At the moment I’m reading Asimov, a Russian born, American sci fi writer of the forties and fifties. He is being read by the rest of the family, and is discussed at the dinner table when we are all together, so, if I want to get a word in edgeways, I have to read him rather than the Man Booker winner. I don’t feel Asimov rates too high in the literary stakes at the moment, so to justify my reading him, this blog reviews the other more literary books that I have read this summer. I come back to him at the end.

Actually, I did read two Man Booker short list books. The first was The Fishermen by Chigozie Obioma. It was gripping but grim. It leads you into a world of madness, poverty and dreams but there is a dexterity and agility about the writing. It is very male which was interesting for me.  I felt myself being drawn in to the world of boys, fear, courage, honour and ignorance. The only real female character is the mother who goes into the mental asylum (with reason, I hasten to add). Chigozie Obioma moves between the different interfaces of Nigerian/Igbo, Yorba and English and combines the influences of Western Christianity mixed with traditional African spirits. I am intrigued by Nigeria. Super imposed on this is the harsh reality of living in a state which is unstable, corrupt, unjust and chaotic. I found the writing raw and beautiful. I would highly recommend it.

The next was Did You Ever Have a Family by Bill Clegg. It reminded me of Ann Tyler epics. Each of the characters is picked up in different chapters. It is based in small East town Connecticut and West Coast Seattle and is about the aftermath of the death. Clegg is great at conveying the deadening nature of grief. The book draws us through the past lives of the characters, through the event and into the future. Occasionally, I got a little confused but generally the different strands coalesced into a web, a rather sad one, glistening with dew. I enjoyed it and became fairly immersed but didn’t feel I came away more informed, excited or in awe.

I also read Sara Baume’s Spill, Simmer, Falter, Wither. I had been to hear her talk in Dublin and liked her simplicity. It is an extraordinary book about an isolated older man, who had been reared pretty badly by his father,  and his lonely life with his one eyed, half lipped dog who seemed to be a reflection of him. Both were rejects of society but still living according to their natural instincts. Because of fear (One Eye is threatened with being put down) they take off on a journey and live in the car on his savings and canned food. The detailed description is excellent. The protagonist and Sara Baume know their nature, the wild country flowers, the flora and fauna. She captures the wilderness, its chaos, its grating routine. Come what may, nature tries to conform to its cycle, despite man’s intervention. The protagonist is well read, and well informed by the radio but is unable to make use of his knowledge in any dynamic way. It is incredibly sad. He relates to his dog, his only friend, but nothing else and he realises there is no place for him in this world. He is too intelligent and self aware. The epilogue is the tear jerker, about One Eye. I am not sure how much I liked the book. It was beautifully written, heart rending and an excellent portrayal of the bleak side of society and loneliness. But I’m not sure about it. I found it a little too cloying and repetitive. I’ll be interested to see what her next one is like.

I started the summer with a lighter read, The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters. It was an interesting book set after WW1 involving grief, passion, murder and trials. It took many unexpected turns so kept me on my toes. It unravelled and picked at the seams of family life, friendship and love. There is some lovely writing and beautiful description. It reflects on the human desire for freedom, love, truthfulness and its capacity for thoughtlessness, greed and selfishness. It portrays the obdurate grinding nature of society’s institutions. It shows how class, poverty, and wealth accentuate and flourishain but occasionally how truth glitters through the dross of dreary daily life. At stages in the book, I hesitated to believe what was happening, but I did enjoy being pitched around between the different scenarios. There was intrigue, suspense, particularly in the second part. I have to say, in the first half,  I did skip a little.

More recently I read Miss Emily by Nuala O’Connor (as she named on the cover). For me it began as a series of vignettes: the story of Emily Dickenson (American poet) set against the fictional creation of her housemaid, Ada. I was interested to see how N O’C could write about Emily Dickenson as she was renowned for her privacy and isolation. She didn’t go out, didn’t socialise outside the home. Ada was a clever construct. She complemented Emily and allowed N O’C to delve into Emily’s existence, while at the same time introducing action and movement through Ada’s experience as an Irish emigrant living in a middle class American household. It was an excellent contrast. The book evolved into a beautifully written story with delicious description, evocative, detailed and tangible. I aligned myself with Emily as she wandered the house, perched at her rosewood desk, watching and writing, and with Ada as she churned butter and baked. I really enjoyed the book. It had a gentle, rhythmic flow. She is a beautiful writer.

