Dear All

Well, since the publication of The Undiscovered Country, a lot of you have been asking about follow ups, and what happens to the characters next. 

So, over the last year or so I have been writing a sequel entitled, "Some Service to the State." It's about the repercussions arising from the search for a missing girl in the border country of a newly partitioned Ireland in 1925. I finished my first draft towards the end of June, and have been working on edits since.

Unfortunately Unbound has just informed me this morning that it's not something that they are interested in proceeding with. So it looks like this is the end of the road with the Unbound journey. 

Obviously, I'll have a search for other publishers. But in the meantime I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who has supported the publication of The Undiscovered Country, and everyone who has read and enjoyed (or even not enjoyed) it. Your encouragement and friendship has been a balm through the difficult days and I hope our paths will cross again in the not too distant future. 

Keep safe all.

Aidan

Some Service to the State

“Piglet noticed that even though he had a Very Small Heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude” 
 



 
 – A.A. Milne
 


Dear All

Well, The Undiscovered Country has been out in the world for just over a year now. Some people have loved it: The Irish Times did, after all, call it a “smart and pacy debut”. Some people have hated it with the bright and shinning passion of righteous fury: One fellow in France thought it should have a language warning. Closer to home some folk thought it should be publicly burned.

For better or worse this book would not have seen the light of day if it had not been for all of you. That is something for which I will be eternally grateful. Given that you have brought me this far I wonder if I can ask you to help me a little further?

It would be great if those of you who have read the book could post a review for it, particularly on Goodreads or Amazon. Amazon is evil but it’s where most people check out what a book is like, so the reviews there matter.

When I finished writing the book I did miss the characters and I was left wondering what might have become of them. One evening a fragment of conversation popped into my head:


 “So, what are you saying? You want me to be your ‘muscle’?”



 “It’s what you do, isn’t it?” she said. 


And that started me on a sequel, Some Service to the State. It’s 1925 and Mick is just out of jail in the North, trying to make sense of what this new world of a partitioned Ireland means for the likes of him. Somewhat reluctantly he gets drawn into a search for a missing girl. But the reverberations of recent war complicate what seems at the outset a relatively straightforward enquiry. 

I’m currently 10,000 words into the writing and planning on working on this through the winter. 

If you are interested in what happens next, it would be great to hear from you.

Meantime, keep safe. Someday this plague is going to end.

Aidan

The Undiscovered Country, one year on...

Dear All

Hope you are all keeping well during this second winter of Plague.

Just before Christmas I had a very nice conversation with Paul Cuddihy for his excellent podcast, Read All About It. In this Paul chats with various guests about

1.Their favourite book from childhood

2.Their favourite book from their formative years

3.A book they would recommend to anyone

4.A book they could not be paid to read again

5.What they are currently reading

If you are curious about what I think is the best book ever – and the most contemptible – the role of hippos in relationship counselling, who wants to burn my book, and who was the bravest person I’ve ever known, tune in here:

https://shows.acast.com/read-all-about-it/episodes/aidan-mcquade-novelist-anti-slavery-campaigner

One final reminder: if you have not received your subscriber copy of The Undiscovered Country, please check your email for one from Unbound asking you to confirm your address, and a copy should shortly be winging its way to you.

Meantime, keep safe all.

Aidan

Read All About It!

https://tenor.com/view/father-tedand-doyle-go-on-gif-7227399

I wrote to you all on the 3 August preuming that you all had received your copies of The Undiscovered Country. HOWEVER, the lovely folk at Unbound have just sent me a note to say that there are 32 of you, that's right one for every county in Ireland, who have not received your copies yet.

The reason? You have not confirmed your delievery addresses to Unbound. So, if you are receiving this and haven't had your copy of The Undiscovered Country in the post yet, please contact support@unbound.co.uk and they'll get your book in the post. 

It'll be something to read for the coming winter.

I'm looking forward to seeing some of you for the Zoom call on Thursday. The tickets for that are going like the proverbial hot cakes, so I hope that is going to be good craic. 

Meantime, keep safe

Go on! Go ON! GO ON!

The Irish Times called The Undiscovered Country a “smart and pacy debut that throws light on a historical period worthy of further exploration.”

The Sunday Times Crime Book Club complained a bit about its bad language.

More importantly though is what you all thought about it, all the folk who have supported this project from the its earliest days.

Marty Sandler, American National Treasure (yes that’s the same category that applies to Michelle Obama and The Rock), praised the “mordant wit and fierce intelligence” of The Undiscovered Country.

Martin Brodetsky, legendary author of Oxford United: The Complete Record, called it “some sort of f*cking brilliance right there and what the cheaper reviews might term a real page turner.”

Endurance swimmer and county Down hero, David Burke, “loved it”, gentleman Tom McAleavey, “felt I was actually there”, former Oxfam colleague Karin de Jonge said she felt “honoured that your strong ideas about irrelevant Dutch beer bottle caps made their way into the story”, and Claire Hanna, national hero (it’s her job), called it, “a cracker read about morality and ethics in a time of conflict (with a tour of the Classics thrown in for good measure!)… a really accessible way of getting into complex stuff on nation-building and justice.”

My Auntie Margaret said reading it was just like listening to my Da talking, which may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my work.

I am gratified beyond measure that folk seem to be enjoying it. As those of you who have read it will know, most of the book is conversations, which is appropriate as I hoped that the book itself might start a few conversations.

Under normal circumstances I’d invite you all for a beer or a coffee. But these are not normal circumstances. So instead I have set up a zoom call for any of you who want to meet virtually to have a chat about it (with spoilers). It will be on Thur 15 Oct 2020 at 1800 hrs (Irish/UK time).

I’ve set up an Eventbrite for this. So if you follow this link - https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/the-undiscovered-country-fireside-chat-tickets-123641203167 - you can register for the event and you’ll be emailed the Zoom link for the chat.

I hope to see at least some of you there.

