Book Review: The Language of Remembering by Patrick Holloway

As a result, a debut Irish novelist always draws attention; I so deeply trust their ability to deliver a story that will be compelling at the very least, and searing at its best. The Language of Remembering by Patrick Holloway is no exception; it is an accomplished piece of work.

The Power of Language

The Language of Remembering might be Holloway’s debut novel, but he is no stranger to writing. This fascination with speech and storytelling has brought Holloway many accolades, including winning the 2023 Bath Short Story Award and the Molly Keane Creative Writing Competition, and featuring in the likes of The Stinging Fly, Carve, and The Moth. He is also the founder and editor of Cork literary magazine Four Faced Liar.

Holloway went to the University of North Carolina Wilmington to study Creative Writing, and furthered honed his craft with a MFA in Glasgow. It was here he would meet his future wife Cintia, a Brazilian from Porto Algere, who he would eventually move across the globe for, staying in Brazil for nine years. His decision to come home and commit to writing more seriously gave rise to a novel about an Irish man and his young family returning from Brazil, one unmistakably threaded with Holloway’s personal experience. It is these elements of truth that I believe makes for such a strong story; the emotion feels raw and lived in.

The plot of The Language of Remembering is a straightforward one. When his mother Brigid is diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s, Oisín leaves Brazil and returns to Cork with his wife and young daughter. But as Brigid, in her early fifties, reverts to speaking Irish amid her illness – the language of her own father – Oisín’s inability to understand her only intensifies the distance between mother and son. Ironically despite his work as a translator, Oisín struggles to bridge the gap between himself and his mother as she reverts to Irish. What should come naturally to him is instead a source of inadequacy and grief. It is an emotional sucker punch that the reader feels acutely due to the unique use of the second-person narration throughout Oisín’s chapters.

For Oisín, returning “home” feels almost like a new emigration. Brazil had become his true home; Cork is a place that feels increasingly alien. His wife Nina struggles to adapt, forced into precarious call-centre work, while Oisín himself is weighed down by guilt, nostalgia, and the pressures of a country in housing crisis.

“You speak funny.”

The result is a moving exploration of identity, belonging, and the power of language – how it can both unite and divide, heal and estrange. It’s a topic Holloway understands all too well. Having moved from Chichester in Sussex to Cork, Ireland when he was five, he realised the power of the spoken word early, and how much it builds an identity on your behalf. He was able to speak the same language as his peers, but his accent caused initial problems. It could have been the difference between acceptance and exile. In a piece by Echo Live, Holloway said this of his experience assimilating into Irish primary school:

“The [English] accent was very obvious to my classmates and my soon-to-be best friend announced to the class: “You speak funny.” I had said yaw-ghurt instead of yo-ghurt. I think it was then I realised the power of the spoken word, and how a syllable could suddenly make you the same or the other.”

From a young age, Holloway understood the importance of language.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Character Story

The novel is split into two, the past, from Oisín’s perspective (Then) and the present from Brigid’s (Now). This has a dual function; it both provides context to the story we’re reading about Oisín, but it also shows the time in Brigid’s life that her illness is taking her to. It reinforces the themes of generational trauma, by having these two moments in time run parallel to one another.

One of the most striking aspects of Holloway’s writing is his refusal to flatten characters into clichés. James, Oisín’s father, is a prime example. He is neither the saintly supportive partner nor the stereotypical runaway teenage father. Instead, he is portrayed as a frightened young man, stumbling as he faces responsibilities he isn’t ready for. This complexity makes the novel feel grounded, human, and emotionally truthful. Holloway takes a similar approach when writing Oisín. It is clear that he is ultimately a good man, but he makes some huge mistakes in his attempt to assimilate back into Irish life. He is by no means a perfect person, and the novel acknowledges that. It makes for a more interesting story, and a more complex character – through the reading of this novel, it’s clear that Holloway is a master of his craft.

Oisín doesn’t know who he is in Ireland. He devolves into someone self-serving – the seemingly perfect family man he was in Brazil barely a reflection in the mirror back in the country where he was born. You are often angry at Oisín, but we experience this as anger towards himself too, given the second-person narration. Throughout Oisín experiences what Brazilians call saudades, a word that isn’t entirely easy to translate, but essentially refers to a melancholy and longing or nostalgia for another place. In this case, Oisín feels it for his life in Brazil, or perhaps more importantly, feels it for who he was in Brazil. While Ireland certainly has its own shortcomings in the book, Oisin blames himself for not being able to adapt, for not being able to belong in the country where he was born.

A Moving Debut Novel That Signals A Long Career Ahead

At just 222 pages, The Language of Remembering manages to hold extraordinary depth. Like fellow Irish author Sally Rooney’s work, it deals with miscommunication and fractured relationships, but here the motif is more literal – language itself becomes the barrier as Brigid retreats further into a past where Oisín cannot follow.

Éire to Everywhere, as a concept, concerns itself with stories of emigration, and this one comes full circle. While many of the novels we have looked at explore those who are still based in their chosen home (I Want To Go Home But I’m Already There, Ordinary Saints) this novel does not. Oisín’s struggle is a common one amongst emigrants coming home, but it is complex nonetheless. Having found a new home in Brazil, and a new family, the return to the land where was born almost holds only pain for him. He feels the pressure and burden of being the reason he has uprooted his family, but equally feels guilt over his inability to care for his mother full-time. Oisín can’t even communicate with her as she speaks as Gaeilge more and more. He can’t get a mortgage, having arrived back into a country that has notoriously been battling a housing crisis for the better part of 20 years. That Nina is forced to work in an English-speaking call centre only emphasises the significance of language in this the novel.

This is a book about loss, identity, and the impossibility of fully going home again. It’s about the fractures illness and migration create, and the imperfect attempts we make to repair them. Holloway’s prose is lyrical and affecting, and this debut signals the beginning of what I’m sure will be a long and distinguished career. We’re delighted to welcome him to speak with us about his novel on 25th September as part of our Éire to Everywhere series, to discuss what inspired him and how his personal journey informed his writing.

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