An interesting short memoir, interesting often as much for what remains unsaid as for what is said. The author grew up in Dublin with three brothers and two sisters, and parents who parsed out love. Her mother was cursed with two funny sounding diseases, retinitis pigmentosis and the ever more silly-sounding paranoid schizophrenia, Of course this would impact everyones lives and of course the children, and the author, would have no idea why.
Much is left unsaid in this story. There are tales of joy and sadness. Brief mentions of abuse shock in their simplicity. But there are happier moments too...or are they.
Throughout our childhood, Dad also drove us city kids
deep into the country to visit various remote shrines,
churches, and holy wells. In the chapels, we bought plastic
bottles of holy water to take home, and always knelt before
the offertory candles we had lit for special intentions, the
flames and our prayers mostly going up for our mother, her
eyesight diminishing then as rapidly as her sanity.
Rohan eventually moves from Ireland to San Francisco where she can be apart and her own person. But she is still a part of the family, the connection will always be there.
This is an interesting short memoir, one that has led me to want to sample Rohan's short story collections.
An ecopy has been provided by the publisher through NetGalley for the purpose of review.