And, until we can properly meet again, keep safe

Aidan

What do you think? Shall we Zoom?

Dear All

I hope by now you have all received your copies of The Undiscovered Country. I know that some of you have already read it. I can't tell you how delighted I was to hear how much most of you have enjoyed it. 

I know that some of you may be a bit upset by the  language of my characters. ("<a href="https://youtu.be/ogrfAgbIfFo">Feck this. Feck that... and of course the other "F" word. The BAD "F" word. You know the one I mean Father."</a>)  I can only apologise for my characters. Writing it was a bit like taking notes from the overheard conversations of a bunch of very decent and not so decent people, stressed out by the experiences of murder and war. Some wars may be more genteel, but that's not what I saw or heard in Angola and Afghanistan. 

The book goes on general release on 20th August. It would be great if you could post your reviews - <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Undiscovered-Country-Aidan-McQuade/dp/1783528079/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&amp;keywords=the+undiscovered+country&amp;qid=1596452682&amp;sr=8-2">Amazon</a> will only accept them after 20 Aug, but reviews can already be published on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46129056-the-undiscovered-country">Good Reads</a> and <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-undiscovered-country/aidan-mcquade//9781783528073">Waterstone</a>s.

It's been a long road. I can't thank you all enough for sticking with me through it. I hope that the finished book gives you  pleasure and maybe stirs a few thoughts. As the character of Sophia says, channelling the spirit of John Hume, "Moral outrage... more... than killing, is what ultimately changes the world for the better." When we stir enough of that it's when we shall overcome.

Keep safe all 

Aidan

It's a bit gritty, but that's the modern world - Father Ted Crilly

Hope all well with you all. We’re moving forward slowly. But we recently hit an important milestone which I wanted to share with you. Its the COVER!

Hope you like it.

Keep well all

Aidan


 <img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="500" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/6E808370-4EB4-4388-963D-F383F4552188.jpg?v=1690910843" width="318">

Discover the Cover

<img alt="" class="doksoft_image_img" height="375" src="/images/11499/preview/medium" width="500">


Proof copy arrived in the post on Saturday, so I'm currently working my way through it, looking for typos.

It's a slow enough process, but we're getting closer to the day when I get to share with you all this tale of dark deeds in the wild west of Ireland.

Keep safe all

 

Aidan

Proof that things are moving along!

I'm very grateful to be able to post another review in this occassional series. Today I'm delighted to be able to post one by my friend Nick Kinsella. I first met Nick about 12 years ago when he was heading the UK's Human Trafficking Centre, and leading on the creation of more effective policing responses to crimes of contemporary slavery in the UK. Nick is, as you may have gathered, a PROPER detective with over 30 years experience of policing, and so it was with serious trepidation that I handed over my story of accidental cops to his professional eye. Here's what he has to say:


 The ‘Undiscovered Country’ is the outstanding first novel by Aidan McQuade. Set in the troubled and often dark and violent times of revolutionary Ireland in the 1920’s, McQuade weaves a story of such depth and intrigue that the readers imagination and interest is immediately captured and cleverly held right through to the novel's dramatic conclusion. 



 McQuade subtlety and seamlessly introduces vivid images of both the times and characters in the story that effortlessly draws the reader in until they become fully immersed in the desperate events surrounding a child’s disappearance, murder and the subsequent investigation by ‘republican police’.  


This is a wonderful first novel by McQuade that left me wanting to read more. I found it almost impossible to put down once I started reading and I have no hesitation in recommending it to others. I hope this is the first of many novels from Aidan, and I look forward with some impatience to his next! In my view McQuade can now add the title of ‘accomplished writer’ to his many other achievements.

Third review is in!

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Very grateful to my friend Meena Varma, connoisseur of crime - and champion of human rights - for being so kind as to find the time in the midst of her tireless struggle against caste-based apartheid as Chair of the <a href="https://idsn.org/">International Dalit Solidarity Network</a>, to write a review of The Undiscovered Country. 

I wanted Meena’s opinion of the story from early on not just because, as a someone who appreciates both Death in Paradise and The Musketeers, she shows impeccible taste, but also to test if the story might have any appeal beyond the half a dozen Irish people with an interest in the Irish Republican Courts of the revolutionary period.

Unspeakably honoured to be able to present Meena’s review here:


 I have been meaning to write a review of this book for a long time as I was privileged (and honoured) to be one of the few entrusted with its draft. But in order to do it justice I decided I really needed to read it again. Having a few spare sunny hours to while away on a recent and rare holiday, I reacquainted myself with its delights, nuances and hidden subtleties. And although I knew the story and outcome, I read it all again – marvelling at what I had missed the first time round.



 With hints of the wonderful Dennis Lehane, in The Undiscovered Country, Aidan McQuade has presented us with a deeply dark and sombre novel. Set in Ireland in 1920 where everyone seems pitted against each other, Aidan throws the murder of a young boy into the mix. Despite the considerable dangers of doing so, our heroes are determined that their goal must be to find out who has committed this heinous act. The Undiscovered Country sets the scene so poetically and evokes strong emotions even with its opening lines: “The tree was in the river and the kid was in the tree. The water, flooded with the freezing rains of winter, was black and fast flowing. It shrivelled my balls just to look at it.” And from then on in, this novel succeeds in shaking you to the core



 The voice is pure McQuade – smart, erudite, a caustic wit and just wouldn’t be him without some things a bit blue. And of course, peppered in his inimitable style with the words of some of the finest minds in the world. Who wouldn’t appreciate the damning characterisation of Hamlet, or the references to Uriah the Hittite!



 What a debut novel Aidan has produced! If you have pledged a contribution, then I can assure you it will be well worth it. I refuse to tell you more as you need to read the soon-to-be published first edition.

The second review is in!

Just wanted to let you all know I’ve now submitted my manuscript to Unbound. I’ll update you all with news of progress as I receive it.

