Haven

In seventh-century Ireland, three monks embark on a journey to an island their leader, Artt, has seen in a vision. They vow to leave worldly things behind. They row a small boat, arriving at a rugged and isolated location, where they encounter many trials. Artt fervently believes that “the Lord will provide.” Trian and Cormac trust their leader and follow their vows, but it becomes increasingly difficult to survive.

This is a story of asceticism, zealotry, and obsession. The personalities and psychological aspects are very well developed. Cormac is an older recently converted ex-warrior. He is practical and offers suggestions on how to survive in a harsh environment. Trian is a young idealist who wants to prove himself. He has a show more helpful nature but is perhaps too innocent and trusting. Artt leads with an iron fist. He is pious in an obsessive way and his decisions are questionable. He does not appear to care if they die on this island, as they would become saints or martyrs. He takes religious fanaticism to an extreme.

It is unusual and creatively told. At first, I was unsure if this would be a book for me, but it kept me invested in finding out what would happen to these three. They are obviously at odds over how best to handle the situation, with different objectives and priorities. I think it is ultimately about living in harmony with nature versus viewing nature as something to ravage in service of humans. It also has something to say about single-mindedness, whether on the side of blind obedience, religious fervor, or abuse of power. show less

This is the tenth book of Donoghue's I've read, each one better than the last, though I admit I like her historical fiction better than her contemporary stuff. This book is set in the 7th Century. Artt, a respected ascetic saint-wannabe, has a dream that he and two monks live on a deserted island and dedicate their lives to the glory of god. He picks two monks from a monastery he is visiting, Cormac an older story teller and musician and Trian, a younger sailor-worker, musician and decides they will fulfill this dream. The saint wannabe knows god loves nothing more than hard work and self denial. I have little use for religious people, even less for ascetics, and even less for those who impose that asceticism on others. Artt spends the show more book making sure he destroys every bit of happiness he can for the glory of god. Every few pages I found myself saying "Jesus Christ" or "Lord o' Mercy" so you can see it was a very religious experience. show less

Wow, what I love about Emma Donoghue is how she just puts you right there, in the story, from page 1. Perceptive character study and exploration of the limits of human endurance and faith. It's also a wonderful ecocritical text that probes how Christian texts have historically primed humans to see ourselves as holding dominion over nature and challenges us to see that nature does not exist purely to serve humankind. Trian, my dude, tree-hugger, I see you. Cormac is also an interesting character who exemplifies how lived experience and empathy will always trump dogma. A seemingly simple story that feels like a fable, very well done!

When I first read the description of this book, I was planning to make lots of Father Ted jokes in my show more review (I mean, come on! Three priests! On a craggy island! Off the west coast of Ireland!) but it's way too beautiful and haunting to reduce it to a silly gag. Though Artt could surely learn something from Mrs. Doyle: "It doesn't matter what day it is Father. There's always time for a nice cup of tea. Didn't our Lord himself on the cross pause for a nice cup of tea before giving himself up for the world?" show less

I'm not sure why I loved this book, but I really did. It's an odd premise for a contemporary novel - a well-respected monk, Artt, has a vision of himself living for the glory of god on a remote island off the coast of Ireland with two monks from the monastery he is visiting, an older man named Cormac, and a young man name Trian. They are honored to be chosen and the 3 set off through the ocean with minimal supplies and only Artt's vision in mind. They land on "Great Skellig" a virtually inhabitable island of rock, and Artt declares it their stopping point. Instead of finding food, water, and shelter, Artt insists they keep the focus on God by carving a cross, making an altar, and copying the Bible.

How long will faith alone preserve show more these three?

I was totally enamored with this book. I thought the setting, the exploration of how destructive one man's idea of faith can be, and the survival elements were all so interesting. I just really loved it. Donoghue's books can be hit or miss for me, and this was a huge hit.

I just can't imagine anyone else will like it! show less

Haven is a marvel of a book, and it's helped me sort through a topic that's been on my mind lately: slow reads. The last three books I've read, including Haven, have all been slow reads, but with Haven that pace is essential to the nature of the book. With the other two, the slow pace accomplished little more than separating the reader from the narrative. So I want to argue that Haven proves the point that slow reads, like most things in life, can be good, bad, or in between. And with Haven, that slow read is a blessing.

The premise underlying this historical novel is straightforward and summarized aptly in the promotional material for the book: "In seventh-century Ireland, a scholar and priest called Artt has a dream telling him to show more leave the sinful world behind. Taking two monks—young Trian and old Cormac—he rows down the river Shannon in search of an isolated spot on which to found a monastery. Drifting out into the Atlantic, the three men find an impossibly steep, bare island inhabited by tens of thousands of birds, and claim it for God." That's the fast version of the plot, but it doesn't begin to embrace all the novel includes.

Take a moment to think about that plot line. It's slow. It has to be slow. Slow like the journey down a major river in a watertight, but difficult to manoeuvre boat. Slow like the increasing slowness with which that boat travels on the open sea, hidden for days at a time in a fog that obscures the actual journey from those journeying. Slow like the process of finding a livable space on a rocky island with almost no topsoil, with a single tree, with thousands and thousands of birds—more birds than any of our characters could even have imagined.