While reading Miss Emily, I was also reading Alan McMonagle’s collection of short stories, Psychotic Episodes. It is a wonderful mix of quirky (which I love) and poignant. There is a lovely hesitancy and sensitivity in the stories. Each one stands out. With a short story collection, you make forays. Each one of these forays yielded fruit. Short stories are a little like poems. They have to reveal, strike a chord, even if you are not sure what it is. Then you re-read and there is a fresh appreciation of what is there. I found the stories light and nimble although the themes were dark and often suicidal and the characters broken by society. I think that is quite an achievement. I really liked The Story Teller and The Thief, Bloomsday Bus Driver, Elizabeth Taylor and the Tour de France Cyclist and Walking Among Ruins.

So now, as mentioned I am reading Asimov’s The Robot Series. I am only a little way in. My initial thoughts are that he is a perceptive writer. His characters are well drawn, he is good at plot, his dialogue is excellent and his sentences are short. I like the philosophy and it is a page turner. What is so extraordinary is his prescience. It is almost creepy how he has predicted what is today. But the strange thing is, I cannot read it for more than twenty minutes or so. I feel as if the writing is bite sized and I am not getting a full flavour. I don’t know why this is. But I will wait out the meal before I give final judgement. Not sure how the family will feel about this.

Actually, that’s a good analogy for a short story collection, a meal where every bite brings a zest or spice to the tongue. If that’s the comparison, I am giving Psychotic Episodes a 3* Michelin. Asimov, I will persevere with. I like to have something to say at the dinner table.

Titles and beginnings are very important as are endings. I am working on a short story at the moment. As I was scribbling away, this week I was convinced that it was going to be perfect. It felt right. The idea was good. It was clever, elegant, controlled. Its flight was like an arrow, and targeted. I don’t know how overnight it morphed into unwieldy, boring, and tatty, but, sadly it did. And so the re-writing, the editing, the long walk back begins. Is it the wrong tense? Should there be a different point of view? How can I improve the language? Is it terse and exciting? God knows. It’s like life, a challenge.
I have been reading quite a few short stories over the summer. They are like poems. They need re-reading and I don’t like re-reading. I am too impatient (and a little lazy). I have to force myself. I like re-reading poems but short stories are too long! So, a short story has to capture my attention, intrigue me, tickle my fancy for it to work for me. If it does, then I may re-read it to discover its secrets. In short, short stories are hard work!
I read The Long Gaze Back which is an excellent collection of short stories by Irish women over the centuries, edited by Sinead Gleeson. It was interesting to see how the short story, its subject and form has evolved over the centuries – not too much. There is a frisson to the short story that I enjoy. The French Irish Rugby match in the World Cup last weekend felt like a short story: exciting, dramatic “with much disturbance below” (Joy Williams – 9 Elements of a Short Story). I am particularly enjoying Alan McMonagle’s collection, Psychotic Episodes. They are quirky. I find them a perfect fit. I like quirky. I am also enjoying the workshops I am doing with Alan (you probably think I am sucking up now but I’m not, honestly). We read short stories, and then discuss them and from that I discover what they are made of. It’s very useful for a cook to understand the ingredients. How to put them together to make the perfect repast is the thing I think I am supposed to come up with.
After having the poetry book published this summer, I experienced a bit of a wobble. I wasn’t sure what the next step along the road was or how to take it. So, I haven’t. Instead, I’ve been careering around on muddy side tracks, enjoying the summer and in particular the recent lovely, sunny autumnal days drenched in colour and chill. I adore autumn: the apples, the smell, the gold, brown, yellows, the burning smoke of fires, chocolate (don’t ask me how that got in there), the slow death and the encroaching darkness of winter.
In fact, my life has been a little like a collection of colourful short stories recently. Each day recollects a difference. They have been full of visits, swimming, reading, workshops, poetry, walking, launches, art, dining in London, Istanbul, Galway, Limerick, Oxford, Kingscourt, old friends, and new friends (as well as the odd glass of home made wine here and there). So the inside has been good. The outside frightening: refugees fleeing, Cameron winning the UK election, chemical weapons, corruption in banking, Inquiries, shameful politicians, patients dying in hospitals. I find it a little discombobulating that my days seem so disconnected to the real world, but am also thankful as the real world is so disturbed. More like a Stephen King novel than a short story.
So I have been busy enjoying life which is never a good prompt for writing. Agonised, meandering misery is far more intense and amusing to read, and far less irritating. There is one aspect of my life I am concerned about. The loss of my super power. I used to exist on four hours of sleep. At four o’clock am my eyes would snap open. I would turn on the light, reach out for my pen and notebook and brilliance would beat its way out. Now my eye lids may or may not unclutch themselves, but even if they do, I give Poppins a cuddle and fall back into a blissful stupor of sleep. Not good for the writing. I need to sharpen my wits. Maybe I should set an alarm! An alarming thought in itself!
Now, will I make a cup of tea or turn over…

