Dealing with the Troubles: The Ghosts of Belfast by Stuart Neville and Gallows Lane by Brian McGilloway – review

My BSC partners in crime (yes, I am not above such lame statements), Brian Lindenmuth and Keith Rawson, have already shouted to the heavens about the awesomeness that is The Ghosts of Belfast by first-time novelist Stuart Neville. I wish I were cool enough to shit on where they have praised, but there’s really no getting around it – the book fucking rules, done and done. But my blogjob on Neville’s masterpiece comes with a freebie on some shit you maybe haven’t heard enough about: the Inspector Benedict Devlin series from fellow Irishman Brian McGilloway, in particular the second in the series following Borderlands, Gallows Lane.

But first, let’s tackle the book of the moment, The Ghosts of Belfast. It follows Gerry Fegan, a former IRA thug who is haunted by the ghosts of his victims, twelve of them in all. One night while getting drunk in an old Belfast watering hole he notices one of the ghosts pointing a thumb and forefinger (in other words, a finger gun) at an old mate’s head. When Gerry takes the initiative and blows the fucker away, the ghost disappears. Thus begins Gerry’s search for redemption via serial murder. But though the IRA may be “officially” disbanded, they’re still not about to let somebody killing their own slide, and soon enough all the evidence points to crazy old Gerry Fegan.

Now, just in case you’re worried about the whole supernatural aspect of the book, let me say that yes, there is no getting around that the ghosts are otherworldly. There are a few spots in the book where Neville slyly lets it be known that no, this shit is not all in Gerry’s head. But don’t let that shit deter you, because, good God, is this shit good.

The violence is harsh, the plot is twisty, and the exploration of the, well, ghosts left by the Troubles is smart and seemingly authentic. That said, the characters are what truly make this shit hit home. Yeah, Gerry Fegan is a beautifully tragic and completely engaging figure, but I think the real star of Ghosts of Belfast is the informant, Davy Campbell.

Campbell is a Scotsman who has been in the thick of it for years and years now, to the point he knows nothing else. We’ve read books and seen movies about undercover cops getting in “too deep,” but never have we seen anybody as completely fucked up as Davy. In no way is this guy any more moral or righteous than any of the thugs he has been palling around with all these years, yet he has a handler, so that obviously makes it all alright. As Gerry’s body count rises, Davy starts to realize that his handlers are actually more than happy to have a mad man killing off all the boyos of the bad old days. What’s more, his handlers think it might be time Davy stepped down from his assignment, an act that is truly unthinkable to a man who has devoted his life to violence and deception. His storyline is kind of like a fucked-up Irish Peckinpah story of a modern gunfighter unwilling to get with the times and hang up his guns.

And speaking of characters, can you think of a better first scene for a character than Bull O’Kane’s entrance toward the end of the novel? Bull is a character we hear about through the whole fucking book, to the point where you’re like, “There’s no way this dude is going to pay off after all this hype.” Then dude shows finally and has the most ridiculously badass entrance ever. God, so fucking cool.

Okay so I geeked out a bit there, but I think you get the point. If you didn’t, I was trying to say that yes, you should read The Ghosts of Belfast. Clear enough? Let’s fucking hope so.

Moving on, Brian McGilloway’s series about Inspector Devlin, a small-town cop in the far north of Ireland, isn’t as directly about The Troubles as The Ghosts of Belfast, but it is slyly peppered by the effects of those times on every page. McGilloway is a straight-up unapologetic mystery writer, but he does the form so goddamn well, even a mystery-basher like myself has to stand up and clap. His plots are extremely intricate but never stupid regarding logic, or even remotely coincidental, and his protagonist is very flawed, but not tragically, noirishly so. If you’re looking to breeze through a good potboiler but not feel like it’s pandering or pussy-assed, McGilloway’s your fucking man.

This time out, Devlin is assigned by the chief to keep an eye out on an ex-offender who has drifted his way into town. The guy claims he’s found God, and after Devlin meets him, he’s inclined to agree. Then an associate of the offender turns up dead. Then the offender himself turns up no-shit crucified. Think the two crimes could be linked? If you guessed yes, you’ve read a mystery before.

Now, like I said before, this shit is complex. There’s a number of events that, as a small town cop, Devlin has to deal with that also all end up paying off in the larger murder investigation as well. So you have to sprint to keep up with this one, it’s just that it doesn’t feel forced like so many mystery novels. McGilloway just has this knack for making you accept that yes, this is connected to that, and no, it doesn’t seem completely out of left field. Also, this time out Devlin does some much shadier shit to get his man. He’s not beating up suspects with phonebooks or shit like that, but he’s definitely getting into grayer areas this time, more so than Borderlands, where his main flaw was simply that he nearly fucked an old girlfriend.

I could talk about The Troubles more with this book, but it would give away some major plot points in Gallows Lane. Besides, it’s kind of cool just to see how subtly those terrible times affect the present in small-town Ireland.

So if you’re one of those readers who need to learn some shit about another cultures before you pick up a novel (which, if you are, cram your beret up your ass for your old pal the Nerd), then here’s two to add to the TBR pile. Thankfully, for the unpretentious readers of the world, The Ghosts of Belfast and Gallows Lane also manage to entertain and kick some fucking ass as well.