Now, think about the last few words of the promo material I quoted above: "and claim it for God." Haven becomes a novel not just about an arduous journey, but also about the kinds of actions humans commit when they believe they're being directed by God. Nothing exists except that it has been created for ultimate use by man (I deliberately use the male pronoun here, given the time in which the novel is placed). Birds, their nests and eggs and young, trees, rocks, seaweeds and land weeds, air and water don't exist in their own right. They exist because at some point man will decide they are useful *things* and will treat them like things—with the kind of results one might predict.

So, yes, Haven is a slow read, but that slowness is essential: first, to the narrative, and second, to the reader's experience of that narrative. In Haven, destructive choices aren't made in a single moment; destruction doesn't happen suddenly; destruction of land and soul is a slow, slow, cumulative process.

If you have the patience to for a book that asks you to spend extended time inching forward, if you appreciate the opportunity to consider each of those inch-sized moments thoroughly and thoughtfully, Haven will provide an excellent, if sometimes heart-breaking, read. It will leave you simultaneously crushed, cynical, and hopeful. That mix of crush, cynicism, and hope is as real in our own times as it was in the 7th Century, and we need to examine that reality in detail and at length.

I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via NetGalley; the opinions are my own. show less

Haven is Emma Donoghue’s latest novel and is quite the departure from her previous novels. The setting is ancient Ireland when Gaelic and Latin still ruled, and Christians were the minority rather than the majority. Following one priest and two monks seeking a new land to claim for Christianity, the story should be rather dull. Instead, a lot is going on within its pages. Ms. Donoghue captures the hypocrisy of modern Christian religions in Artt, the priest who views himself as the leader of his little tribe simply because he has more scholarly knowledge. As Artt’s plans for his new community quickly flounder, we see in Artt much of what we’ve seen in fundamental Christians throughout the US over the past few years. Haven is not so show more much a story to enjoy as it is a story that warns and educates. It is the type of novel I contemplated not finishing because I detest any story with a strong religious undertone, but I am glad I finished it because of its messaging. Descriptive and powerful, Haven may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it is a life-altering read for a particular reader. show less

Human habitation on Skellig Michael (also known as Great Skellig)—a barren piece of rock jutting abruptly out of the rough seas a few miles off Ireland’s windswept west coast—is commonly believed to date from the 7th century AD. Tradition holds that monks seeking to isolate themselves from a sinful world traveled there intending to worship God free from temptation. In Haven, Emma Donoghue turns her considerable narrative skills to this period and imagines into being a trio of monks making the journey and their subsequent struggle to establish a settlement in God’s honour under punishing physical conditions.

The story begins in Cluain Mhic Nóis, a monastery located in central Ireland. Brother Artt—regarded as a “living show more saint” because of his encyclopedic knowledge of scripture, ascetic practices, and strict devotion to God—has had a vision and believes God has instructed him to build a new monastery on a remote island unsullied by human desire and worldly concerns. Two monks from Cluain Mhic Nóis feature in his vision, and Artt persuades the Abbot to let them accompany him on the journey: young Brother Trian and elderly Brother Cormac.

Little of Artt’s background is revealed to the reader. But of Trian we learn that when he was 13, for reasons that remain unclear until near the end of the novel, his parents left him with the monks of Cluain Mhic Nóis. And Cormac, who is probably in his 50s, is a survivor, a commoner who withdrew to a life of devotion and service after suffering grievous injury in battle and losing his family to an outbreak of plague. Trian and Cormac are honoured to be selected by Artt and go with him willingly. But even at this early stage, readers will have reason to question Artt’s leadership after he orders his crew to lighten their load by jettisoning important items from the small boat that will carry them down the Sionan River and eventually into the open sea.

After several days on the water, Artt lays eyes upon Great Skellig and instantly recognizes the island of his vision. The three make landfall. Artt is enthralled by their new home—an inhospitable vertical spike rising from churning waters and inhabited by seabirds. But Trian and Cormac—pragmatists who are inclined to consider practical along with spiritual matters—find themselves troubled with misgivings, which they keep to themselves because they’ve pledged to follow Artt through thick and thin. Through the middle chapters of the novel Donoghue chronicles the group’s efforts to fulfill their spiritual quest in a place that seems to become increasingly hostile to their intrusion. Meanwhile, as conditions deteriorate, the demands that Artt makes of his companions become outlandish and unreasonable, even cruel. With the exhaustion of their food supply, no fuel to build a fire, inadequate shelter, the approach of winter heralded by wild winds and rain, and open conflict among the group, the situation reaches a critical impasse.

Donoghue generates enormous tension by placing her emphasis on the growing divide among the three men. Both Trian and Cormac have lived through pain and loss. We know what they've suffered and we sympathize with the quandary they face as their spiritual leader loses his grip on reality. But Artt remains an enigma to the end, a man who bends others to his will with the force of his convictions and his contention, in defiance of mounting evidence to the contrary, that “God will provide,” a declaration that rings increasingly hollow as the losses pile up and the group's chances for survival start to appear meagre at best.

Haven is a timely allegory. It seems that every other day the media is showing us another example of true leadership usurped by a cult of personality. How far down the path to destruction will Artt’s followers go, simply because he tells them to? In Emma Donoghue’s vivid rendering, even the most besotted devotee is willing to endure only so much. show less