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Life
[ top ] Criticism
Commentary [ top ] Patrick Rafroidi, A Question of Inheritance: The Anglo-Irish Tradition, in Rafroidi & Maurice Harmon, eds., The Irish Novel in Our Time (Publ. de Université de Lille 1975-76): Rafroidi quotes a review-article on Broderick by Douglas Sealy (Irish Times, 18 Jan. 1966), in which the critic writes that Brodericks fault is that he is not content with being a novelist, he wants to be a sage as well, and he fills up the interstices of the action with aphorisms which seem to have been imported from some calendar of Thoughts, supplying an example: Every woman who has been scorched by the fires of sensuality will always choose death rather than the lack of love. (Rafroidi, op. cit., p.28). Michael Paul Gallagher, The Novels of John Broderick, in Rafroidi & Harmon, eds., The Irish Novel in Our Time (lUniversité de Lille 1975-76), p.241 notes review in Kilkenny Magazine (Spring 1963), p.37, in which the reviewer complained: All through the narrative, the author intersperses pensées or maxims which slide into place like so many glass panels separating the reader from the portrayed world. These apothegms range from the profound to the silly. [Note that Broderick was a contributor to Kilkenny Magazine ]. [ top ] James Cahalan, The Irish Novel (Dublin: Gill & Macmillan 1988), calls the enclosed societal worlds or rural and small-town places of his fiction even more obscure that Mackens Galway (p.296). Further remarks: seedy sex; eleven novels; ongoing attack on mores of midland Irish life; talent lapsing into caricature; his fictional father was Brinsley MacNamara; concerned with states of unfreedom in a society of squinting windows; would-be Balzac, admitting his early novels were too negative, voicing [his] own hope of being able to move from negativity to a novel written with love (Gallagher, op. cit., 1976, pp.235-36); no-hold barred attempt to plunge beneath the behavioral surface [... etc.] (297-98); Pilgrimage, 298; Dillingham, 298; Willie Ryan, 209 [notes slightly less affluent Catholic world than Kate OBriens]; 298. J. W. Foster, Colonial Consequences (Syracuse UP 1991), writes that with Kavanagh, MacManus, Mervyn Wall and John Broderick [between the 1930s and 1970s], the literary image of the provinces has been a caustic reply to the extravagant Revival love of Ireland. [q.p.] [ top ] D. J. Taylor, review of The Irish Magdalen (1991), in The Independent, UK, 23 March 1991), [q.p.], [with photo-portrait of Broderick], notes that the novel was intended as the second in an Athlone Trilogy, set in the early 1930s in the thinly disguised town of Bridgeford The Flood turns on the attempt of a consortium of locals to sell land to a visiting Englishman without telling him that it lies under water for three months of the years. The Irish Magdalen is an account of the successful rearguard action fought by the local priest who, in employing the half-sister of the local tart as his housekeeper, jeopardises the future of the church building fund sweepstake. The literary echoes that resonate through [the novel] are derived less from modern Irish masters than from Lever and Thackeray. Taylor characterises Broderick as a wealthy bachelor whose money came from a family bakery, and who professed himself an unrepentant sensualist (I did everything I wanted in every conceivable way). Further, His novels, narrowly focused on the twin shibboleths of money and sex, with religion lurking ... in the background, provoked storms of protest, as did his unorthodox literary opinions consisting in widely publicised animosity towards the literary canon - even Yeats being a poetic Churchill, full of bluster. Taylor calls him a writer whose primary impulses are elegiac, obsessed with his childhood in the Athlone of the 1930s, he say himself increasingly as the celebrant of a bye-gone way of life. [ top ] D. J. Taylor, Heading for the Troubles, [review of Irish fiction], in Sunday Times (1 May 1994), [q.p.], quotes from Broderick, The Rose Tree : I thought it was all over, like a fool. Things never are in Ireland, says a character being hunted by the IRA. [D. J. Taylor is author of After the War, The Novel and England since 1945. ] Sam Thompson, Perversely cured: The baking, banning and bisexuality of John Broderick, in Times Literary Supplement, review of The Pilgrimage and The Waking of Willie Reilly [reps.] (17 Dec. 2004), p.26-27: [...] The last chapter of The Pilgrimage is a single sentence, a shocker: In this way they set out on their pilgrimage, from which a week later Michael returned completely cured. This is a form of what Martin Amis once called the kind of challenge that the literary Catholic enjoys throwing out to the world, as if to testify to the macho perversity of his faith. Amiss macho Catholics were Graham, Greene and Evelyn Waugh. The final flashy irony of The Pilgrimage is less tremendous, less theodicean, than the