IN KILTUMPER

A celebration of the solace of country life.

In 1985, Williams, a novelist and playwright, and Breen, a novelist and memoirist, moved from New York to the west of Ireland, to land that had been in Breen’s family for generations. In their latest co-authored chronicle, they recount one year’s rhythms and pleasures, marked by worries, too, over Breen’s health—she has had bowel cancer and is being treated for severe osteoporosis—and the imminent arrival of wind turbines 500 meters from their home. To deliver the machinery, stone walls had to be demolished and their narrow country road widened—regrettable changes. Once the turbines are running, the authors are not sure they will be able to live with the noise. Although they acknowledge the peril of climate change and recognize the need to stop using fossil fuels, the proximity of the turbines feels invasive. Williams is in favor of wind energy “in the ocean. As is the case off the east coast of America, where they have put the turbines fifty-six kilometres out to sea, so they cannot be seen from the land.” Later, he wonders, “How much of the world do we have to spoil in order to save it?” These concerns, however, don’t diminish their delight in their garden, which they describe in graceful, evocative prose. Breen, Williams admits, is “the real gardener,” with a “whole-garden view” and intuitive connection to soil and plants. Williams is the “groundsman,” a role Breen underscores. Both in their 60s, they also reflect on family (their grown children live in New York), loss, and the passage of time, “something a garden keeps redefining in plant terms, not human ones.” Country living, Breen reflects, teaches “about darkness and stars, about sunlight and silence, about things out of your control”: about the inevitability of change. The book includes Breen’s elegant botanical drawings.

A warm homage to a piece of beloved Irish land.