The Immersion Library

It was, in those days, the way we all spoke about love: world-wise, open-eyed, without illusion. Lying, of course.

Billy Lynch. Adrift in a network of faith, love, family, and alcohol. All things which interconnect nicely but not with Billy.

Throughout the novel, to the many various family members and friends, Billy transcends into an idea, a key to a locked box of nihilism. A mirror through which one ponders the consequences of living with romantic ideas of meaning. An innocence so frail that his closest community cares for his heart so urgently that he self-destructs.

Eva and Maeve. The former a fairy-tale romance and the other a sensible companion. One who embraces the risks of a full life and the other dedicated to the caretaking of a father and husband. Which is more beautiful? I don’t think Billy could decide.

A Catholic faith. A crucified savior who poured forth his blood in triumph over a death that modern culture now accepts as a part of Life. An acceptance that eases the pain that leads to a heavenly reward. Which is the more righteous path? I don’t think Billy could decide.

Alcohol. The poisonous elixir which heals all wounds while desecrating one’s body into a singular trauma. The murderous culprit, the symptom defied and combated by Billy’s family as they pour another whiskey for themselves; selfishly avoiding the source, administering a painful withdrawal treatment, the truth of his pain. His poetic view of the world. Which is the better choice? To nurture one’s own hope for a meaningful existence through the slight chance of a believer thriving? Or burst his bubble? Maybe Billy could have decided.

I struggle with McDermott’s narrative style. Even upon completing the book, I can only assume that Billy’s niece wrote it and this I’m not even sure of. I don’t mind the non-linear storyline. I wish McDermott would show more than tell. But she achieves an intimate portrait of her impression of Irish life in New York in the 20th century. A portrait to which I feel we can all relate. The extent to which we lie and build illusions, only to see it mix like water in an oil that eventually confounds us and exploits our weaknesses. What is kinder? To lie or expose the truth? Dennis decided. Maeve decided. Danny decided. I wonder what Billy would have thought.