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136 pages

English

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A Raven Award Winning Irish author's North American debut. A moving YA novel about mental illness and recovery.

18-year-old Saoirse can’t wait to leave school – but just before the final exams her ex-boyfriend dies by suicide. Everyone blames Saoirse – even Saoirse herself, who cheated on him with his best friend. She is shunned by her schoolmates and suffers unbearable levels of anxiety, which her useless counsellor does nothing to alleviate.

On the night of the prom, everything becomes too much and Saoirse makes a decision that lands her in a psychiatric hospital. Slowly, painfully, with the support of a friendly hospital cleaner, her old best friend, her kind and hilarious grandmother, and even her irritating sister, Saoirse regains hope of finding herself again.

‘Take the devil out,’ says Cian, pushing his big bacon-and-cabbage head right in
my face. ‘Fuck sake, Saoirse, just give it one good slug – what’s wrong with you?’

He grabs the wine bottle from me, some cheap shit from Megan’s mother’s
endless stash, and glugs it back, like water.

‘Devil gone,’ he says, laughing and scratching his crotch.

Megan and Kate giggle in unison, like they rehearsed it earlier. Dylan and Finn keep talking, their voices low and urgent. Dylan has an arm around Finn, like he’s trying to convince him of something. The Clancy twins have finished a full slab of cans between them and are beating the shit out of each other near the waterfall. Cian hands the bottle to Megan and picks up my guitar. My fucking beautiful guitar that I should never have brought. He perches his arse on a flat rock and strums the chords of ‘Outnumbered’. His voice is whiney and Americanised, West Clare accent well hidden, and if Dermot Kennedy could hear
this version, he’d never sleep again.

It’s one week before the stupid Leaving Cert. Our last hurrah for the next few weeks and everything’s wrong. Broken. I want to blame them, but it’s me. I know that now and I understand why Megan’s cold with me. Finn’s her twin. There are lots of twins in West Clare and I’d love to know why.

‘Saoirse, you’re weird as fuck tonight,’ Cian says, giving up on the singing and reverting to his real talents, drinking and being a dick. ‘Weirder than usual, like.’

He laughs, looking around for joke validation. He gets none. ‘Why didn’t
your pal come, the mad wan from Limerick? She’s a great laugh, her. Thought she was all on for a party?’

He scratches his arse this time – just for a change. I shrug and take a can
from the pile on the grass near me. To have something to hold. To play with. I watch Finn and Dylan and am relieved when I see them laughing. At least they won’t end up beating the crap out of each other too. Then Finn goes all Heathcliff, big moody head on him. He even has the dark curls and he fixes me with his eyes,
spearing me, X-raying me. Dylan’s all golden lad beside him, shimmery shine off him, even from here. The moon has risen over the rapids and the sun’s setting over the forest, and that’s one thing I love about the west coast – the way moon and sun drag out the day. There’s this space between, a no-time space that I’d
like to live in, and I really want Finn to stop staring at me. I pop the can and the cheap beer is warm and smells of vomit. Cian has taken to flicking bottle caps at Megan and Kate. Some fucking party.

Why didn’t Jade come, after I begged her to? I pleaded with her, told her how awkward it would be with Finn, how Megan was being weird with me, how I just needed her to come here to this god-forsaken hole for one last time before I
could escape back to Limerick and college. Bitch. She probably met someone, and when Jade has a new interest it’s like her brain is a wiped hard drive. I miss her. She was great when we moved here first, two years ago, and I didn’t know anyone and I was sad and Mam was gone and … and not much has changed. Mam is still dead, Dad’s still living a borrowed life, and maybe so am I.This one doesn’t fit. It’s tight and loose at the same time and I can’t pull it off no matter what I do. Fuck. Cian is right. I’m weird and it’s funny that he’s the one that picks up on it. Big Clare head on him, no brain, itchy balls, and he can smell an imposter from three fields away.

‘Play a few tunes, Saoirse,’ he says now, like he knows I’m thinking about him. Megan laughs and turns away from us. I’ve seen a lot of Megan’s back recently, at school, in town, at the beach. Her back has become more familiar than
her face. Cian finishes the wine in one slug and throws the bottle against the rocks under the waterfall. The crash of glass sends crows and conversations skittering.

'‘What’s wrong with ye at all? We’re supposed to be partying, like – I’d more
fun at my grandmother’s funeral. I’m getting locked, so fuck ye,’ Cian says, and he unscrews a naggin. He downs it without flinching – only possible when you’ve an iron stomach and no brain. He grabs my guitar and starts to play, beating the
strings into tuneless submission, and a black knob of anger rises in my chest, squeezing air from my lungs. I could feel it when he smashed the bottle, the tiny hello of it in the pit of my stomach, and if I open my mouth now it’ll come out like a fist and hammer the fuck out of him.

It’s Finn who cops it. Feels it. And he’s over and talking to Cian and taking the guitar away from him and my eyes are blurry with tears and rage and something else. Loneliness. Weirdness. I don’t know what to call it.

