Last of the Donkey Pilgrims: A Man's Journey Through Ireland FROM THE PUBLISHER
A heartwarming story of a man who journeys to the land of his people to discover what kind of man he is . . . and, more to the point, what kind of man he could become
Kevin O'Hara was a man who was at the crossroads of life. Newly married to a beautiful woman, Kevin found himself full of rage and pain. A former soldier, he had seen the horrors of war and was unable to let those sorrows go . . . and his pain threatened to destroy not only his own happiness but any chance of a happy life with his wife. If he couldn't fix what was broken in his own heart, he'd be lost.
In desperation Kevin traveled to Ireland, the land of his people, to seek some sort of balm for his pain. It was there, amid the impossibly green fields, open skies, and glad hearts of his friends and relatives, that Kevin began to see the possibilities of joy again.
And it was there that he formed a wonderfully daft plan. The age-old method of traveling by donkey cart was beginning to disappear from the Irish countryside as modern life crowded in. What better way, Kevin thought, to experience the beauty of Ireland than to travel the length of the land in the old way--man and donkey, drinking in the sights and sounds of the country.
Among the Irish, opinion was divided as to whether Kevin was a madman . . . or a saint. Bets were made, and most of the locals near his grandmother's farmhouse predicted that this strange American wouldn't even get out of the county, much less circle the entire island.
But Kevin had a vision in his head, and a goal. He wanted to make things right for himself, heal his heart, and return to his beloved wife. And so, with Missy, the shaggy brown mare by his side, he set off on that long mad walk, an eighteen-hundred-mile trek that would take months.
Along the way Kevin would meet some incredible characters, endure hardships (and moments of high drama . . . and very low comedy), and find the Irish in all their glory. And he would find himself.
FROM THE CRITICS
Library Journal
In a style evocative of Steinbeck's Travels with Charley, O'Hara writes memorably of his most unusual way of touring his ancestral home of Ireland. A Vietnam vet with emotional wounds to heal and a need to connect with his roots, O'Hara searched for meaning in his mother's homeland, finding that Ireland and life were more complex (and hopeful) than he had even imagined. He set out on his often obstinate donkey, Missie, to discover the Ireland few people really know and, in the process, rediscover himself. The various people he met on his journey sometimes thought him a bit daft to be using such an old-fashioned method of transportation, but they unfailingly welcomed him into their lives. This memoir is one of the finest books about contemporary Ireland ever written. In it, he shows us a country trying to rid itself of a difficult past while preparing for a promising future. Anyone planning an extensive trip to Ireland will definitely want to bring this humorous and insightful work with them. There's only one caveat: the book would have benefited from photographs and a map. Recommended for all public libraries.-Joseph L. Carlson, Allan Hancock Coll., Lompoc, CA Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Skillful piece of travel-writing from O'Hara, who walks around the coast rather than ride in the cart, "because I want to view old Ireland from donkey level" (or maybe he just can't command the cart?). It is 1979. O'Hara is a young man semi-fresh from Vietnam, an American in Ireland with an idea: take a donkey and a cart around Eire's circumference. This notion comes to him in a pub, and some in attendance suggest "he'd be much like those wise men who climbed Faerymount one clear night in June, all in hopes of catching the rising moon in a burlap bag." His aunt Cella is less poetic: "I think you're a half-boiled eejit!" But not really, for all and sundry think his adventure is pretty fine-and it is. Short of funds, O'Hara figures he'll be a seanachie, who gets the 3 Bs (bed, bath, and beer) by telling stories. Actually, since newspapers across the country are following his progress, it's celebrity that gets him a welcome most nights, though one woman tells him through the farmhouse door, "I don't care if you're John the Baptist proclaiming 'the Good News,' you simple gomeral! Now, get, or ye'll be gimping off, I promise." It is a slow and marvelous journey under dove-gray skies and beside forlorn Norman towers, through the "hollow bright fog" of sun and mist, reeling from the collywobbles of a bad bottle of stout, along a pilgrim's path of holy wells and beehive cells. Everywhere there are intimate local vignettes and good wishes: "Now, safe home, and may a gallery of saints protect you" are the chosen parting words of a morning. It took newcomer O'Hara 25 years to compose this poke at Ireland's edge, time for the events to become burnished. His writing is all the better for it; like theIrish fog, it's both glowing and lightly pushed by an unacknowledged melancholy.
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