Laird dazzles eye and ear with his kinetic prose . . . with a mere flick of description, [he] summons vast stretches of politics and history . . . the dynamism Laird has conjured in New Ulster keeps us reading, and the tragic climax resonates powerfully with the Northern Ireland sections of the novel.” –Jennifer Egan, The New York Times Book Review “Takes off like a shot and pierces the lives of two Irish sisters.” — Vanity Fair “Society’s darkest impulses are on graphic display in Laird’s novel . . . [he] is alive to the way that moral certitudes tend toward violence.” –The Wall Street Journal “In his new book, Laird sets out to mix the intimate family drama with the epic novel of ideas . . . full of bull’s-eye sentences and sharply drawn characters . . . Laird handles it all with tremendous dexterity, energy, and compassion.” – The Sunday Times (U.K.) “A richly textured geography of the human need to believe in something, and of the stories, religious and secular, that we live by . . . has a grave, melancholy grace.” – The Guardian (U.K.) “[A] roving, ambitious novel…. The taut prose propels the story and describes the process by which people ‘make a future by entering into ethical relations with the past.’”The New Yorker “[Nick Laird] weaves a wide-ranging, globetrotting novel in which two sisters contend with issues of identity, politics, and belief.” –The Philadelphia Inquirer “An agile domestic drama, split between Ireland and Papua New Guinea . . . [Laird] effortlessly switches location and point of view without sacrificing the empathy we feel for each character.” – The Christian Science Monitor "Nick Laird's prose disseminates unease a sure sign of originality. The aura of danger derives not so much from his theme (how religious faith is inseparable from violence) as from his sensibility: the reader feels the ever-present likelihood the risk of confrontation with unpalatable truths. Laird is a poet-novelist; his fictional world may be harsh and raw, but it is balanced by the imaginative habits of a poet, which always tend towards forgiveness and, indeed, towards celebration."Martin Amis, bestselling author of The Zone of Interest "In Modern Gods , Nick Laird takes two experiences poles apart and unites them in gorgeous language, with the same fierce tenderness as he employs in his poetry. It’s about families, tribes, peoples – and if you’re a member of any of those you’ll find a home both strange and familiar in this story." — Dave Eggers, author of Heroes of the Frontier and A Hologram for the King “Modern Gods has realer-than-real characters, unexpected turns of plot into unknown corners of the world, and language that finds its way through the darkest moments and states of mind to shine its clear bright light, revelatory and unforgiving. And it encompasses deepthe deepest, thorniestquestions of faith and redemption, fate and forgiveness.”—Michael Chabon, bestselling author of Moonglow “Nick Laird knows a great deal about violence, physical, emotional and spiritual, and of how it eats into the lives both of survivors and perpetrators, and continues to corrode, like a slow-acting acid. Modern Gods is a big, tightly-packed book that lives up amply to its high ambitions." – John Banville, Man Booker Prize-winning author of The Sea “Modern Gods is at once remorselessly clear-eyed about human frailty in the aggregate and full of loving kindness for human beings as individuals. The taut prose reveals a poet’s hand, and the dialogue a playwright’s ear; Laird can nail an entire character in one acutely perceptive description, and he channels Amis in richly-suggestive transitions that crystallize the truths of well-wrought scenes. Ferociously intelligent, radically contemporary, deeply affecting, stunning.”—Matthew Thomas, bestselling author of We Are Not Ourselves "Laird has the rare ability to mate tragedy and comedy in a single line without making either side feel cheap for it. And it's that same contagious wit, displayed so mightily in his poems, that enlivens his fiction." Interview Magazine “[An] intimate and searing look at the aftereffects of violent conflict and religious fanaticism . . . Finely etched, impeccably structured, Modern Gods has the enduring echoes of a classic.” –BBC.com “Domestic drama, adventure travelogue and political thriller meet in this dazzling saga by Laird, a poet and novelist.” – Huffington Post “A truly superb novel exploring the possibilities and impossibilities of forgiveness.” – Publishers Weekly “In this evocative and psychologically profound novel, both sisters, at home and far afield, confront the possibility that the beliefs they have carefully built up for themselves may be hollow.” – ALA Booklist
