Product Description

ItÂ’s summer and nothing much is happening in Rathmoye. So it doesnÂ’t go unnoticed when a dark-haired stranger appears on his bicycle and begins photographing the mourners at Mrs ConnultyÂ’s funeral. Florian Kilderry couldn't know that the Connultys were said to own half the town; and, in any case, he had come to Rathmoye only to see the scorched remains of the cinema. But Mrs Connulty's daughter, liberated at last by the death of her imperious mother, resolves to keep an eye on Florian Kilderry, and it's she who comes to witness the events that follow. A few miles out in the country a farmer called Dillahan lives with the knowledge that he was accidentally responsible for the deaths of his wife and baby. He has married again: Ellie is the young convent girl who came to work for him when he was widowed. But she falls in love with Florian and though he plans to leave Ireland, a dangerously reckless attachment develops between them . In a characteristically masterly way Trevor evokes the passions and frustrations felt by Ellie and Florian, and by the people of a small Irish town during one long summer.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #1302 in Books
• Published on: 2009-08-17
• Binding: Hardcover
• 224 pages

Review
I can't think of anything I've read recently that has chronicled more accurately the thumping chaos of human hearts or felt more questioning and youthful and alive (Julie Myerson, Financial Times )

A fabulously benign book ... a work of sympathetic magic (Sebastian Barry, Guardian )

I was totally entranced ... a rare book (Ruth Scurr, The Times )

About the Author
William Trevor was born in Mitchelstown, County Cork. He has written many novels, and has won many prizes including the Hawthornden Prize, the Yorkshire Post Book of the Year Award, and the Whitbread Book of the Year Award. He is a celebrated short-story writer whose two most recent collections are The Hill Bachelors (2000), which won the Macmillan Silver Pen Award and the Irish Times Literature Prize, and A Bit on the Side (2004). Both are available in Penguin, as are his Collected Stories. In 1999 William Trevor received the prestigious David Cohen Literature Prize in recognition of a lifetime’s literary achievement, and in 2002 he was knighted for his services to literature. He now lives in Devon.

Customer Reviews

Romantic Ireland's Dead and Gone
It's been a long time since I read anything by William Trevor (30 years?) and so I wasn't sure what to expect from this novel. Yes, it was overly long for the subject matter - as another reviewer has suggested, it might have made a more efficient "long short story". Yes, it was terribly nostalgic and very old fashioned, but I enjoyed it nevertheless. I liked the intensity of it, the innocence of a long-gone simple rural Ireland (the young wife and her older husband), simple yet at the same time complex with its newly emerging property-based class system replacing - and aping - the system of the British, Anglo-Irish and Protestants. What is known now about clerical abuse and the structures that enabled it to thrive belie the innocence of the time - I wonder if Trevor had this in mind. For some reason it "Love and Summer" reminded me of "Ryan's Daughter" - the repressed sexuality of the young wife, and the tenderness and kindness of the older husband.
The Connulty twins and the parent to whom each was respectively attached represent two sides of the one coin of the allegedly pre-materialism days that people apparently yearn for: the cold mother who invested more in her son and the father who ultimately stood by his daughter in her time of need. The young lover's decaying house and his besotted artistic parents bring to mind Yeats' "romantic Ireland" being "dead and gone, ... with O'Leary in the grave." Romanticism doesn't feed you, despite its many attractions.
I did enjoy this book, but it rightly didn't win the Booker.

Love and Summer
At eighty one years of age, William Trevor is a well-respected veteran, and has gathered many prizes throughout his career. Love and Summer is his fourteenth novel, and is published on 27th August 2009 by Viking, Penguin, and he has also published twelve collections of short stories, two sets of novellas, a play, two non-fiction works and a children's book.

Unlike many other writers of his age and experience, his star has never faded. He continues to win and be shortlisted for major literary prizes: he's won The Whitbread Prize three times - for The Children of Dynmouth (1976), Fools of Fortune (1983), and Felicia's Journey (1994). His last novel, The Story of Lucy Gault (2002), was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize.

Part of Trevor's enduring appeal is the ageless nature of his writing. His novels are often based in his home country, the Republic of Ireland, and involve ordinary people trapped by circumstance . Understated yet often quietly devastating, his fiction usually smoulders rather than erupts; he is the master of the slow burner.

Love and Summer is set in a small Irish town called Rathmoye 'some years after the middle of the last century'. As with much of Trevor's fiction, the story could apply equally in any of the last three centuries, so that mentions of running hot water, TV aerials and jet planes often jarred me from my reverie. The timeless truth of human nature hunches deep within the shadows, a powerful force.

