I’ve just finished reading the book of Andrew Michael Hurley called “The Loney”. Stephen King said “its an amazing piece of fiction”, and he is right. Why have I picked this book at the store..? I don’t know. But I can tell you I’m really glad I did. “The Loney” is a book about Everything 🙂
- about religious families and their kids who grew up in the environment where they have to serve to God, think about each step they make: how to keep the God and Mummer happy?
- about lies, pretending, loosing faith and the struggles, about the road to places where you can find the peace again;
- about hell and paradise, love and hate, desperate hope and the suicide;
- about the secrets: of priests, brothers, lovers, criminals…and even demons?
- about the beauty of the sea, hidden places of England, forgotten stories;
- about the death and life, Eternity and Doom, old houses and a small city, relationships, loneliness and miracles.
I’m going to post a short excerpt from a book and let you decide.
“I have a question for you, boys,” – he said, patting his Bible. “Come the Day of Judgement, who is to be cast down the deepest?”
Paul immediately raised his hand.
“Heathens?” he said.
“No”, said father Wilfred. “Even lower than the heathens.”
“Protestants?” said Paul.
Father Wilfred stopped abruptly and stood in front of Henry.
“What do you think, McCullough?”
Henry looked up at him nervously.
Father Wilfred shook his head.
“No, McCullough,” he said. “The people I’m talking about will look on with envy at the punishments of murderers.”
“Fornicators,” Paul said suddenly.
“Close, Peavey. Onanists,’ said Father Wilfred. ‘Wicked little fellows who have too much time on their hands.’
Henry looked down at his feet.
‘McCullough, your mother tells me that you are an onanist.’
‘Are you calling your mother a liar?’
Henry said nothing.
‘Then what she tells me is true?’
Henry put his head in his hands and Father Wilfred curled his top lip as though he had smelled something unpleasant.
‘Sinful boy,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have time for that kind of behaviour when I was your age. I was too busy begging for the scraps the butchers dog wouldn’t even eat, to feed my family and the family next door. Think of the Poor next time you’re tempted; they don’t have idle hands, lad. They are either working or praying for work.’
‘I’m sorry, Father.’ Henry sobbed.
Father Wilfred continued to glare at Henry, but held out his hands towards me and Paul, and after a moment where we looked at one another uncertainly, we passed him the nettles, which he took from us without flinching.
‘Hands,’ he said to Henry.
‘Give me your hands.’
Henry held out his hands and Father Wilfred put the nettles into his open palms.
‘Squeeze them,’ he said.
‘Please, Father,’ Henry said. I wont do it again.’
‘Squeeze them, McCullough.’
Henry gently closed his hands and Father Wilfred suddenly clamped them tight. Henry cried out, but Father Wilfred only crushed them harder until green juice seeped out from between his fingers and run down his arms.
‘Believe me, McCullough, this is nothing to the pain onanists receive in Hell.’