 
I wanted to also say enormous thanks to all of you who have been so supportive and encouraging from the first inkling of an idea sitting over dinner one night in Geneva reading Charles Townsend’s The Republic, to finally hitting the 100% mark in the funding drive on a rainy night in Yangon.

 
It’s been a long road, but, as the song doesn’t quite say,  
We're on the one road, sharing the one load 
we're on the road to God knows where,  
We're on the one road 
Maybe the wrong road 
But we're together now who cares 
North humans, South humans, comrades all

Paris, Glasgow, Prague and Donegal 
We're on the one road marching along 
Singing The Ode to Joy!

On the road to publication

Noel Adams, a journalist with Belfast’s best newspaper, The Irish News, did an interview with me at the beginning of August, which has just now been published. It’s about life, war, humanitarian response and the writing of The Undiscovered Country. I probably rambled a bit - I was doing the interview on a bad phone line from the bowels of the UN in New York. But I hope you enjoy.

https://www.irishnews.com/arts/2018/09/06/news/aidan-mcquade-it-s-in-extraordinary-situations-that-you-really-find-what-people-are-made-of-1423596/

It’s in extraordinary situations that you really find what people are made of

I mentioned a few updates ago that a few people have actually read The Undiscovered Country, and it was, in the main, their encouragement that led me to embark on this publication project. So I thought rather than just have me write about the book in these updates I would ask a few of them to compose reviews of the book to share their thoughts. Kind people that they are most of them didn't even need much bribing! So, in the first of what I hope will be a short occassional series, the first review is in! 

I'm overwhelmed and honoured beyond words to be able to post this from my friend and connisseur of crime <a href="http://capecodmagazine.com/author-profile-martin-sandler/">Marty Sandler</a>, Pultizer-nominated and Emmy-winning historian, author of Imprisoned: The Betrayal of Japanese Americans in World War II; Resolute: The Search for John Franklin and The Queen’s Ghost Ship; The Letters of John F. Kennedy; Apollo 8: The Mission That Changed Everything (and many more!).


 Marty's review



 "It’s 1920 and in a river in Ballykennedy, Mayo, West of Ireland, the body of a child is found. At first it appears to be a tragic accident. But one man, a World War 1 veteran, recognizes violence when he sees it. So begins the hunt for a murderer. So also begins a book as intellectually penetrating as it is gripping and relentlessly powerful.



 The Undiscovered Country marks the arrival of Aidan McQuade, an exciting and important new voice in fiction writing. A veteran of humanitarian operations in Ethiopia, Afghanistan, and Angola, McQuade builds on perceptions gained from years of working in war and conflict to bring us a compelling mediation on murder and morality in the margins of a brutal war in the far west of Ireland. In doing so he has created a story certain to delight readers with its Hemmingway-like clarity and its insight into issues that go well beyond the ordinary mystery/crime novel.



 Above all else, The Undiscovered Country is a book characterized from first page to last by a dialogue at once McQuade’s own but reminiscent of the late Robert B. Parker. One is struck also by it’s mordant wit and it’s fierce intelligence as it follows the travails of its main characters, ordinary people confronting a horror that they would rather turn away from but can’t.



 Finally, a word of caution. This is a book that you will find almost impossible to put down. This will not be the last that we’ll hear from Aidan McQuade. And we’ll all be much better off because of it."

First review is in...

Tantalus was a figure in Greek mythology who, starving and thirsty, was cursed to stand for eternity in water that would recede from his lips when he bent to drink from it, and beneath a berry tree that would withdraw from his grasp when he reached for food.

Greek mythology is full of chaps like that – Odysseus blown back out to sea to continue his wanderings for years more just as he sees the cooking fires of his Ithaca homeland; Oedipus’ short-lived satisfaction on finding the culprit responsible for the plague on Thebes; Pheidippides triumph in the first marathon ruined, what with him dying and all, just as he got across the finish line.  

Been thinking about these of late. Maybe these were metaphors employed by Homer, Sophocles and co for the desperation that they felt as they strained to reach the subscription target for the latest instalment in the adventures of Heracles and Perseus. (But Homer never wrote about the adventures of Heracles, I hear you say. Well maybe he did but he just didn’t get to 100% of the publication funding target!) 
  
I’m feeling a sort of fellowship with Tantalus and the boys at the moment, desperately close to 100% funding for The Undiscovered Country, but finding it just out of the reach of my straining fingertips. 

My wife interrupts this brooding though. "This isn’t the curse of Tantalus," she tells me, "it’s the last mile of the marathon, the hardest one. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, don’t die, and you’ll get there. You owe it to everyone who’s believed in you so far."

Best do what I’m told.<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="352" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/9519484F-05A0-494D-A2A4-16A52D9AD0CA.jpg?v=1690910862" width="500">

I bet that Plato fella never had these problems...

<img alt="" class="doksoft_image_img" height="237" src="/images/8234/preview/medium" width="500"> 



 Yangon, Myanmar 
June 2018


Last month I was in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh (photo), in the camps of that are now home to almost three-quarters of a million Rohingya refugees, driven from their homes by the government of their own country. Those camps will now, due to the monsoon rains, look like a First World War battlefield, a quagmire of mud <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/jun/13/three-rohingya-refugees-killed-as-monsoon-rains-hit-coxs-bazar?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other">in which people have already died</a>. 

But it is not just the Rohingya who have to endure shocking cruelty at the hands of their own compatriots. Earlier this week I met a team in Yangon who run a small charity helping to rehabilitate some startlingly young women and girls who have managed to escape from the appalling violence of the Myanmar sex industry. In this industry they were traded like joints of meat in the backstreets of Yangon, or across the border into forced marriages in China. (You can find out more about this project, and support their work, including through the purchase of some lovely jewellery made by the women and girls in the project, by following <a href="https://edenministry.org/">this link</a>.) 