A brilliant weekend of poems, stories, champagne, torrential Galway rain, brilliant Galway sunshine, dancing, Cavan black berrying, and much toasting of election results. It is a haze, a blur. Isn’t it extraordinary how good things bubble into a miasma of fizz and contentment (the champagne helps, I guess) while pain is so sharp and defined?
Anyway, AT The Edge is well and truly launched. I have had to order more copies from Lapwing (which is brilliant) and, I have received my first order from my new seller Amazon account. You can order it from Amazon UK by searching AT The Edge by Kate Ennals. It will come up as in Homes, Kitchens but I couldn’t find an option for Books under my sellers account and I thought: well, home and kitchen is generally where you will find me, so….
Thank you, everyone, for making my launch two weeks, absolutely fabulous (a carefully chosen term), particularly Jeremy Corbyn for winning the British Labour Party Leadership election and appointing John McDonnell Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer. John is now where he belongs – that is, until the Labour Party is elected and all our lives will change for the better. To you, me, everybody!!! To the World!

The photo is of Roisin (who made lovely cakes), Joe and myself while we still looked presentable (no glasses on the table yet)!

I am amazed: I am 56 years old, a hardened, old experienced cynic (but easily pleased) and I have discovered that I can still feel tetchy, wobbly and not in control as I did in the days prior to the Cavan launch of my book, AT The Edge. I thought these days would be a time of happiness and excitement. I love to read my poems and to be centre stage is always fun. But as the day and then the hour drew near, I got more stuttery, stroppy and fretful! So, thank you, my poets, friends and family for easing me through (particularly Julie) and/or for ignoring my clumsy jitters. Of course, it was a wonderful evening. Friends came from near and far and I was very proud. As poet John Kelly emailed me afterwards, there was such warmth in the room.

I leave you with pictures and Noel Monahan’s words of which I am very proud. I am looking forward to the Galway launch on Friday about which I am feeling much more relaxed – thanks to Kevin and Susan who are organising the September Over The Edge Writers’ Gathering with a variety of readings by poets and fiction writers Clara Rose Thornton, Kernan Andrews, myself, Susan Lanigan, and Ruth Aylett.

“At The Edge by Kate Ennals. Launched by Noel Monahan, Town Hall, Cavan. Friday 4th. September 2015.
Delighted to be with you all in the Town Hall, Cavan, for the launch of “AT The Edge” by Kate Ennals, a Lapwing publication.
It is always a great privilege to read a new book of poetry and in this case to discover that Kate Ennals’ years of dedication to crafting her poetry are formally recognised and published in book form.
On first reading I like to look at the list of titles and the following in Kate’s first collection caught my attention at once: “ The Ancient Song Of The Pebble”, Please Can I Have A Man”, “The Cobbler”, “My School Child”, “Not The Pope, “ Whatever You Say Say Nothing”, “The Gull And The Cherry Picker”, “Home From Home”, “Cavan Forest”. There we have 9 memorable titles to start with.
The opening poem, “Spring Invasion” with its allegorical playfulness takes us outdoors to a land of plants and weeds: giant nettles, violet vetch. “As I Walk The Road”, furthers the theme of the outdoors to the rhythm of footsteps and the chance leap of the mind in thought. Kate Ennals works at crafting poetry and this is evident in “The Ancient Song Of The Pebble”, after William Blake. It is great to know poets continue to read the visionary London poet William Blake. He believed that every person is divine and everything that lived is holy. “The Clod & The Pebble”: “So sung a little Clod of Clay, Trodden with the cattle’s feet, But a pebble of the brook, Warbled out these metres meet:
“The Emigrant’s Song”, starts with London and the poet reflects on what might have happened had she stayed in London: Saturday I’d meet the girls / for breakfast in Camden Market /We’d gossip, laugh, catch up / Plan a visit to the Tate”
and the second part of the poem deals with the compensations of living in Ireland. “I’d never enjoy trad music / Gaze up at the star studded nights / I’d never stoop over a vegetable patch / Or walk the lane in moonlight.”

