Troubles by J. G. Farrell

A colonial power, hated and feared by the natives. The colonizers are inclined to view the natives as dangerous, terrorists, sub-human. In their view, all of the natives are bad--well, maybe a few are all right, but you can never tell them apart from each other by looking at them.

A subclass of the natives see themselves as the buffer between the colonizers and the natives (and, quite incidentally, as the natural leaders of the natives).

There are also those who are more than happy to take advantage of confusion and fitful violence in order to enrich and empower themselves.

And most tragically, or perhaps, pathetically, the liberals: those who sympathize with the other side (usually colonizers sympathizing with the natives), and who defend them, even when it is not in their best interest to do so. Their actions are not appreciated or regarded in the least bit highly by the side they are defending, due to an unfortunate tendency to patronize instead of empathize--and ultimately the loyalties to the side they originally come from doom them.

The basic problem is that neither side wishes to view their counterparts as human, or at least, fully human. Liberals do acknowledge the humanity of their counterparts, but are unable or unwilling to do anything about it.

The sad part about what I've written is how many times and places it is applicable to: India, South Africa, Southeast Asia, Tibet, Serbia, Afghanistan, Iraq.

Troubles, by J. G. Farell was published in 1970. As you might guess from the title and year of publication, it is indeed about Ireland--though not about the specific Troubles that were current that year. Rather, the novel is a period piece, set in the turbulent months just before the declaration of an independent Irish state.

Most of the novel takes place in a deteriorating hotel, the Majestic, in a remote part of Southern Ireland, on the coast of the Irish Sea.  (That I was staying in an old hotel named the Majestic when I read the novel is a coincidence verging on the spectacular).

Major Brendan Archer is an Englishman, a recently demobbed officer from the trenches of the Great War. Too wealthy to actually need an occupation, he travels to the Hotel Majestic to visit a girl he met briefly before going off to war, who then subsequently appointed herself his fiancee. Although he never asked her to marry him, he does and did not object to this engagement, as he is very easygoing, and there was always a very good chance he might have died after all. But he survived the war, and so he goes to Ireland to end the engagement, one way or another.

Life at the Majestic turns out to be rather extraordinary: it's been decades since "better days"--so many years of neglect have gone by, the hotel is literally falling apart--holes in the plaster, in the roof, in the floors. Huge hosts of vermin and of cats virtually taking over some parts of the hotel. When some rooms become uninhabitable, it is easier simply to move to a new room than to try and fix the old.

The guests of the hotel consist mostly of elderly women who remember the hotel in better days. Why they themselves do not go on to better lodgings is partially due to habit, partially to nostalgia, and partially due to inability to pay. In effect, the Majestic has become a home for indigent widows.

The Major (as he is generally known throughout the novel) tries to speak to Angela (his fiancee) one-on-one, but finds it difficult to do so. Either she is already engaged in conversation with someone else, or she is not to be found at all. Much more accessible is Angela's friend Sarah, a rather caustic Irish girl who take a dim view of the British, but who the Major finds fascinating.

After a brief sojourn to Dublin, the Major decamps back to London for awhile to visit his elderly aunt, his only living relative. He is visited there by Sarah, who he finds more and more attractive. Eventually he returns to the Majestic, free of his engagement, and attempts, clumsily, to woo Sarah.

The 'Troubles', however, become a topic of tremendous importance, as acts of violence large and small occur across the island--the newspapers, it is pointed out, only write stories about the most appalling murders, while smaller crimes are printed in digest form. Edward Spencer, owner of the Majestic and father of Angela is militant in his opposition to Sinn Fein and the IRA, sure in his belief that only overwhelming violent force against the populace at large can win the day. The fact that he is unwilling, or perhaps unable to temper his rather extreme opinions in front of Catholic Irish indicate that his future in Ireland may meet an unhappy conclusion.

As the winter draws near, the hotel deteriorates faster and faster, and Edward, to the Major's discomfort becomes isolated and weird. Worse, Sarah seems as difficult to talk to as Angela had been previously.

The climax of the novel is a Spring Ball held at the Majestic: Edward, suddenly taking an interest once more in his hotel, has the building partially spruced up, invites prominent local families (primarily of the Unionist, protestant persuasion, of course), and throws a do like they used to have decades ago. Against all expectations, the ball goes well--at first. As the evening continues, things go off the rails, as the Major's relationship with Sarah comes to a head. Eventually, just about everything that could possibly go wrong, does.

The novel ends shortly before the end of the Irish War of Independence, with virtually everything destroyed that once was seen as permanent and unmoving.

At the time of its original publication, Troubles was not eligible for the Booker Prize. For the first two years of its existence, the Booker Prize was awarded early in the year, with the eligibility period being, primarily, the year before. In 1971, the award was moved to late in the year, with books published the same year being eligible. As a result, there was a window of several months in 1970 during which books first published then were not eligible for either the 1970 or 1971 awards. In 2010, the Booker Prize Foundation decided to correct that oversight by holding a "Lost" Booker Prize for books that fell within that window.

Troubles is definitely a worthy winner of the Lost Booker Prize. It's startlingly well-written with an array of distinct, vivid characters. The tone of the novel varies between sadness for a way of life going extinct, anger at the violence and low value of human life during the Troubles, and humor at the ridiculousness of trying to maintain a refined existence in the absurdly run-down hotel.

I was reminded of two other great novels when reading Troubles. The setting of a hotel where, it seemed, hardly anyone ever leaves was like a dissonant echo of Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, the difference being, in Mann's novel, the protagonist eventually leaves the (in much better condition) sanatorium in order to fight in the first World War--the same conflict the Major is returning from to begin his indefinite hotel stay.

It's also hard to think about the ball sequence without remembering a similar set-piece in Lampedusa's The Leopard, another novel about the violent death of the old order, though in the Italian work, the prince's ball ends considerably more successfully.

Troubles was a true pleasure to read, a very fine novel. I'm now looking forward to getting to the 1973 winner, The Siege of Krishnapur, also by Farrell, and, so I'm told, a sort of a prequel to Troubles.

Next up: the first Nobel laureate on the list: In a Free State  by V. S. Naipaul.