The Dead Yard by Adrian McKinty: A review

This is the second book in Adrian McKinty's trilogy featuring Belfast bad boy Michael Forsythe. In the first book, Michael almost single-handedly destroyed an Irish mob group, after which he had a price on his head and was forced to go into witness protection.

In this book, we find him living with his new identity and on vacation in the Canary Islands. Unfortunately, he manages to get in the middle of a riot between football hooligans, even though he wasn't really involved, and he is arrested by Spanish police.

Thrown into jail, he could be facing several years in a Spanish prison, or, even more worrying, he could be extradited back to Mexico to face charges there. He had escaped from a prison there in the first book.

Facing these unpalatable possibilities, Michael is visited in prison by a couple of representatives from British Intelligence, MI6. The MI6 leader, a woman named Samantha, offers him a way out. He can work undercover for them and infiltrate a rogue IRA sect in the U.S. called the Sons of Cuchulainn and help to destroy them.

This all takes place in the 1990s at a time when a tenuous cease fire is being negotiated in Northern Ireland and there is hope that peace may finally be about to break out there. The Sons of Cuchulainn want nothing to do with peace and are determined to throw a spanner into the works of the negotiations. Michael's job, should he choose to take it, will be to stop them.

Michael (now called Sean) reluctantly agrees and a day later is on a plane back to America and on to Boston where he must seek to ingratiate himself to the small group of sociopaths who are the heart of the Sons of Cuchulainn.

McKinty writes with a poetic lilt and some of the best parts of the book for me are the dialogues between various characters, which just seem spot-on. Michael/Sean's is a distinctive voice and, as he is the narrator of the story, we hear that voice throughout and we see things always through his eyes.

Some of the things that we see are truly appalling. The scenes of torture and murder were very hard to read but they are an essential part of the story, an essential tool for revealing the violent and sadistic activities of the enemy Michael/Sean must face and defeat if he is to live.

The suspense builds and builds. Since there is a third entry in this trilogy, the reader can be pretty sure that Michael Forsythe is going to make it out alive, but it is a near thing, and blood flows like a river on the way.

I wouldn't recommend this for the faint of heart, but it is an exciting and very well-written thriller.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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