The Chosen

Now, she seems like a musical note which has escaped into the air that is the river of all music.

At night he goes into the dark, looks up at distant stars, miserable that knowledge has robbed us of the old certainties. Once we had souls, and souls went ‘up there’ when we died. Now, we have nothing, no souls, no destination, just an arithmetic of meaningless distances. An artist is commissioned to weave a tapestry for the council chamber of the town of Lost River. For this task, he must hear the stories of a random selection of the townsfolk – fifty-two in all, one for each week of the year – to discern the gestures by which he might define their lives. Their portraits represent an odyssey through humankind – the saintly, the insane, the larrikin, the prophet, the murdered, the murderer, the mindless materialist and the rich in spirit…people who ave caught a glimpse of something strange, perhaps the borders of a world behind everyday. His subjects are haunted by the death of one of their number in mysterious circumstances, while the artist is haunted by thoughts of Yarrow, the woman he loves but who is lost to him. Every page of this book offers a quotable gem, the most profound insights into the social, political, sexual, spiritual and humorous aspects of us all. This is vintage Ireland, possibly his best yet.