irony of A Handful of Dust or The End of the Affair, but it is just as cruel. The perversity comes not from the inhumanity with which providence operates, but - more simply from the fact that the characters are weak hypocrites. They have manoeuvred themselves into a position in which the miraculous healing of a sick man - which they have all been publicly praying for - is for them a disastrous evil. This is characteristic of Broderick. Catholicism is bitterly satirised for the misery it imposes, but the fault lies not with religion, and certainIy not with God. It lies in the fact that most people - especially those who call themselves devout - are irreligious creatures who perform rituals and mouth pieties, but believe in nothing. Consequently the Church is a sink of vice; but in Brodericks work, as in his life, it is central and inescapable, whether defied or embraced. In 1979 he said, I havent got faith at the moment … I do hope the religious experience will come again; and in 1984, I am now a practising, albeit critical, Catholic. Mind you, I always had an affection for the faith, warts and all. Thompson notes that the word watchful recurs in the novels the novels. (See full text.) [ top ]
Liam Harte, ‘A man apart, review of Madeline Kingston, Something in the Head, with rep. edns. of The Pilgrimage and The Waking of Willie Ryan, in The Irish Times (15 jan. 2005), Weekend, p.13: [...] In the early 1980s, Broderick moved to Bath for reasons which, Kingston admits, are as elusive as so much else about him. A fugitive from biography, Broderick both covered his tracks and cultivated an air of mystery, bequeathing little in the way of self-revelatory material. Kingston is often left chasing shadows, therefore, and ultimately fails to bring her subject fully to book. The best she can offer is a series of vignettes of a complex personality torn between conformity and dissent: a Mass-going Catholic who fulminated against the post-Vatican II changes in religious practice; a self-proclaimed hedonist (I did everything I wanted in every conceivable way) who was appalled by Englands moral dissipation; a writer who liked to represent himself as an Athlone businessman, yet once appeared in the town clad in black leather, clutching a handbag. / Brodericks desire to hide his homosexuality appears to have been at the heart of his evasive, obfuscatory ways. As early as 1946 close friends noticed that he had lost his natural sunshine and spontaneity and seemed to be hiding something. But whereas Kingston is reluctant to pronounce definitively on his sexual proclivities, having found no evidence of any sustained relationship at any time of his life, David Norris shows no such reserve. He was a heavy drinker and a homosexual, he bluntly states in his foreword to The Waking of Willie Ryan, the novel Broderick rightly considered to be his best. / Reading it and The Pilgrimage 40 years after their first (banned) publication, one is struck by both the derivativeness and the originality of the writing. Brodericks dissection of religious hypocrisy, spiteful intolerance and emotional entrapment in small-town Ireland, a place that stifles individuality and breeds destructive neuroses, owes much to Balzac, Hardy, Lawrence and Brinsley MacNamara. Yet there is an edgy, daringly innovative quality to his portrayal of subterranean gay culture in 1950s Ireland and his searing indictment of the homophobia of the Catholic bourgeoisie. (See full text.)
[ top ] Quotations [ top ] OFlahertys Famine (1937)[is a book] without which we can have but an imperfect understanding of the country in which [it] is set. Broderick praises the character of Mary Kilmartin, who has been singled out by two generations of critics as one of the great creations of modern literature. He adds, OFlaherty himself is clearly in love with her. He summarises, Mary survives with her baby, to join her husband on a ship for America. [...] The old people die; the district is laid waste; and the gombeen men survive to form the backbone of Catholic Ireland down to the present day. (Roots, review of Famine, in The Irish Times, 19 Jan. 1980.) Note that Broderick here treats Joyce as a cosmopolitan rather than a national writer, and one whose books will revert to the university audience.
[ top ] Notes Stimulus to Sin (2007): Between 1956 and 1988 Broderick produced over three hundred review columns on a wide range of books and topics. A carefully chosen selection of these include his thoughts on Francis Stuart, Lee Dunne, Padraic Fallon, Oscar Wilde, Kate OBrien and Liam OFlaherty, among others. His journalism also gave him space to reflect on other preoccupations, such as Athlone, Irish society, the Church, books, writers and human nature. It allowed him freedom to write humorously, seriously, sometimes pessimistically, even savagely. His writings are of increasing relevance and interest in todays Ireland.
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