"One hundred thousand welcomes," is the greeting that welcomed us throughout our trip in Ireland and the feeling that carried us through the country. Most everyone that we met was friendly, inviting, and engaging, offering a wealth of information about the places we were to explore. From Dublin to Killarney, we took part in an exploration that certainly enlightened our understanding of the material in our course.

     Elizabeth Bowens novel, Bowen’s Court, begins with, “Up in the North-East corner of County Cork is a stretch of limestone country—open, airy, not quite flat; it is just perceptibly tilted form north to south, and the fields undulate in a smooth flowing way” (Bowen 3). As we drove from Dublin to County Cork, I noticed the scenery take shape as if it came straight from the novel. The opening to Bowen’s novel perfectly captures the picturesque Southern Ireland landscape, full with rolling hills and shaggy sheep. Beyond sheer aesthetic pleasure, the geography here seemed to offer something more to people, both in the physical and the fictional world. I think the land itself demonstrates the vitality that exists in this place, boasting it’s “50 shades of green” (credit to Joe) and teeming flocks of sheep. For Bowen, specifically, it seems that the location and land she describes stand for a sense of pride in herself and family. Considering the way that her writing lingers on landscape and architecture, it is clear that these things are indicative of her sense of self; that identity can be located in architecture and geography. What was strange, then, was to see the site of Bowen’s Court mostly barren, with only the chapel remaining. The majority of this property now only exists in the novel, which reinforces her wish to spend so much time documenting its every nook and cranny. Her writing style allowed for her family’s legacy to live on through text.

     It was also apparent that writers’ identities were attached to a sense of place when we visited the Cork Writer’s School and heard Thomas McCarthy’s lecture. McCarthy glowed with appreciation for writers like Frank O’Connor and Elizabeth Bowen that made Cork writing popular. He seemed to think there was something characteristic of the attitude that these writers took towards their work, which is probably true for the rest of Ireland. Even in his own writing, McCarthy took time to appreciate his sense of place. During his lecture, he offered up a reading of his own poems, which was incredibly moving. Our shining favorite, “The Fiction, The Sea,” features a reverie about a time on the beach with his wife. He states:

Strange how I could never go back to that spit of sand,

The sea-warren of the Cunnigar, in Dungarvan Bay,

For I would never want to deconstruct was was

Never whole, what was tentative and poorly give;

What it was that I chased after among blue razor shells. (McCarthy 18)

     I really connected to this impression of the sea, as we had spent some time exploring the beaches in Kerry. It was an entirely ineffable experience, concentrated on the connection to the beach and this specific place in County Cork. Each county, region, or major city holds pride for their own literary voice. Returning to Dublin, this was entirely clear, as regions of the city dedicate monuments to major writers like Joyce and Wilde.

     What was most interesting about the city’s appreciation of Joyce was the varied response we received from locals about his work. When exploring the city, we often met locals in the pubs and restaurants, who we chatted with about our trip. As we told them about our interest in Irish literature, Joyce would inevitably come up as the entry point into what usually turned into heated debate. One pair of guys we met at a pub (aptly named “The Parnell”) were staunch disbelievers in everything related to James Joyce. Both railed against his portrayal of Dublin and quickly tried to set us up with something to read that was “real literature.” On the other hand, we met another set of younger men in a bar that were much more excited about Joyce. Although they had other interests beyond literature, they still saw the value in Joyce. This ambivalence about one author really struck me, since we hold Joyce in such esteem. That the people of Dublin could still be offended by his writing really shows how attached they are to their history and portrayals of it, which was great to experience.

     If there was one thing that I enjoyed most about this trip, it was that general attachment to history. Since the most volatile of Irish history is not so far removed from today, many people still feel engaged with the past. It has deepened my readings of Irish literature and given me a greater overall appreciation for the connection between myself, history, and literature.

Works Cited