by Colum McCann
Once upon a time, she began. I stood at the door and listened. There isn’t a story in the world that isn’t in part, at least, addressed to the past.
I lit the oil lamps, then left my guests alone, and went down to the lough with Georgie. Out I swam. The water was fierce and cold. It moved through the core of me. I glanced at the house. Tomas rose and his tall thin shape went full across the lawn.
When I came back in, I toweled Georgie by the door. Manyaki and his wife were in the sunroom, shaped against the light. A glint off his wire-rim glasses. I caught a snippet of their conversation: his conference, their boys, the upcoming auction. They were leaning close together, across the width of a table, a sheet of paper with some numbers on the table between them. Their reflection in the glass. The water behind them stretched distant and black. I stood in the doorway a long, long time, unsure of what to do or say. I wasn’t interested in their mercy. Nor would I stay, if they stayed.
When I sat down beside them, their silence was lined with tenderness. We have to admire the world for not ending on us.
This novel is dedicated to Loretta Brennan Glucksman.
For Allison, and Isabella too.
And, of course, for Brendan Bourke.
The author wishes to thank the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation for a grant to help write and research this novel.
transatlantic thanks
THERE IS NO REAL ANONYMITY IN HISTORY. And none, really, in storytelling. Many hands have guided this work, and so it would feel wrong to pretend that I wrote this novel entirely on my own. Of course I accept all its missteps and mistakes as entirely my own, but I would certainly be remiss if I didn’t mention the people who have helped me along the way. First of all, as always, and endlessly, Allison, Isabella, John Michael, and Christian. Also my colleagues and students at Hunter College, Jennifer Raab, Peter Carey, Tom Sleigh, and Gabriel Packard in particular. My sincere thanks to David Blight, John Waters, Patricia Ferrerio, Marc Conner, Brendan Barrington, Colm O’Grada, Fionnghuala Sweeney, Richard Bradbury, and Donal O’Kelly for their help on the section about Douglass. Scholars of Douglass should know that I have sometimes combined, conflated, and on occasion fictionalized quotes in order to create the texture of truth. For the Alcock/Brown section I am enormously indebted to Scott Olsen, William Langewiesche, Cullen Murphy, Brendan Lynch, and Andrew Nahum of the Science Museum in London. For the section concerning George Mitchell, I should thank none other than George and Heather Mitchell themselves—they had the great grace to allow me to try to imagine my way into their world. In addition, I must thank Liz Kennedy, Tim O’Connor, Mitchell Reiss, Declan Kelly, Maurice Hayes, Tony Blair, and numerous others (especially Seamus and Mairead Brolly) who have tried to help me understand the peace process. The people of Aspen and the Aspen Writers’ Foundation were enormously helpful every step of the way: very special thanks to Lisa Consiglio for everything. For the TransAtlantic crew, Loretta Brennan Glucksman, Gabriel Byrne, Niall Burgess, and Eugene Downes, my ongoing thanks, always. Over the past couple of years I have been given access to a roof over my head in rough weathers—deepest thanks to Mary Lee Jackson, Fleur Jackson, Kyron Bourke, and Claira Jackson for the house on the edge of Strangford Lough; a word and world of thanks to Wendy Aresty for the shelter in Aspen; thanks to Bruce Berger for use of the most beautiful cottage in the west; to Isa Catto and Daniel Shaw for the peace in Woody Creek; and of course to Rosemarie and Roger Hawke for their support and the room upstairs. For editorial guidance and acuity, sincere thanks to Jennifer Hershey and Alexandra Pringle. To Martin Quinn, a deep, deep bow. Thanks also to Caroline Ast, Thomas Uberhoff, and Carolyn Kormann. Thanks always to Sarah Chalfant and Andrew Wylie and all at the Wylie Agency. My appreciation to John Berger, Michael Ondaatje, Jim Harrison, and Wendell Berry for their ongoing inspiration. There are many others who have helped all the way, in reading and consultation—John and Anna Custatis, Joe Lennon, Dr. Jim Marion, Terry Cooper, Chandran Madhu, Maurice Byrne, Sharif Abdunnur, Bob Mooney, Dan Barry, Bill Cheng, Tom Kelly, Danny McDonald, Mike Jewell, Tim and Kathy Kipp, Kaitlyn Greenidge, Sean and Sally and the rest of my family in Ireland, and most especially my brother Ronan McCann, who runs my website and without whom I’d be entirely lost. There are others too: I hope I have not left too many out. I will thank them quietly along the way, all of us, together, aloft.
by colum mccann
TransAtlantic
Let the Great World Spin
Zoli
Dancer
Everything in This Country Must
This Side of Brightness
Songdogs
Fishing the Sloe-Black River
about the author
COLUM MCCANN was born in Dublin, Ireland. He is the author of six novels and two collections of stories. He has won several major international awards, including the National Book Award, the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, and a Guggenheim fellowship. In 2005 he was nominated for an Academy Award. His work has been published in more than thirty-five languages. His novel Let the Great World Spin was a bestseller on four continents. He is Distinguished Professor of Creative Writing at Hunter College in New York, where he lives with his wife and three children. For more information, go to colummccann.com.