Dreadful as their experiences were, these were the lucky ones. Hundreds of thousands of other Myanmar nationals suffer other forms of slavery, in dozens of other industries across their own country and the rest of South East Asia with, currently, little hope of escape.

The Latin proverb, “man is wolf to man,” is true, but not the whole story. There are always those awkward people who are outraged at the abuse of other human beings, the sort of people who refuse to go along with a hate-filled consensus, who cannot but feel empathy with the oppressed and the marginalised, who speak out when others remain silent and who act to build a better world when others acquiesce in the dehumanisation and enslavement of the vulnerable. As Sophia says in The Undiscovered Country: “Moral outrage is a particular type of courage, and that sort of courage can eventually become contagious. And that…  is what ultimately changes the world for the better.”

Here’s hoping.

Human is wolf to human, but not always

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My PhD supervisors once advised me to set aside my thesis for a couple of months and then to reread it. It would be like looking at it with new eyes. 

So, because this week I have passed the 82% funding level and hopefully will very soon be able to share this story with you, I have been going over The Undiscovered Country again, for the first time in several months. I’m trying to catch typos, ensure the tempo of the dialogue is right, and see if I can get Eamon to clean up his appalling bad language. He remains resistant.

This morning I left Eamon and Mick in the back of Toner’s pub, ruminating on the Amritsar massacre of 1919, and how such colonial atrocities just seem to blur into the memory of the perpetrators, hazy blips in their imperial nostalgia, while seared forever in grief in the minds of the victim’s families and countries. God help England, they conclude, if the boot is ever on the other foot – the railways they built may not be regarded as adequate compensation for all the lives lost and hopes sundered… Brexit gets everywhere, even into the imagined past.

I’ve packed the manuscript into my laptop now, and will get back to it next week, staying in a colonial era hotel amidst the tropical thunderstorms of Myanmar. Perhaps I will find some additional inspiration there, as I search for new means to end slavery in another country at war, as it tries to awaken from the nightmares of its past, and the poverty of it present.

Appositely enough, Karma is an Indian word

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="279" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/C7D1A20D-A12B-4A78-A15C-49DC715E5EFF.jpg?v=1690910854" width="500">


Some of the fellows I was at school with I haven’t seen in over 30 years. Yet they’ve been among the first to get their credit cards out to subscribe to the publication of my book, The Undiscovered Country. Adolescence is one of the most miserable times of your life. But the bonds that arise from enduring it together, in our case in the shadow of British Military Occupation securing a “hard” border in our country, the Troubles and the hunger strikes, still surprise and move me.

The Abbey Grammar School in Newry was also where, if truth be told, I learned some of the more colourful (i.e disgusting!) language that peppers the dialogue in The Undiscovered Country.  So my school friends populate the book in more ways that they might initially imagine. 

They are now ganging up on me on social media demanding to see a published copy soon, because they want to know what happens... and some of them even know where I live!

So I have a cunning plan: if everyone who has already subscribed to The Undiscovered Country could convince just one other person to buy a £10 ebook of the novel, we should hit the publication target.

I know this is a big ask given all the generosity and support that all of you have already shown, but if you could see your way to it, it would hasten the day that Volunteer Mick McAlinden gets to tell his story, the one that has been kept hidden for almost 100 years!

Hold on! I have a cunning plan!

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" height="351" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/People-and-places---sites-of-1916---GPO_copy.jpg?v=1690910835" width="500">


I went to see Sean O’Casey’s play The Plough and the Stars a few weeks ago. It was the celebrated 2016 Abbey Theatre production which got a belated transfer from Dublin to London.

O’Casey wrote the play to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the 1916 rebellion. It caused a storm. After one particularly rambunctious performance WB Yeats, a co-founder of the Abbey, confronted a disruptive audience of theatre-goers with the remarks, “You have disgraced yourselves again. Is this to be the recurring celebration of the arrival of Irish genius?”

It’s said some objected to the scene in which the Irish flag was paraded in a pub in which a young prostitute was plying her trade. But, of course, O’Casey could have shown worse things: the main military grouping featured in the play, Irish Citizen Army, of which O’Casey himself was an organiser, was originally founded to protect trade unionists from the brutalities of the Dublin Metropolitan Police. Such was the bad blood between the two that the Citizen Army seems to have frequently dealt summarily with any police who fell into their hands during the Rising. The bitterness and brutality that came to characterise the later stages of the Independence War and the subsequent Civil War was there, as in all wars, as soon as the swords were drawn.

The 100th anniversary of the beginning of renewed violence in the Irish War of Independence is in January 2019. Anniversaries, particularly centenaries offer time for reflection, of facing up to hard truths. I hope The Undiscovered Country will be published in time to contribute a little to these reflections. Because I believe the peoples of Ireland and Britain urgently need a more profound understanding of our shared European histories, particularly as some with rose-tinted dreams of imperial grandeur seem so intent on reopening wounds that many of us finally believed had been bound up.

Approaching anniversaries: The Undiscovered Country

Dear All

I just wanted to send you all a note to say that I’ve reached the next big milestone on the road to publication of The Undiscovered Country, and finally passed the 70% threshold. Lore in Unbound, as I’ve mentioned before, is that all books which pass this threshold get published, which is enormously encouraging, but still a little way to go before we see it coming hot off the presses. So if you could all please continue to share this project amongst your family and friends, and pester anyone who might be interested to please make a pledge to help get to the final 100% mark.

But before all that I just wanted to take this moment to say the most profound of thanks to all of you who have subscribed to this project up until now. Your encouragement and support overwhelms me and I find it difficult to find the words to express the depth of my appreciation. 

Thank you all, and I now hope to soon be able to share with you my dark tale of war, murder, and moral philosophy down the pub.

Keep safe all

Aidan

Getting there: The Undiscovered Country reaches 70% funding

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Last week I visited Belfast to speak at an event commemorating Belfast’s role in the anti-slavery struggle of the 19th Century. It was a memorable visit for a number of reasons. 