Rathmoye is a typical small town. Gossip percolates swiftly through the streets, like the plague. Several of the properties are owned by the Connulty family, whose matriarch Eileen has recently died at the start of the story. Her middle-aged daughter, known with a tip of the hat only as Miss Connulty, is relieved to have escaped from the iron grasp of her imperious mother. Miss Connulty has a twin brother, Joseph Paul, who their mother adored in contrast to her icy treatment of her daughter. An incident in their past caused virtual estrangement between their mother and father, the latter then resorting to drink; and shards of this painful family dynamic extrude sharply in the narrative like slivers of glass wrapped up in a newspaper.

Other characters include the eccentric Orpen Wren, driven out of his mind by the fleeing of his wealthy employers from an imposing mansion just outside the town, and Dilhallan, the farmer, who is haunted by the death of his first wife and only child.

Into this quietly seething mass of emotion wanders Florian Kilderry, a young half Italian man who lives outside the town, whose parents have recently died. Florian meets Ellie, the young convent girl who became Dilhallan's second wife after working for him as a house maid, and human nature being what it is, feelings bloom.

All this information is related on the jacket notes. How matters proceed is what occupies this slim but potent novel. Early on, there are references to various individuals' pasts, and these tantalizing glimpses weave a hypnotic spell: 'She had been young when the trouble happened'; 'when they passed the bad place'.

Trevor excels at conjuring up the claustrophobic atmosphere of a place where people can't be avoided and everyone knows everyone else's business, for example 'They waited for her to be pregnant.' The mind-numbing yattering of dull small-talk imposed on the unwilling is also evoked with grimly comic subtlety :

'More often than she might have chosen, she heard the plot of the novel Miss Burke at the wool counter in Corbally's was reading.'

And:

'Grateful for the distraction yet resenting it, Ellie pushed the kettle onto the hot ring in case Mrs Hadden wanted tea. She came to the front door, which no one else ever did. 'I mustn't disturb you' she always said, and she said it now. Ellie led her to the kitchen...

What (Mrs Hadden) liked instead of tea was a soda bun if buns were cooling on a wire rack...

Mrs Hadden had another aunt, who embroidered purses, but attacks of rheumatism increasingly interfered with that. Ellie had heard before about this curtailment and was now brought up to date, the news being that the affliction eased a little in the summer months.'

Trevor's pared-down style conveys powerful moments without hyperbole. Evocative images from past and present are sketched with minimal brush strokes:

'The flies of some other summer darkening its windowsills.'

And:

'Sunlight on dingy window-panes cast shadows where the party people had danced.'

This economy with words means that when emotions are touched on, their bittersweet pleasure and pain seems stronger than if it was drowned in vebosity. Tiny moments are magnified by the tacit understanding that feelings are stronger than words can convey. A woman in unrequited love with her boss savours the snatched moments of their business meetings; tingles at the accidental touch of his trouser leg on her skin.

Trevor excels at capturing the secret disappointments and missed opportunities that litter the most ordinary lives. There is poetry in his simple sentences:

'He had loved being loved and knew too late that tenderness in return was not enough',

and

'Her fury had quietened but still was there, as the dead days of finished time were, and tears no longer shed. She felt a wave of pity for Ellie Dillihan as once, so wretchedly, she had for herself.'

Like Trevor's characters, his fiction simmers with tension. His lilting stories captures you in their lazy build-up, then shatter you with their ability to wreak havoc. He has lost none of his considerable power.

In search of lost time...
The summer of 1950's rural Ireland were longer, hotter. The events of this novel simmer gently to the rhythms of an enclosed world now gone. When the opening sentence of chapter one begins with, "On a June evening some years after the middle of the last century...", I certainly experienced a "Casterbridge" moment.
After burying their mother, the middle-aged Connulty twins (who are said to own half of Rathmoye) reveal a lifelong tolerant dislike of one another; their mother's death meaning release for her while it denotes grief for him. But the most poignant plot-line involves the diletenttish Florian Kilderry and his effect on the recently married Ellie Dillahan whose husband is still trying to come to terms with causing the deaths of his first wife and child. Trevor's achievement is that, very quickly, we come to care about all these characters. Others, some colourful, some mad, emerge as the narrative gathers pace towards the end of the summer.
Time is running out for the young lovers and, when Florian states, "We've had our summer, Ellie", you know that Trevor's world of sunshine from long ago is on the same plain as Hardy's Wessex.