Lawrence Donegan's dream is a modest one, really. An intrepid journalist, acclaimed author, erstwhile pop-music star, and drolly anthropological social critic, Donegan longs for the quiet life, far from the crowds, filth, and all-around dreariness of big-city life. Here, then, is the hilarious, sharp-edged, and oddly touching account of one man's pursuit of his own private, seemingly simple escape to a tiny Irish town.
Once he has carefully selected a wardrobe to suit such an ambitious urban exodus (boxer shorts or Y-fronts?), anguished over the perfect soundtrack for his sabbatical (Duran Duran or Blonde on Blonde?), and bidden extended farewells to fond friends (total time elapsed: six minutes), our hero is unmoored at last, faced with a seemingly limitless array of possible destinations. His choice? Where else but the exceedingly rural, and reputedly quaint, Irish village of Creeslough?
After dabbling briefly-and bloodily-in the exotic world of Creeslough-style farming (he dubs his experience "Quentin Tarantino's All Creatures Great and Small"), Donegan decides to flex his bigcity writing chops. He lands a job at the Tirconaill Tribune, a blindly idealistic, libel-slinging tabloid run by two men and a dog. No News At Throat Lake is the charming story of a passionate love affair between the big-city hack and the small-time rag. It ponders the question that every foreigner wants to know about Ireland -- what's it like to live there, anyway? -- as well as some unexpected curiosities: Does Meryl Streep drink Guinness? What's it like to produce a newspaper with a dead body in the house? And what's the story behind Stinky, the dead whale?
Sublimely funny and effortlessly hip, No News At Throat Lake is an altogether refreshing memoir of Irish life and times -- from one of the most wickedly observant talents writing today.
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Despite talk of the economic "Celtic Tiger" and Dublin's growing clout as a high-tech center, the Ireland of the imagination is still the Ireland of village and bog, with 40 shades of green and pints of creamy Guinness for young and old alike. In No News at Trout Lake, Lawrence Donegan first journeys to the village of Creeslough in search of such stereotypes, but his book succeeds not by celebrating clichés but by exploring the complexity and contradictions beneath them.
Caught in the throes of a premature midlife crisis, Donegan, a London journalist, pulls up stakes and moves to an Irish village he once visited on holiday. The book chronicles his (mis)adventures there, from an abortive attempt at cattle farming (described here as "Quentin Tarantino's All Creatures Great and Small") through a series of exploits with the rambunctious editors of the Tirconaill Tribune, a feisty local paper. Donegan relates his experiences, which include a hunt for a whale tooth and a visit from Newt Gingrinch, and describes his companions in Creeslough with great intimacy and wit. This is certainly not the final word on "the Irish character," if such a thing even exists, but Donegan's story abounds with charming characters, Irish and otherwise, providing a meditation on small-town life that is at once universal and as unique as the Irish village it describes. --Andrew NielandAbout the Author:
Lawrence Donegan was born in Scotland in 1961. Before joining London's Guardian as a journalist, he played bass guitar with two successful pop groups, the Bluebells and Lloyd Cole and the Commotions. Donegan is the acclaimed author of Maybe It Should Have Been a Three Iron, which was named the best book of the year by the U.S. Golf Association.
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Descripción Penguin Books, 2000. Paperback. Estado de conservación: New. book. Nº de ref. de la librería M0140277536