Sebastian Barry's Booker 2008 shortlisted The Secret Scripture is the first novel of his I've read. It is written in the form of logs kept by its two main protagonists, Roseanne McNulty, a frail old lady of around 100 years who has been in mental asylums for most of her adult life, and William Grene, Roseanne's psychiatrist, who is approaching retirement. The setting is a small town called Roscommon near Sligo in Ireland.
Roseanne is writing her history - as she remembers it - because she knows her life is nearing an end. William Grene is keeping a diary because his private life has imploded with the disintegration of his relationship with his wife Bet. He also has the task of assessing the patients of Roscommon mental hospital to see which can be released into the community when the hospital is pulled down and rebuilt at another site with far fewer beds. Because of this, he needs to ascertain the reasons for each patient's admission - whether they are truly 'insane' and in need of continual care in an institution, or whether they are potentially able to be re-integrated back into the community.
Thus starts a curious friendship between the two, based more on empathy than on communication. Roseanne keeps her written account of her life secret by hiding it under the floorboards and only allows Dr Grene to coax tiny fragments of her past from her. For his part, William Grene is content to not traumatise Roseanne with intrusive questioning, but the mystery of her past starts to haunt him.
The interspersing of Roseanne's and William Grene's written accounts draws the reader slowly into both their lives. Roseanne's sections are written in a more archaic tone than Dr Grene's because of her age, and the prose in her testimony is almost poetic at times, dreamy and nostalgic. In its tragedy and wistful, fragile flashes of beauty, it is reminiscent of John Banville's prose in The Sea. Roseanne's writing reveals not only her own difficult life but also much of the social and political history of Ireland from the 1920s on. As with Maggie O'Farrell's The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, the reader reels from the revelation of the ease with which women could and were locked up in asylums. The grim realisation of how much life has changed for women is also never far away.
My only gripe with this book is a tiny one about the fact that authors do so much research into so many aspects of their work but almost always neglect the area of accuracy of medical facts. There are many references to Dr Grene having been a 'penniless student studying psychiatry at a hospital in England' or of him having been 'a few months out of college' before his arrival at Roscommon. The fact is, you don't go to 'college' to study psychiatry, you go to medical school where you study some psychiatry with all the other specialties like medicine and surgery and paediatrics, and after that, you're out of college for good and if you want to specialise in psychiatry you do so by working your way up the career ladder in hospitals while swotting at home for professional exams. I gave Barry the benefit of the doubt on this, assuming Grene was just a few months out of medical school before moving to Roscommon, but it transpires he was in his mid thirties when he arrived in Roscommon, which would mean an extraordinarily long spell at medical school. Plus there's a reference to him being inspired to 'read psychiatry at Durham' - well, there was certainly no medical school at Durham in 1983 so there can't have been one in the '60s when Grene would have been a student.
Elsewhere there is reference to the fact that Grene's 'degree wasn't exactly glittering' which is another inaccuracy - medical degrees are either pass or fail, they're not graded (first, two-one, etc) like other degrees. Finally, there's a nonsensical comment from Greene about a character with throat cancer being 'old enough for such a cancer to move very slowly', as if age of onset had any consistent relationship with aggression of a malignancy (which depends on spread of cancer at diagnosis, number of lympoh nodes affected, metastatic involvement of other organs, cell type, site, etc.)
The only other mild criticisms is that the twist at the end is so unlikely as to almost be implausible, but it's testimony to Barry's writing that instead of flinging the book across the room as I'm wont to do with other unfeasibly neat, glib endings, I read it instead with a lump in my throat.
So, pedantic nit-picking aside, this is a gorgeously written book, almost brittle and transluscent in the delicacy of some of its prose. The misery of existence in Ireland in the early to mid twentieth century means that it is not an easy or uplifting book, but it is worth reading nevertheless.
****0