Talking about moonlight and the romance of it all, “ Please Can I Have A Man” after Selima Hill, is hilariously funny and one of my favourite poems in this chapbook. It’s the type of poem that strikes a balance and prevents us from becoming too serious about poetry and ourselves.
In sharp contrast we have the more sinister subject matter as in the poem “The Cobbler and “A Christmas Visit”. Characters are recalled. The shadow side of life pokes its head around the door.
The poem “Snow Tones” has a settling effect and a flavour of Louis MacNeice’s style ; “Compacted light seeps from corners and beams / Electrifies pale pink walls, and dreams blanket the floor” . This is poetry with images embracing sound .
There is intimate poetry at play in the poem: “My School Child” and it captures real feelings and touches our soul. “My heart a little bruised / As I exit off stage / And leave her at school.” Further on in the collection you find a similar poem: She Sits On My Shoulder”. “Nowhere Special To Go” (for Martin Ennals) furthers the subject matter of intimacy. “Seedlings Of Hope”deals with growth and it illustrates Kate Ennals’love of the soil and her willingness to get her hands dirty. The tone of the poem illustrates a willingness on Kate’s part to explore the clay. It reminded me of the opening to Kavanagh’s poem “The Great Hunger”: “ “Clay is the word and clay is the flesh”. Stormy Weather is a fine example of the Villanelle, a style and form of poetry going all the way back to Jean Passeret (1534 – 1602 ) five tercets and a final quatrain. “The Songs On My Way” is a poem Kate Ennals brought to a workshop I was giving earlier this year. “The Scene Is Set” is a specialist style of concrete poetry with its quirky design of words on the page. All in all we are treated to a wide range of styles in this first collection. The final poem “Cavan Forest” leaves us outdoors : “Autumn fire skims the trees / A rage of red and golden flame/ Burns between the falling leaves / So framed, it looks such a peaceful scene.”

It is idyllic poetry of a pastoral kind. There is no agenda in this collection here with politics or any particular religion. It is pure soul in the form of a response to nature and to childhood, to love, to life. This inner vision of happiness is something we need in Cavan, in Ireland at this particular moment as we plod from day to day in what might be described as a Spiritual Famine. AT The Edge is Kate’s songs of her Hesperides, Her “ Garden of the Golden Apples”, her fountain of love poetry for Gowna, Cavan, Dublin, London where streets and fields, people, old and young, plants, birds, animals, flowers, food offer delight to the soul and body. A sense of freedom prevails throughout her writing.
AT The Edge is beautifully produced by Lapwing. I congratulate Lapwing on their success and determination to survive. This publishing house was established in 1988, in Belfast by Dennis and Rene Grieg. They have published such names as : James Simmons, Professor Maurice Harmon, Padraig Fiaac and many others. They have published Co. Longford poets: Margaret Nohilly, Mary Melvin Geoghegan, Rose Moran and now in County Cavan; Kate Ennals.
And finally to sum up At The Edge: The out-doors fuels Kate Ennals’ imagination. We inhale the air of happy living, where time is measured in poetic footsteps. This collection will ignite your imagination. There is evidence of a love of William Blake in Kate’s writing. You will enjoy this new collection.”