"Tender" is not the first word you think of when you think of either Northern Ireland or Papua New Guinea, each place green in its own way but also harsh in its own way. Yet Nick Laird's novel, set in both places, is above all tender. Which, in this case, does not mean sappy. The violent prologue to Modern Gods makes that clear. "A surge of bodies away from the door now, pushing across the lounge bar and much screaming . . . There was a loud dull pop-pop-pop-pop, and a little puff of redness erupted from the side of the head of an old man." Two masked gunmen kill five people ("four Catholics, a Protestant") in a Northern Ireland roadhouse in 1993, in the past that Laird goes on to show is never past. Decades later, in quiet Ballyglass ("bacon factory, cheese factory, cement factory"), life putters along. The Donnelly family is getting ready for a wedding: Alison, schoolteacher and mother, is marrying again; Liz, the intellectual, is flying in from London; Judith and Kenneth, the parents, are keeping Judith's returned cancer a secret. This could be the setup for a Maeve Binchy or Anita Shreve novel, and it is no insult to Laird to say that he moves things along as expertly as any bestselling novelist would. In a few exquisite vignettes, he introduces his characters and conveys the essence of love or pain, often with a simple gesture. "Something in her voice," he writes of Judith fretting over flowers, "some new alarm, some warning made him turn to her. He softened as he always did at the sight of sadness and stood up in his new, tentative way, and went to her. She was sobbing now and fell into him, and held him while he repeated although he knew the answer 'What's wrong, what's wrong, whatever's wrong now?' " While Liz still smarts from her latest boyfriend's infidelity, Alison, about to marry bland Stephen, persuades herself that "there was something attractive about a mind that moved in a straight line." Never mind Stephen's sectarian tattoos and his violent nightmares. Adding to the unease are glimpses of the long-dead shooting victims, captured in a few brief descriptions of their last day, their final minutes. In one flashback, for example, a man at the bar commiserates with another, recently widowed:
"Now it's a shame." "It is." "You haven't had to seek your troubles." "We all have our crosses to bear." In silence they looked down at their drinks and considered their crosses, then looked up at the band going full throttle. The pub door bangs open and death enters. Then it's back to the present, to Alison's wedding preparations and a perfectly timed revelation that spawns fresh anguish. As her sister's honeymoon turns into a hostile standoff, Liz travels to the jungle outpost of New Ulster in Papua New Guinea to narrate a BBC documentary on a new religious cult founded by a woman called Belef. This sounds contrived and it is a little. Only toward the end, however, does Laird belabor the themes of tribalism and religious fanaticism that connect two places, worlds apart. "Liz lay there now in the dark and thought she had spend her lifetime studying the differences, how one tribe does this, another that and all the time there was no difference, not really, just tiny variations on a theme of great suffering, great loss." Belef, a wonderfully odd creation, is disfigured by grief just as the widower who confronts his wife's killer in Ballyglass is undone. Yet the suffering prophet remains weirdly clear-sighted. In her view, the lure of American evangelicalism, for example, is no mystery: "Before the mission came, there were many families here," Belef explains of her village. "They grew scared of the darkness and moved to Slinga. They were all afraid of Hell, this new place they heard of. And all the villagers who went got shoes given 'em. All the others were getting on and they were not." In a domestic drama and Modern Gods is at heart just that shuttling back and forth between Ballyglass and Papua New Guinea is a risky maneuver. But Laird is an agile writer who effortlessly switches location and point of view without sacrificing the empathy we feel for each character. Even on alien terrain where "in the all-day permanent gloaming, beasts crawled on their stomachs, crept on all fours, stalked and pounced, rutted and died and rotted," the mood remains intimate and often lyrical. But Laird is at his best on his home turf. A poet as well as a novelist, he has a well-tuned ear for the speech of his native place and a keen eye for Northern Ireland's shifting light and brooding sky. Here's Kenneth, for example, surveying a morning: "The sky hanging over the black hills was heavy with rain about to get falling. Sidney, his older brother, would be heading up to the cattle in an hour or so." And here is Judith, awakened by terror, contemplating her attenuated life: "She'd wanted a nice home with nice things. On the farm there was never enough of anything. Except for work. There was enough of that . . . She wanted to sift her life through her fingers, to weigh the thing and not to find it wanting. To find that everything was worth it in the end." Laird wisely leaves that question open. Anna Mundow, a longtime contributor to The Irish Times and The Boston Globe, has written for The Guardian, The Washington Post, and The New York Times, among other publications. Reviewer: Anna Mundow
The Barnes & Noble Review
The characters in Modern Gods traverse oceans, time zones and political situations as part of Laird's project to pry apart the very structures of worship and locate the systems they have in common, among them storytelling and ritual cruelty…Laird, the author of two previous novels and several acclaimed collections of poetry, dazzles ear and eye with his kinetic prose, animating city, countryside and…tropical jungle…With a mere flick of description, Laird summons vast stretches of politics and history.
