A vividly written account of the author’s encounters with one of Ireland’s most notorious murderers.
In 1982, Malcolm Macarthur, an idle member of Ireland’s once-landed gentry, mortally wounded a young nurse while stealing her car, then called on a farmer who had a shotgun for sale, killed him with his own weapon, and drove off in his car. Improbably, he then holed up in the home of Ireland’s attorney general, a friend. He was finally found and arrested, yielding a multilevel scandal. “The people of Dublin know this story well,” writes O’Connell, author of Notes From an Apocalypse. “But we know it only as a story….He pleaded guilty, and so no evidence was heard in court.” The story took a different turn when John Banville, the subject of O’Connell’s doctoral dissertation in literature, wrote a novel that borrowed liberally from the Macarthur case. O’Connell not only studied Banville, but also decided to find the recently paroled Macarthur—who bore a striking resemblance to the novelist—to hear his side of the story. It wasn’t easy to find the killer, but finally, “very tentatively and politely,” O’Connell was able to approach him. Thus began a quest for understanding that, while not exactly cat and mouse, was a study in misdirection and vague asides, leading the interviewer to early despair: “As soon as I begin to see him, as soon as I believe I have grasped him as a subject, he slips away into darkness, and I know no more, and perhaps even less, than I did to begin with.” Erudite, seemingly emotionless, haughty, absolutely unrepentant, and elusive, Macarthur evaded easy analysis. The resulting picture of the killer is seen as if through a proverbial dark glass—and it’s as chilling, in the end, as any Hitchcock film.
A superb study of real-life crime and punishment, to say nothing of sociopathy in action.