Motivated to expand my historical knowledge of the sectarian tension and violence that plagued Northern Ireland in the late 20th century, I excitedly grabbed this book and flew it up to my Boston apartment (where a sizable population of Irish people resides, I might add). Say Nothing might be marketed as a biography, but it’s also important to keep in mind that Patrick Radden Keefe is a prolific storyteller whose principal objective is to introduce “The Troubles,” as they are commonly known, through key players in the conflict.
Some might argue that Keefe takes an overly sympathetic view toward the Irish Republican Army members he studies (particularly Dolours Price, Brendan Hughes, and Gerry Adams) and a decidedly less sympathetic view toward the British forces they were fighting against. He traces the origins of Dolours’ resolute pro-united Ireland, anti-English outlook with great detail, demonstrating how her enlistment in the IRA was a product of a fiercely Republican family. The opening account of the ambush of Republican protestors at Burntollet bridge by a Unionist mob (during which Dolours and her sister were beaten) is particularly gut-wrenching.
“In some countries, there were debates about the aggregate numbers of people who were buried in unmarked graves. In Northern Ireland, you could list the [disappeared] victims on the back of an envelope…But to name the dead was one thing. To find them was another.”
p. 304
With that said, Keefe does not simply gloss over the IRA’s war crimes. The tragic tale of Jean McConville, who was abducted and murdered by the IRA in 1972, runs like a poignant threat throughout the book, serving as a consistent narrative about the toll of war on the everyday civilian even as Keefe introduces readers to various other people and circumstances. As the narrative shifts from the immediate aftermath of Jean’s disappearance to the decades-long impact her disappearance had on her ten children and their desperate attempts to seek justice for her years later, the underlying message is clear: there are no “good guys” in war, and both sides leave victims behind. The emotional fallout from a childhood spent orphaned, in the midst of a war zone, is evident in the McConville children’s inability to remember the dates of their mother’s alleged beating by the IRA and subsequent abduction. “In the midst of tumult and tragedy, nobody is consulting the calendar,” Keefe writes.
Keefe also touches on the murkiness behind McConville’s disappearance—was she an informant for the British, or not? In what ways was speculation on her disappearance affected by investigators’ political leanings? I find it especially interesting that Keefe draws a parallel between the politically-motivated accounts of individual disappearances, such as that of Jean McConville, and the politically-motivated retellings of history documented in the Boston College Belfast Tapes. As the academics behind the tapes fight to preserve the confidentially vows they made to their IRA interviewees in the face of a government subpoena, the parallel storyline of Jean McConville runs alongside their legal battles. As truths come to light about some of the internal workings of the IRA, the truth about McConville is submerged. In the aftermath of a war, which truths are laid out in the open, and which truths vanish? The answer depends on who is telling these truths and who would be affected by their telling.
Before I embark on the unhinged rant of a literary nerd/history buff, I will stop myself and leave the decision to read this account of The Troubles to you. I do recommend it highly, and I do think that regardless of your personal views regarding this conflict, you will feel capable of engaging in a much more thorough historical analysis when you finish reading. This isn’t a thrill-delivering retelling of violence and gore—it’s an exploration of the individuals and groups who drove this war, their motives, and their memories post-conflict.
