The New York Times
His voice is wonderfully appealing...
— Carol Peace Robins
Library Journal
When Charles McGlinchey (1861-1954) was in his eighties, local school teacher Patrick Kavanaugh decided to record the stories McGlinchey told him during their biweekly visits. McGlinchey, a weaver living in a small parish in County Donegal, Ireland, had never married and had outlived all his family (thus the book's title). Fascinated by the parish's local history and lore, Kavanaugh recorded McGlinchey's autobiography in his own repetitive colloquial speech, mixing English and Irish with occasional bog Latin. Thirty years later, the manuscript found its way to Brian Friel, who gave the oral history its present form. Originally published in Belfast in 1986, this book reads like a collaboration between Frank McCourt (Angela's Ashes) and Mitch Albom (Tuesdays with Morrie). Evoking herbal remedies while ignoring the world wars, this evocation of a simpler time is recommended for libraries with Irish literature and genealogy collections.--Pam Kingsbury, Florence, AL Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
A small and beautiful collection of folksy stories, told by an Irish weaver, that vividly reflects the powerful oral traditions of rural Ireland. Edited by Irish playwright Friel, McGlinchey's stories succeed in capturing the vanished world of 19th-century County Donegal. While McGlinchey's life (1861–1954) spanned a turbulent historical era, his stories are relentlessly local. There are delightful tales of rampaging cattle, drunken schoolteachers, country fairs, and disappearing witches. Not once does McGlinchey mention the 1916 Easter Rising, the Irish Civil War, or WWII, though he lived through them all. Passed down through generations, these stories serve many purposes: to entertain, to educate, to poke fun at authority, to justify the teller, and to praise righteous living. Throughout the telling, McGlinchey's language is as fresh and invigorating as mountain air: "On Sundays in the summer-time all the boys of an age in the townland went up the brook fishing. We fished with our hands. We started up high near the foot of Bulaba and dug sods and stopped up the river. Then we went down and fished." We learn about farm animals, making poteen (moonshine), shearing sheep, and home remedies for various ailments ("The lick of a dog's tongue was good for a cut or a sore"). Bit by bit, McGlinchey paints a detailed portrait of his own life and the history of his community. While these stories have great intrinsic value, such as the fanciful tale of a piper who gets trapped in a cave, they also have clear anthropological worth. McGlinchey's Ireland is gone forever, replaced by a global village of television, computers, and instant communication. Yet to be brought to a Christmas "housedance," where McColgan the blind fiddler played reels and the dancing went on all night, is a rare treat indeed. Brimming with imagination, humor, and subtle wit, McGlinchey's tales will bring a wistful smile to any modern reader's face.
