'If at first you don’t succeed, lie, lie again' – in A Country of Eternal Light, Paul Dalgarno explores a life fragmented by grief
- Written by Catherine McKinnon, Deputy Head—School of the Arts, English and Media, University of Wollongong
Paul Dalgarno’s novel A Country of Eternal Light[1] opens with his narrator, Margaret Bryce, in a bathtub. This is no ordinary bathtub, but one that exists between the world of the living and the dead. Margaret has (it seems) very recently died:
I drop further under, breathing out – no bubbles – the oblong light of the bathtub way up above, a meconium murk all around. Sirens singing … there are none. Mermaids … there are none. A heartbeat marking time in the gloom – no heart.
A bold beginning and one that not only directs the reader’s attention to Margaret’s exuberant spirit, but to the unreliability of her telling. For nothing in this novel is certain, except perhaps that Margaret is unwilling to dissolve into the dark water of the underworld. Despite having no body, no head, no heart, she soon kicks herself back to the “land of […] the living”.
Review: A Country of Eternal Light – Paul Dalgarno (Fourth Estate)
It quickly becomes apparent that her quest – and ours, as co-passengers on this wild ride – is to ascertain what is keeping her tethered to earth. Unlike the ghost of Hamlet’s father, who pleads with his son to avenge his “foul and most unnatural murder”, Ghost Margaret’s mission bewilders her:
I don’t know what I’m doing here, and by here I mean here, there and everywhere […] Is there a purpose? I don’t know. Maybe I can save someone? Save myself? Send myself an SOS.