Chapter One

PART ONE · Ireland

THE SKY HAD BEEN RED IN THE MORNING BUT BY NIGHT IT TURNED black and a storm churned up the mountain called Long Woman's Grave from Carlingford Lough, lashing the small, whitewashed cottage and littering the yard with leaves and small cones from the trees standing around the cottage on three sides. The air had cooled now, although a soft rain still fell bringing with it a tangy smell of pine needles. Inside the cottage, Fallon had placed a new block of peat on the smoored fire and used the billows to pump the fire into life. Now he sat contented, reading by the fire, enjoying sips from the cup of tea at his elbow and the warmth of the fire and the sound of the rain dripping from the eaves. The room was cozy, a bachelor's room lined with bookcases overflowing with books. When he raised his eyes to their titles, his mind read them in the dim light: Rousseau's Confessions, Larkin's Red Branch Cycle, Lawrence's Sons and Lovers, The Fox, the sets of Dickens and Balzac, Yeats, some in collectors' first editions, a rare copy of Joyce's Ulysses rescued from a farmhouse attic near Armagh. Music r ... read full excerpt from Fallon's Wake ebook