WE DON'T KNOW OURSELVES

Irish journalist and critic O’Toole offers a chronicle, personal and historical, of the profound changes that have come to his homeland in his lifetime.

“The transformation of Ireland over the last sixty years has sometimes felt as if a new world had landed from outer space on top of an old one,” writes the author, a frequent contributor to the New York Review of Books and Irish Times. Since his birth in 1958, the fundamental character of Ireland as a poor, rural backwater left out of the postwar European economic miracle has changed. Ireland became a hotbed of economic activity in which, as elsewhere, those who were not prepared for the technological world were left behind, though lately the island has slipped back into post-boom quietude. Things were good while they lasted, writes O’Toole: “The boom…was a giant machine for sucking in borrowed money that the Irish used mostly for buying bits of the country from each other at ever more inflated prices and, when they ran out of bits of Ireland, doing the same with bits of other, sunnier islands.” Nonfinancial changes also came swiftly, as a kind of uneasy peace has taken the place of civil war in the northern counties under British rule, and Ireland has acquired a cultural sophistication that goes beyond the “hysteria and self-caricature” of Riverdance. Interestingly, O’Toole writes, for a nation that was once conservative and Catholic, religion is less central than before, and liberal reforms have been made in such realms as abortion rights and same-sex marriage. “When I was born, there was no future and now there is no future again,” he writes near the end of his astute analysis. He argues that this is positive, since it allows for a nondogmatic, adaptable approach to whatever comes as opposed to “the pretence of knowing everything and the denial of what you really do know,” a knowing return to his title.

A superb illustration of how the personal is the political and can be the universal.