The event, organised by Reclaim the Englightenment, a group set up to remember Belfast’s radical heritage, was held in the Shankill Public Library. It was the first occasion I ever spent any time in this, the heart of Loyalist West Belfast. During the 5 years I was at university in Belfast during the Troubles, the Shankill was a place to be avoided at all costs by nationalists like myself, for fear of serious injury or worse. It is still walled off from other parts of West Belfast, but with the abatement of much of the violence, it was a highly fitting place to gather to discuss Belfast’s Enlightenment tradition. 

Presbyterian Belfast was not only the cradle of the United Irishmen, a revolutionary movement to which Eamon and Mick, the protagonists of the Undiscovered Country,  would have claimed historical allegiance. But it was also a vibrant part of the international anti-slavery movement of the 19th Century. In part the gathering was to commemorate Issac Nelson, Presbyterian minister on the Shankill, anti-slavery leader, and nationalist member of parliament. 

The 19th Century anti-slavery struggle in Ireland was one that united Catholic, Protestant and Dissenter in common cause: Daniel O’Connell, the leader of Catholic Emancipation in the first half of the 19th Century was the leading anti-slavery voice in Westminster, upsetting one American ambassador to such an extent as to be challenged to a duel. He also was an inspiration to the great American abolitionist, Fredrick Douglass, who visited Ireland for a time and was warmly received by the Presbyterian abolitionists of Belfast.

Douglass was, to a certain extent, following a well worn path. The great African abolitionist Olaudah Equiano had also visited Belfast to campaign for an end to the trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, and also, I discovered, to seek subscriptions for the publication of his own book, “The Interesting Narrative,” his memoir of slavery, sea-faring, war and resistance. 

The thought that Equiano over 200 years ago had to go through the same process of seeking subscriptions to have his book published makes me feel part of a tradition of struggling authors stretching back centuries. It would be great after all of this to be able to say something a quarter as memorable and important as Equiano achieved.

Much of the common cause that the different Irish traditions shared in the late 18th and 19th Centuries was torn apart and forgotten at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th Centuries as a result of both deliberate British policy and that of the nascent Irish state: the Belfast boycott that Dáil Éireann introduced during the independence struggle was ill-advised, and, as Sophia observes in The Undiscovered Country, the national liberation war it waged had quickly become a vicious civil war in the North. 

Still, it was nice to stand in the Belfast sun for a while in the middle of the Shankill and remember for a moment when Irish people of all religions and none stood together as a nation in support of the greatest human rights struggle of the age. Perhaps we may one day again do the same.

Belfast: what was once, might be again

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Dear Friends

This week I’ve been reflecting on Easters past. 

Easter Week 1916 was the beginning of the Irish War of Independence. Historians still argue over how necessary or justifiable that war was to achieve Irish independence. But whatever the rights and wrongs of it in the grand, historical scheme of things, at the most basic level  it followed a bloody path of ordinary people doing brutal things to each other. As Eamon says in The Undiscovered Country, “even just wars are evil things.”

I learned the evil of war early. One of my earliest memories is seeing a neighbour getting shot. Another is of narrowly avoiding a culvert bomb set by the IRA to attack the British Army. The brother of a classmate at primary school was murdered by the SAS. Ten years ago I discovered that a group of Loyalist paramilitaries had planned, in reprisal for an IRA atrocity, to attack the primary school that I attended to kill all the children and teachers. The plan was eventually vetoed: some things were just too much of a war crime for the war criminals of the North of Ireland.

Some of the the themes of The Undiscovered Country are, unfortunately, as timeless as war itself. Others are, equally unfortunately, very timely. I wrote much of the book as a hard won peace, brought into being at another past Easter with the Good Friday Agreement, came under threat from a neo-imperialist faction of the British Establishment blundering towards a scorched-earth Brexit with utter unconcern for the damage they will cause to erstwhile friends and neighbours. It’s in this context that Eamon and Mick ruminate over chess and pints on the realities of colonialism and some of the absurdities of historical memory.

Thanks to your extraordinary generosity and support, I am now approaching 60% funding for The Undiscovered Country. So, with another 40 or so pre-sales, the next big milestone of 70% funding beckons, and with that a step closer to the chance to share with the wider world all this, and more en route to solving a knotty mystery, such as the cultural threats posed by mainland Europe’s resealable beer bottles, an assessment of Hamlet as a revolutionary, and the etiquette of buying pints in an Irish pub

So let me just end by saying a hundred thousand thanks to all of you. I could not have got this far without all your encouragement and support.

Aidan

Easter reflections on The Undiscovered Country

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Memo found in the archives of the Irish Bureau of Military History :


 To: Colonel Dan Long



 Officer in Charge,



 Bureau of Military History,



 Cathal Brugha Barracks



 Dublin



 4 Sept 1954


 


 Highly Confidential 



 Please find attached the portion of former Volunteer Michael Gerard McAlinden’s submission to the Bureau that I mentioned to you, the portion that he has spuriously entitled, “The Undiscovered Country.”



 As I said to you when we met, even with the moratorium on publication of these testimonies, until after all witnesses have passed away, I am of the strong opinion that this particular testimony should never see the light of day. Even if one could forgive the revolting coarseness of the language that former Volunteer McAlinden uses, something which I find hard to do, his testimony casts shocking and unsubstantiated aspersions on the reputations of major figures of both our recent history and contemporary society.



 I appreciate that the Bureau exists only to gather the testimonies of veterans of our War of Independence and leaves the task of assessing these accounts to future historians. But I, for one, feel that the sort of filth that former Volunteer McAlinden has presented to us has no place in our national story.


 


 Capt T Flynn



 Assistant Archivist



 The world needs to know what Volunteer Mick McAlinden witnessed. Please appeal to your networks to get this vital account published.

The book they don’t want you to read: The Undiscovered Country

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So, after a long, sometimes gruelling, month in Myanmar/Burma I’m back in London and delighted that The Undiscovered Country has just passed the 50% funding milestone en route to the publication.

