Yeats Is Dead!: A Mystery by Fifteen Irish Writers (Hardcover)

All in all it is a very fun collection of work, and edifying as well in the sense that the reader may find a new author or two to try out after putting this one down. Because of the nature of this type of work, naturally the writing styles and quality vary greatly from one chapter to the next. This fact in itself will disturb the reader that attempts to take the novel too seriously. Although why this feat is even attempted when you are reading about a ginger haired young Irishman who likes to speak in American ghetto slang is beyond me.

"Yeats Is Dead!" is the literary version of a midrange relay race; or of that party game in which a story is built one word or one sentence at a time, added in turns by each of the participants, often with hilarious results, particularly if the players abandon the idea of creating a story that actually makes sense and take off in whatever direction their fancy takes them. Here, the participants are fifteen Irish writers of varying calibers with a very well-developed sense of humor, who each get to add one chapter to the story, and the results are hilarious indeed. Bodies fall like flies, allusions to Joyce abound, and Irish cliches are jiggled by the dozen, from "O Danny Boy" (here: in a Rasta version) to bars serving whiskey and very strangely named drinks indeed, and accents from working class Dublin to Limerick and beyond. (And can there possibly be a more Irish-sounding name than Grainne O'Kelly?) Even one of Ireland's football - i.e., soccer - heroes, ex-midfielder turned sports journalist Eamon Dunphy (yes, that one) gets his fair share of shots from the authors' collective hips.

The book follows the example of the two short story collections "Finbar's Hotel" and "Lady's Night at Finbar's Hotel," likewise collaborative efforts by some of modern Ireland's best-known authors. Unlike those two collections, however, "Yeats Is Dead!" discloses the authors of the individual chapters; and unlike them, it also pretends not to contain several loosely-connected short stories but one continuous, novel-length storyline - for whatever that's worth, though, given the book's general premise and the differing styles and approaches of its writers. Contributors include acclaimed writers Roddy Doyle, Frank McCourt, Gene Kerrigan, Anthony Cronin and Joseph O'Connor (who also served as the book's editor), playwrights Conor McPherson and Gerard Stembridge, comedian Owen O'Neill, sports writer Tom Humphries, and others. Roddy Doyle gets to deliver the opening salvo, which is of course a hard act to follow - personally, I would rather have seen him write the final chapter; and I would also have loved to see a contribution from the editor (and co-contributor) of "Finbar's Hotel," Dermot Bolger. But from the murder by heart attack which starts it all to the surviving cast members' final conclave in (where else?) a bar in County Limerick, this is one great frolicking literary tour de force. It's not great literature; nor does it pretend to be ... just fifteen Irish writers poking fun at themselves, their country and the mystery genre, and they had me laughing out loud a lot in the process. Definitely. O yes.

No one does a better job than Roddy Doyle who opens this 15 chapter book and sets a high water mark that the balance of fourteen must either match, approach or miss miserably. Having this particular writer lead off, in hindsight, may have been an error, for the best the reader could hope for was that others would keep up, or keep quite close. And when they did not the chapters are jarringly poor.

The book is worth the read not because the story is unique and clever, it is neither. The story is one you have read variations on before, and as it progresses it runs out of the cleverness it does manage, and only barely at times, and consistently and without pause begins a slow slide to the end. The irony is that the end of the tale, which can be most charitably described as not only raunchy, but just plain poor in its execution, was done by an author that probably had the least claim to be here. Frank McCourt wrote his original memoir that has a firm spot in literary history, its sequel was a shadow of the original, and this chapter numbered 15 will hopefully soon be forgotten. It is true he has sold a mountain of books, but doing it many times is a feat he has yet to prove. Playing anchor, batting clean up, was not the appropriate spot for him here.

A good tale requires more than a pair of marquee names as bookends; it requires two solid sides, not one. The best rationale for reading this book is for the gems of writers you will find in between the two men I have named. This is a case where the whole is much less than the sum of its parts, an interesting exercise, but one not tightly controlled or edited. So enjoy the quality and discard the balance, what is left is much shorter than the 15 chapters but you are sure to find several new authors you will follow with great satisfaction.