IRISH LOVE

Go west (to County Galway), young McGrails, says Father Greeley—and that they do for the fifth installment in this blarney-drenched series (Irish Eyes, 2000, etc.).

’Tis a wondrous thing altogether to have Nuala Anne as a wife, Dermot Michael is prepared to tell the world. And he does—relentlessly. Not only is she talented, smart, super with her kids, eager as a lover, and cute on top of it, but she adds an extra fillip by being one of the “dark ones”—gifted with the second sight plus. Standing on the site of a century-old mass murder, for instance, Nuala Anne can see real blood running. And if a dog-eared manuscript exists detailing the awful event, she can envision its forgotten hidey hole. The way this series works, you see, is that the McGrails must confront parallel mysteries—one from Column A, historical; the other from Column B, contemporary. This time, there’s that horrific long-ago crime and the hanging that followed with unseemly haste. Did the sentence in any way represent justice, or was it instead a shameless railroading? Fast-forward to the present and the malevolence aimed at the McGrails and friends—threats, attempts at severe bodily harm. Is someone trying to scare them off their land? If so, why? But, for Dermot Michael, the transcendent issue has to do with the sweet sound of Nuala Anne’s world-class voice. After giving birth to her son, Nuala Anne, in the throes of postpartum depression, nixed her spectacular singing career. If she warbles again, Dermot Michael knows, having been told as much by a grandmotherly Jewish therapist, it will be because she’s fully restored to robust health. So . . . will you, won’t you, Nuala Anne? “Och, Dermot Michael, don’t be an eejit.”

Whether in Chicago, or thousands of miles away, the kitschy McGrails remain Irish goo.