The New York Times Book Review - Jennifer Egan
04/24/2017 Pulling from the real-life events of 1993, when a young supporter of the Ulster Freedom Fighters, a British loyalist paramilitary organization, shot up a small pub in Northern Ireland, Laird has written a truly superb novel exploring the possibilities and impossibilities of forgiveness. Protestant Kenneth and Judith Donnelly live in Ulster. They have three adult children: Liz has been living somewhat unhappily in the States after finishing her Ph.D. in anthropology; Allison has two small children and is planning to marry a mysterious local man whose background she hasn’t pushed to understand; and Spencer has a big secret of his own. Gathering at their parents’ house for Allison’s wedding, the family will have to confront the suddenly very personal echoes of the “troubles” of the past. Liz, meanwhile, will leave after the ceremony, on her own journey to a small island off the coast of Papua New Guinea, where she’ll be working on a BBC documentary. In a possibly heavy-handed move, Laird sends Liz to New Ulster, drawing a parallel between the two islands, thousands of miles apart, which seemingly share more than a name. “A lot of violence in these places,” Kenneth remarks, as Liz first announces her plans. “Where are ‘these places’?” Liz asks in turn, the very question Laird asks of himself and his readers. Though Liz’s experiences are salient, its Allison’s fate, thoroughly chilling and unsettling, that is the highlight. (June)
06/15/2017 The Donnelly sisters are in big trouble. Liz, a college professor in America who walks in on her indiscreet, much younger boyfriend, accepts a last-minute gig to film a BBC documentary of a new cargo cult religion in an island off the coast of Papua, New Guinea. On the way, she stops off in Ireland to attend the wedding of her younger sister, Alison, mother of two, who is about to marry for the second time with results even more disastrous than her first marriage. Intertwined among these compelling catastrophes are the unbearable last moments of victims of a mass shooting in an Irish pub during the Troubles. Impossible choices threaten to derail both sisters—Liz and the film crew get drawn more deeply and dangerously into the religious leader's struggles with Christian missionaries, and Alison's hours-long marriage is in ruins when her husband's history overtakes them. VERDICT Laird's intensely layered third novel (Utterly Monkey; Glover's Mistake) beautifully weaves together the threads borne of provocative questions about the possibility of redemption rising from the horrors of war and the courage required to survive the detonation of love.—Beth Andersen, formerly with Ann Arbor Dist. Lib., MI
In Laird's audiobook, two sisters from Northern Ireland experience life-changing upheaval simultaneously—on opposite ends of the globe. One is in Ulster, and the other in Papua New Guinea. Narrator Sarah-Jane Drummey adopts a slow, deliberate pace, and her Irish accent is pleasant to listen to as she describes Liz's venture to a Papua New Guinean island to explore a new religion led by a charismatic leader. At the same time, her sister, Alison, struggles in Ulster, where she discovers the truth about her new husband's past. Drummey also uses an accent for the Papua New Guinean characters, most strikingly for Belef, the religious leader whose deep and clearly enunciated words reinforce the gravity of her convictions. S.E.G. © AudioFile 2017, Portland, Maine
SEPTEMBER 2017 - AudioFile
In Laird's audiobook, two sisters from Northern Ireland experience life-changing upheaval simultaneously—on opposite ends of the globe. One is in Ulster, and the other in Papua New Guinea. Narrator Sarah-Jane Drummey adopts a slow, deliberate pace, and her Irish accent is pleasant to listen to as she describes Liz's venture to a Papua New Guinean island to explore a new religion led by a charismatic leader. At the same time, her sister, Alison, struggles in Ulster, where she discovers the truth about her new husband's past. Drummey also uses an accent for the Papua New Guinean characters, most strikingly for Belef, the religious leader whose deep and clearly enunciated words reinforce the gravity of her convictions. S.E.G. © AudioFile 2017, Portland, Maine
SEPTEMBER 2017 - AudioFile
2017-04-04 An anthropologist explores a cargo cult in Papua New Guinea while her family back in Ireland struggles with a shocking revelation.Liz, the hero of Laird's third novel (Glover's Mistake, 2009, etc.), is an academic who's unlucky in love; as the story opens she's caught her boyfriend with another man. Luckily, she's written a successful book that gives a self-help twist to Claude Levi-Strauss' theories about human behavior, which affords her a chance to escape New York to the Pacific island to host a BBC documentary about the founder of the Story, a quasi-Christian cult. First, though, she needs to visit her hometown in Ireland, where her sister, Allison, is getting married again. Her first husband was an abuser, but only after the nuptials does everybody discover that her second, Stephen, is worse: he was a shooter in an Irish Republican Army terrorist attack on a bar that killed five people. The novel alternates from Ireland to PNG, and there are some clear surface parallels: the home of the Story is called New Ulster, and Belef, the leader of the cargo cult, is in a dispute with the local mainline Christian group that echoes the Catholic-Protestant split during the Troubles. But the novel still feels like two tonally different novels imperfectly stitched together, one a Paul Theroux-esque exploration of a foreign land from an outsider perspective, the other a more Anne Enright-ish domestic study mainly concerned with Allison pressing Stephen to reckon with his past. Only occasionally does Laird oversell the connection between the two threads ("This family is like a cult we all follow but nobody remembers why!" Allison exclaims). But though faith and family remain topic A throughout, the dramas and circumstances on Ireland and PNG are so different that the connection feels forced. Two intriguing storylines that, like feuding family members, have a hard time talking to one another.