One hundred thousand thanks to all of you whose incredible generosity and support has got me this far. I am looking forward to sharing the finished novel with you all, sooner, I hope, rather than later now. The lore in Unbound is that any project that gets to 70% funding will get published. So 70% is the next big milestone.

I’ve been wondering what makes people engage with one book compared to all the others available out there. The Undiscovered Country, in various drafts, has had about six readers so far. And as I wouldn’t have embarked on this project without their encouragement, indeed insistence, I thought I might share some of their reflections in the hope it that their thoughts will help sustain your interest in the coming months.

My wife told me her enjoyment of the book improved immeasurable when she realised that the character of Eamon looked exactly like Michael Fassbender, and that Mick looked like a younger James McAvoy. Another friend told me she’s a sucker for crime anyway, but particularly liked the character of Sophia because she was somebody with a clear moral compass who “took no shite”. A musician friend said he liked the startling discordance between the coarse language of the characters and the complexity of the morality they are trying to negotiate. Another told me she liked that it was such a dialogue driven piece. “Like, sort of, Elmore Leonard meets The Wind that Shakes the Barley?” I asked. “You’ve gotta hope,” she said.

Another friend complained that the absence of a housekeeper for Father Crosby denied the book the gritty verisimilitude of Father Ted. Which just goes to prove, I suppose, that you can’t please everyone.

But I hope that there will be something in The Undiscovered Country to please each of you when you read it. Perhaps there might be something in the thoughts above that would encourage some of your friends or relatives to join you in supporting this project to get to the magic 70% figure?

In the meantime, thanks once more for all your support in getting me this far. Keep safe all.

Aidan

The Undiscovered Country: Half way there!

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 “Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart” - W B Yeats, Easter 1916 



 This past few weeks I have been travelling through some parts of the world affected by more recent and bloodier conflicts than the one I describe in The Undiscovered Country. And yet here the truth that Yeats recognised when reflecting upon the oppression and violence that were cause and consequence of the Irish Independence War still seems relevant. 



 Neighbours murder neighbours in every country beset by civil war. Military and paramilitary groups lord it over the weak. Schools are broken. Hunger is commonplace. And, as always, slavery stalks war-ravaged lands: children are forcibly recruited to armed factions, and abjectly poor parents, impoverished by decades of conflict, sell their own children in desperate hopes of survival for one or other. 



 The greatest horror, of course, is that those who do these things are ordinary human beings, made not empathetic but callous by their own experiences of violence.



 It is some of these realities that I reflect upon in The Undiscovered Country. But it is not all bleakness because the book is also about the hope for decency that even flawed, foul-mouthed people can assert in the face of apparently overwhelming odds.



 So, as I approach the 50% funding mark for publication, I wanted to say an enormous thank you to all of you who have already been so generous in your support to this project. There are some moments when there are not enough words to properly express the depth of appreciation owed to others. This is one of them.



 Go well all, and keep safe.

Discovering other countries

‘One is struck by its mordant wit and fierce intelligence’ Martin W. Sandler, National Book Award-winning author and historian 
'A cracker read about morality and ethics in a time of conflict . . . A really accessible way of getting into complex stuff on nation-building and justice' Claire Hanna, MP for Belfast South
1920, the Irish War of Independence. Amid the turmoil of an emerging nation, two young IRA members assigned to police a rural village discover the body of a young boy, apparently drowned.
One of them, a veteran of the First World War, recognises violence when he sees it – but does one more corpse really matter in this time of bitter conflict?
The reluctant detectives must navigate the vicious bloodshed, murky allegiances and savage complexities of a land defining itself to find justice for the murdered boy. Neither of them realises just how dangerous their task will become.

It was a cold clear morning the next day when the village gathered to bury
 Liam Finnegan.


 The church was full and spilling out into the surrounding graveyard. Eamon
 and I had got there a quarter of an hour before the start of the requiem
 Mass, but had still only managed to get standing room at the back of the
 church. Peter had gotten there earlier and had hence managed to get himself
 a seat in a pew in the middle of the church.


 “Okay”, whispered Eamon to me, “so who do you know here?


 “Dr Hennessy, fourth row back”. She was standing briefly in order to let
 some people past her into the pew in which she was seated.


 “In the short time I have known you Mick I have come to admire and respect
 your capacity for prioritisation. Mind you, she does look good in black, it
 must be said. Grand arse.”


 “Jesus Eamon, we’re at a funeral”.


 “A man is most alive when closest to death. You’ll find that out in time
 Mick. So who else do you know”.


 “Commandant O’Riordain”.


 O’Riordain was in the aisle halfway up the church, trying to create more
 space amongst the mourners and directing newcomers into the pews.


 “There’s a man born to lead. Can’t even help himself any more.”


 “And there’s Dick Bruton.” Bruton was fat man with a purple nose in a plaid
 suit. He was bald, which Eamon had noted was a blessing for him seeing as
 he used to be ginger. I had felt a bit guilty at laughing at that as he had
 always been civil to me on the odd occasion I dropped into his shop.


 “And there, as you should know,” said Eamon, “is our local neighbourhood
 cattle baron, Francie Quinn”. Eamon nodded in the direction of a dark
 haired man in a dark suit just entering the church with a pleasant looking,
 chubby woman. He ushered her onto a pew and then found himself standing
 space against the wall close to her. Quinn I did know slightly. He was one
 of the local worthies that Peter had convinced to join him in constituting
 the parish court. So I had seen him from a couple of times when the court
 was in session but I had barely ever spoken to him.


 Our whispered conversation was halted as the appearance of Paddy Toner,
 walking backwards up the aisle so he could keep an eye on the pall-bearers
 and make sure nothing untoward happened to the coffin, announced the
 arrival of the funeral party.