The book can be ordered by sending a cheque to Kate Ennals, Drumbriste House, Loch Gowna, Cavan or purchased in Crannog Bookshop in Cavan or Charlie Byrnes in Galway (from Friday) or ordered from any good bookshop. The publisher is Lapwing.

My father has been dead for twenty four years but this is the first time that I have truly wished that he was here for this…the launch of my first poetry collection. Odd, isn’t it? I suppose I say that because it shows how proud I am. I was surprised by this and it made me realise how often I try to suppress pride. Of course, the children are perfect in their own right, nothing to do with me. My cooking skills are inevitable after so much time at the stove. I inherited my positive characteristics and my weaknesses are my fault. And it goes on to undermine self belief. Every rejection I receive is much more poignant than an acceptance. The pleasure of having a poem published is much more fleeting that the pain of rejection!  And, look, see how easily I have diverted myself from saying how very excited and joyful, and proud I am to have a book of poetry published.

So, you are formally invited to the launch of AT The Edge, the debut poetry collection of Kate Ennals. It will be launched by lovely poet, Noel Monahan on Friday 4 September at 6.30pm in the Town Hall, Cavan and on Friday 11 September at 6.30pm in The Kitchen at the Museum in Galway with the wonderful Kevin Higgins at the Over The Edge Writer’s Gathering. In Cavan, there will be buns, bunting, wine and weeping! Other achievements (children, cakes) may also be evidence!

On a completely different subject, I want to wish Jeremy Corbyn good luck. Jeremy getting elected as the Party Leader in Britain would make my summer. To have a Labour Party leader that believes in Equality, Justice, and Truth as absolutes that we (as a society) can actually achieve and share would give me hope for the future. It is lovely to have a personal accomplishment, like the publication of a book, but to have hope that British political policy can be more than blind, self-preserving knee jerk reactions would be wonderful. At the moment, living in a society where corrupt, self interest and greed prevails, I am terrified and I feel at a total loss in the world.

By the way, in my last communication I was wondering about writing under a different name. My first love of my life responded and suggested ‘Kattle’, the pet name my father gave me. It has a certain ring to it, n’est ce pas?

Kattle

BTW (2)

You can order the book from myself by sending €15 or £15 to Drumbriste House, Loch Gowna, Co. Cavan which includes postage and packing. Or, I guess, you can order it from any good bookshop but the distributor makes the profit then! The publisher is Lapwing.

I have a very serious and sober announcement to make. I am about to have my debut book of poetry published by Lapwing. It’s called AT The Edge. It’s by Kate Ennals…and I’m lolling about under the table, tongue hanging out in pure excitement! A Poetry Book by me! I thought about writing under a nom de plume as I am not sure Kate Ennals has the ring of a poet. It sounds rather too Anglo Saxon. I wanted something dreamier, romantic. Maybe Cait Petit Jeune (my French grandmother’s maiden name), but I felt that was too remote. I tried an anagram of my own name and came up with Ken Sentale, Anna Sketle, and Natal Knees, all still rather harsh. I wondered about it. What would encourage people to buy the book? Kate Ennals, I thought.

Anyway, I hope you all like it. Please note the blurb on the back when/if you do buy it. I worked on that particularly carefully. After all the detailed editing, and proofing, Lapwing asked me to do a paragraph for the back cover. I had no idea what to write so I looked at other poetry books. Hum, a little pretentious, I thought, even on the covers of those poets whom I really admire. I mentioned this to Lapwing who told me it was all about gilding the lily. I liked that. It might be the title of next volume, Gilding My Lily by Natal Knees. But let’s not get ahead of myself!

My book launch is in Cavan at the Townhall on Friday 4 September and in Galway on Friday 11 September at the Museum with Over The Edge. Noel Monahan is launching it in Cavan and Kevin Higgins is launching it Galway. I hope you can all come! But more of that later. Watch this space and Face Book, the newspapers, the Six O’clock news, Twitter, the Huffington Post, the New York Review of Books, A…A…rena! Now, I am getting carried away!

You’ll be able to order the book from Lapwing or myself or from any good bookshop (but if it’s the bookshop, the poet and publisher are paid less). It is £10 or €15 including p&p. Contact details lapwing.poetry@ntlworld.com or kateennals@live.co.uk.Yee Hah!