Readers of “Brooklyn” will recall that Eilis’s previous trip home came in the wake of Rose’s death. If you’re just joining her, Tóibín offers a succinct recap of that visit:
That summer, in Enniscorthy, Eilis had a romance with Jim Farrell. No one … knew that she was, by that time, married to Tony. They had got married in Brooklyn. Eilis had wanted to tell her mother as soon as she arrived home, but it was too hard because it meant that, no matter what, she would have to go back to America.
So she told no one, no one at all. And then, at summer’s end, she had abruptly left, just as Jim was making it clear that he wanted to marry her.
This loose end turns into the warp and woof of “Long Island.” Jim, who never married and never got over Eilis, manages a pub he inherited from his parents. He has been carrying on a discreet affair with Nancy, who had been Eilis’s best friend and who is now a widow running a chip shop in town. Jim and Nancy take pains to avoid the inquisitive eyes and judgmental tongues of their neighbors, but once Eilis shows up no secrets are safe.
Eilis herself, with her rented car and her Americanized attitudes, attracts envious, curious, suspicious scrutiny, including from her own mother. Meanwhile, her renewed connection with Jim and Nancy, coming on the heels of her marital crisis back home, sends her and the novel into a swirl of complicated feelings and difficult choices.
“Long Island” is both a sequel to “Brooklyn” and a companion to “Nora Webster,” Tóibín’s 2014 novel — his masterpiece, in my opinion — about another Enniscorthy woman’s struggle for autonomy. Eilis’s mother makes an appearance in that novel, which is set in the late 1960s and early ’70s. While events in the wider world are mentioned in all three books — the Troubles in Northern Ireland, the war in Vietnam — these are not historical novels in the usual sense. Tóibín’s interest is in the finer grain of individual perception.
He brings us close enough to Eilis, and to Nora, to see what and how they think, but not so close as to invade their privacy or compromise their dignity. In an autobiographical essay, Tóibín applied James Merrill’s description of Elizabeth Bishop to his own mother, who gave “a lifelong impersonation of an ordinary woman.” Nora and Eilis are drawn in similar terms, their ordinary experiences of migration, marriage and motherhood filtered through an intense and meticulously observed inner life. What holds the reader’s eye, in “Brooklyn” and “Nora Webster,” are not the external movements of a plot but the intimacy and accuracy of the portrait.
“Long Island” is a busier book than its predecessors, more exciting in some ways but in others less satisfying. There is more plot — more incidents and coincidences, more twists and revelations — and less Eilis. Her point of view alternates with Jim’s and Nancy’s, which heightens the drama but also feels like something of a betrayal. Like the busybodies of Enniscorthy, we are preoccupied with what Eilis will do next — no spoilers here — and less attentive to who she is. This exquisitely drawn, idiosyncratic soul turns out to be just another character in a novel after all.
LONG ISLAND | By Colm Tóibín | Scribner | 294 pp. | $28