 Normally, in my experience, the deceased would have been carried to the
 church the night before the burial and lain in vigil before the altar. But
 the family couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Liam alone there. So his
 body had stayed with them at home until this morning when they would say
 their final goodbyes.


 Liam’s father and three uncles followed Toner up the church carrying the
 tiny coffin. In their wake came the rest of the family. Liam’s mother and
 sister seemed barely able to stand, leaning against each other in an
 A-frame as they walked up the aisle. Tears were pouring down their faces,
 though they were considerably quieter now than they had been when we had
 broken the news to them about the death of their son. Immediately behind
 them another woman, I presumed an aunt of Liam’s though I suppose she might
 have been a neighbour, carried the baby, who was being remarkably quiet,
 helped I presumed by a bottle of milk stuck in his gob.


 When they got to the front of the church Toner ushered the family into the
 front rows that had been reserved for them, and Fr Martin Crosby came onto
 the alter with four altar boys in white soutanes.


 Crosby was suitably sombre in his conduct of the Mass and proceeded in this
 measured way until he came to his sermon which he opened with, what I felt
 were pretty boilerplate remarks about death and young lives cut short that
 he would have learned in his “how to conduct a funeral” classes in the
 seminary. And then his remarks changed and became rather more personal:


 “I knew Liam a little from the times he served Mass for me. He was a great
 young man. A credit to his family. I know he wanted to be a doctor. He was
 a great reader and used to tell me about what he was reading. The last
 morning I saw him he was telling me about the adventures of David Balfour
 after Kidnapped. He never lived to find out how it ended with Catriona. He
 never lived to find his own Catriona or have his own adventures in his own
 or other lands.


 “The world is a lesser place without Liam, without the person he was and
 without the person he would have become. That truth will never be felt more
 than by his own family.”


 His mother let out the most mournful yelp I’ve ever heard at that, and her
 muffled keening started again.


 Crosby continued with the standard funereal hopes that one day all pain
 would be washed away when they were reunited in heaven. He was trying his
 best but it was plain that his sermon was doing little to comfort Mrs
 Finnegan, whose keening died down but whose shoulders continued to shudder
 in grief until the end of Mass.


 ***


 It was a relief to get back out into the fresh air. The church had grown
 stultifying with so many people in it and I was relieved that, being at the
 back of the church, we were among the first out after the family and the
 pall bearers who carried Liam the final few yards to a hole that had been
 dug for him in the graveyard that surrounded the church.


 O’Riordain had organised a guard of honour of Liam’s school friends to walk
 with the coffin to the gravesite, where Crosby concluded the service with
 prayers over the coffin and a decade of the rosary as they lowered Liam
 into the hole.


 The normal routine of friends and neighbours lining up to pay their
 respects to the family was curtailed as Liam’s father led his still weeping
 wife from the yard. Packy O’Reilly had brought a pony and trap along. As he
 ushered the sadly depleted Finnegan family on board for the mile or so back
 to the farm, the grave diggers began filling in the hole. The earth and
 stones they shovelled echoed off the coffin.


 “He’s not a bad oul skin, Packy,” said Eamon, watching as the trap set off
 out the road as the mass of mourners began to drift out of the grave yard.
 We lent against the church yard wall and lit cigarettes as we watched folk
 disperse. Dr Hennessy nodded to us as she passed and began threading her
 way through the crowd the short distance towards her surgery.


 We contemplated the graveyard as we smoked, Eamon nodding greetings to
 friends and neighbours as they passed. Peter joined us after a few minutes.


 “Cigarette, Peter?” I asked.


 “Thanks Mick,’ he said and drew one from the packet I was offering him.
 Eamon struck a match to light him up.


 “Sad funeral,” I said.


 “Indeed it was,” said Peter. “No parent should every have to bury their
 child, let alone one so young.”


 I could see how this funeral must be dragging up memories of Peter’s own
 son, obliterated by a shell in some rat-infested trench in France.


 “Have you spoken to his parents?” asked Eamon.


 “I have,” said Peter, “but its not like there is much comfort I could give
 them. I told them I know how they feel. I didn’t tell them the pain never
 goes away or that it can destroy everything you have ever valued in your
 entire life.”


 I remembered how Peter’s wife had died shortly after they received news of
 their son and I had no idea how to respond. I was pretty sure that Eamon
 was at a loss too. But Peter wasn’t looking for a response or for sympathy.
 He was just telling us the truth, as he knew it, of how an untimely and
 violent death could devastate a family and the lives of all those left
 behind. Knowing Peter, he was also probably still wracking his brain for
 some fragment of his own experience that could help alleviate the grief and
 pain of the Finnegans.


 We stood in silence for a while smoking, watching the crowd. Francie Quinn
 hailed Peter as he left the church gate with his wife. Peter waved back.
 “He can be a grumpy fucker, can Francie, but he’s got a decent soul,” Peter
 muttered to us as we watched him walking up the street with his wife’s hand
 hooked into his elbow. Then we heard the scrunching of hob nailed boots
 behind us and Jack O’Riordain joined us, having come out of the lower gate
 of the church yard.


 “How’s it going, Peter?” he asked, hale fellow, well met, even in the grim
 circumstances we found ourselves.


 “Not so bad Jack. And yourself?”


 “Can’t complain. Sure no one would listen to me. Are these two behaving
 themselves?” he asked, referring to me and Eamon.


 I expected Peter to make some casual joke, about not being able to get good
 help these days. But he didn’t. He took a final drag on his cigarette, then
 dropped it on the ground and ground it out with his foot and looked Jack
 straight in the eye. “They are exemplary,” he said.


 “Good to hear it,” said Jack. “I wouldn't want the good name of the
 battalion damaged by less than their best.”


 The children who had attended the funeral were dispersing now too. “That
 was a nice idea, the guard of honour,” said Peter.


 “I wanted to make sure the children were involved in the funeral, and I
 thought it was a way we could show Liam’s family the regard the whole
 school held him in.”


