that point, I make a great effort to close a specific gap—the gap that separates the historical fact from the invented tale. And if they are—or could be—one and the same thing, that’s what I call “the magic of the past,” and that’s what I deal in: the magic of the past.

I know that if my listeners, with their round eyes and rapt faces—if they believe that what they’re hearing actually happened, they’ll remember it forever, especially if the facts are lit in bright lights. That’s why I try and make every tale I tell seem like a film made centuries ago.

The need for belief also accounts for the reason why I tell such different stories. Some are history, reported by those who were there, and reembroidered by me. Others are myth, from deep in our souls, handed down by word of mouth, and I am the latest narrator. And I make up yet others—because I like the power and the fun of creating worlds.

When it’s running well, the effects of a story will last as long as I remain in the presence of my audience. Then, when they shake themselves back into the present day, and by the time they cross the dark night on their way home, they know and see my sleight of hand. And I hope they talk and laugh about the evening, as they would have after watching a magician. I don’t even mind if they work out how I did the trick.

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