 “Aye. It was a nice gesture,” said Peter. “Did you give the kids the day
 off school as well?”


 “I did,” said Jack. “You can imagine that they are all still very upset.
 But kids get over such things fast, I’ve found.”


 “You’ve seen much of this sort of thing, Commandant,” I asked. “The deaths
 of children, I mean.”


 “Regrettably yes,” he said. “Particularly when I was teaching in Dublin.
 The carnage from tuberculosis was dreadful. The conditions in the tenements
 there are a breeding ground for disease, and the malnourishment of the
 children makes them easy prey for it.”


 “So, you're at a loose end yourself then today as well?” Peter asked.


 “If only that were so. I have a host of battalion matters to be dealing
 with, as well as some school administration I’ve been falling behind on.”


 Eamon had been quiet up to that point, but I knew he couldn’t help himself.
 “Some more unarmed peelers to be shot, Jack?” he asked.


 I saw anger darken O’Riordain’s face and the muscles in his jaw clench.


 “For fuck sake, Eamon,” said Peter.


 “No,” said Jack, his voice low and controlled, irrespective of how angry he
 was. “It’s sticking in his gut, let him get it out. I imagine that Eamon’s
 military record is unblemished and earns him the right to judge. Isn’t that
 the case, Eamon?”


 Eamon said nothing.


 “That’s right,” said O’Riordain, “your hands are not clean either. I
 remember you telling me about that, didn’t you Eamon? About young Germans
 crying for their mothers before you and your British pals put bullets in
 them and left them in mud.”


 “I wasn’t the officer giving orders,” said Eamon.


 “No,” said Jack, “I was. But you can take a little credit for what we did
 at the barracks.”


 “What do you mean?” asked Eamon. “I refused to participate.”


 “You did,” said Jack, “and loudly too. I never knew you had studied the
 Geneva Conventions so assiduously. That was the point at which I knew you
 were no use to the battalion any more as a fighting man. But that is not
 what I meant.”


 “What then?”


 “The tales you have told me of the Crown Forces have left me with little
 doubt as to their ruthless efficiency. It confirmed what we learned when
 they shelled the civilian population of Dublin and left the second city of
 their empire in flames, let alone the savagery they showed at Amritsar. Now
 look at our lot. Weekend soldiers. In the past year these fellows have had
 less training than the greenest Tommy. And it is with them that I am meant
 to confront an empire. Those police in that barracks were traitors to their
 country. And their treason cost the lives of James Flynn, John McKenna and
 Paddy McCaul, remember? It was harsh what I did. But it was necessary. It
 was necessary to get the rest of the boys used to killing. It was necessary
 because I thought that it might save their lives in the months to come when
 next in the presence of the enemy. So when they are in action again they
 are inoculated to the revulsion of killing, and to not hesitate at the
 moment of truth. Remember Eamon?”


 He paused and looked at Eamon with something close to contempt.


 “I didn’t enjoy what I did that night,” said O’Riordain. “I will have to
 live with the sound of their pleading every day until I die. But I would do
 it again, for the good of the men under my command and for the chance of a
 country of our own.”


 We were all quiet. “Anything else to say, Volunteer Gleason?”


 “No, Commandant,” said Eamon.


 “Okay so,” said O’Riordain. “I’ll be on my way then. And you’ve work to do
 to, so don’t let Mr McLaughlin down the way you did me.” He turned to
 Peter. “Take care of yourself, Peter,” he said and shook his hand. Then to
 us, “Volunteers,” and he turned up the street.


 “Commandant,” I said by way of farewell. Eamon said nothing.


 We watched O’Riordian go. Then Peter turned to Eamon, “For fuck sake
 Eamon,” he said. “Do you always have to antagonise him.” Peter was more
 exasperated than angry, but only just.


 Eamon was uncharacteristically quiet, and looked a bit shame-faced. “We
 have a bit of history, I suppose,” said Eamon, eventually.


 “Well it's not fucking helpful at the moment, so can you get it under
 control?”


 “I can,” said Eamon.


 “Look boys,” said Peter, “I meant it when I said you’ve been exemplary in
 your duties to the Parish Court. So don’t make a liar of me at this stage
 in my life.”


 “We won’t Peter. Sorry if I’ve embarrassed you,” said Eamon.


 “That’s enough of that oul shite,” said Peter. “Now I’ve given ye an
 enquiry to conduct, which, I shouldn’t need need to remind you, is of the
 most sensitive nature imaginable, so tread lightly from here on will ye?”


 “We will,” said Eamon.


 “Good. Now I need to be getting back to the office, so can I leave ye to be
 getting on with it without fucking something up?”


 “You can,” said Eamon.


 “Good. I’ll leave ye to it, so, and I’ll see ye later.”


 “Right Peter,” said Eamon.


 “Take care,” I said.


 He said nothing and turned and walked up the street towards his office. We
 watched him as he went, his shoulders hunched in the way of the worried,
 carrying the burdens of the world.


 There were a a few remaining knots of people still chatting or smoking in
 the graveyard or on the street, but most had gone back to the normal
 routine of their lives. Myself and Eamon remained smoking by the church
 yard wall until everyone had left, Eamon brooding over the scene..


 "That was kind of Peter, speaking up for us with O'Riordain," I said.


 “’Twas,” said Eamon. “He’s like that, is Peter. Always championing the
 underdog. It's why he loses so much money on the horses.”


 In spite of the lambasting he had just taken I could sense that Eamon’s
 spirit was returning. “Did you hear that fucker, O’Riordain?” he asked,
 “’Can’t complain, sure no one would listen.’ Anyone not paying attention to
 O’Riordain’s little gripes would run a serious risk of getting plugged in
 the nut.”


 I grunted a laugh. I might have laughed more but the thought that
 O’Riordain had been contemplating, however vaguely, that very thing,
 putting a bullet at the base of my skull, rendered the image disturbingly
 real and took some of the humour out of it.

The Undiscovered Country

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