Sujets

Peer Pressure

Mental Illness

Social Themes

Mental disorder

Bullying

Limerick Football Club (1937-2007)

Limerick

Violence

Informations

Publié par	Little Island Books
Date de parution	22 juillet 2022
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781915071361
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0600€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Praise for
The Gone Book
Winner of a White Raven Award 2021
Selected for the EmpathyLab Read for Empathy reading list 2021
Nominated for the Carnegie Medal 2021
Shortlisted for the Literacy Association of Ireland Awards 2021
Shortlisted for the Irish Book Awards 2020
“Dark and gritty and desperately sad and wildly funny, this is as real as writing gets. I was locked inside of Matt’s head for the duration, and I lived his whole mad summer. Every line rings perfectly true.”
DONAL RYAN
“A skillful and truthful novel from a wonderful storyteller.”
JOSEPH O’CONNOR
“Achingly sad but hugely funny. A gritty story full of heart.”
SHEENA WILKINSON
“Hurtles along at a rapid rate, riding the crest of a massive wave and finally throwing its reader on Lahinch’s shoreline with a thump … Close is an incredible storyteller.”
BOOKS IRELAND MAGAZINE
“A remarkable narrative that throws the reader right into the story, this is a book that simply sings. Completely riveting and relevant; filled with compassion and soul.”
FALLEN STAR STORIES
“Gritty and realistic … highlights the anguish of an absent parent and the strife of teenage friendships.”
PAPER LANTERNS
things i know
helena close
THINGS I KNOW
First published in 2022 by Little Island Books 7 Kenilworth Park Dublin 6w Ireland
© Helena Close 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means (including electronic/digital, mechanical, photocopying, scanning, recording or otherwise, by means now known or hereinafter invented) without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
A British Library Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library.
Print ISBN: 978-1-915071033
Little Island has received funding to support this book from the Arts Council of Ireland
Proofread by Emma Dunne Cover Design by Anna Morrison Typeset by Tetragon, London
Do mo chara, Rena, le grá agus buíochas
CONTENTS
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part 2
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part 3
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part 4
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Part 5
Chapter 30
Acknowledgements
May
1
‘Take the devil out,’ says Cian, pushing his big bacon-and-cabbage head right in my face. ‘Fuck sake, Saoirse, just give it one good slug – what’s wrong with you?’
He grabs the wine bottle from me, some cheap shit from Megan’s mother’s endless stash, and glugs it back, like water.
‘Devil gone,’ he says, laughing and scratching his crotch.
Megan and Kate giggle in unison, like they rehearsed it earlier. Dylan and Finn keep talking, their voices low and urgent. Dylan has an arm around Finn, like he’s trying to convince him of something. The Clancy twins have finished a full slab of cans between them and are beating the shit out of each other near the waterfall. Cian hands the bottle to Megan and picks up my guitar. My fucking beautiful guitar that I should never have brought. He perches his arse on a flat rock and strums the chords of ‘Outnumbered’. His voice is whiney and Americanised, West Clare accent well hidden, and if Dermot Kennedy could hear this version, he’d never sleep again.
It’s one week before the stupid Leaving Cert, our last hurrah for the next few weeks, and everything’s wrong. Broken. I want to blame them, but it’s me. I know that now and I understand why Megan’s cold with me. Finn’s her twin. There are lots of twins in West Clare and I’d love to know why.
‘Saoirse, you’re weird as fuck tonight,’ Cian says, giving up on the singing and reverting to his real talents, drinking and being a dick. ‘Weirder than usual, like.’
He laughs, looking around for joke validation. He gets none. ‘Why didn’t your pal come, the mad wan from Limerick? She’s a great laugh, her. Thought she was all on for a party?’
He scratches his arse this time – just for a change. I shrug and take a can from the pile on the grass near me. To have something to hold. To play with. I watch Finn and Dylan and am relieved when I see them laughing. At least they won’t end up beating the crap out of each other too. Then Finn goes all Heathcliff, big moody head on him. He even has the dark curls and he fixes me with his eyes, spearing me, X-raying me. Dylan’s all golden lad beside him, shimmery shine off him, even from here. The moon has risen over the rapids and the sun’s setting over the forest, and that’s one thing I love about the west coast – the way moon and sun drag out the day. There’s this space between, a no-time space that I’d like to live in, and I really want Finn to stop staring at me. I pop the can and the cheap beer is warm and smells of vomit. Cian has taken to flicking bottle caps at Megan and Kate. Some fucking party.
Why didn’t Jade come, after I begged her to? I pleaded with her, told her how awkward it would be with Finn, how Megan was being weird with me, how I just needed her to come here to this god-forsaken hole for one last time before I could escape back to Limerick and college. Bitch. She probably met someone, and when Jade has a new interest it’s like her brain is a wiped hard drive. I miss her. She was great when we moved here first, two years ago, and I didn’t know anyone and I was sad and Mam was gone and … and not much has changed. Mam is still dead, Dad’s still living a borrowed life, and maybe so am I. This one doesn’t fit. It’s tight and loose at the same time and I can’t pull it off no matter what I do. Fuck. Cian is right. I’m weird and it’s funny that he’s the one that picks up on it. Big Clare head on him, no brain, itchy balls, and he can smell an imposter from three fields away.
‘Play a few tunes, Saoirse,’ he says now, like he knows I’m thinking about him. Megan laughs and turns her back to us. I’ve seen a lot of Megan’s back recently, at school, in town, at the beach. Her back has become more familiar than her face. Cian finishes the wine in one slug and throws the bottle against the rocks under the waterfall. The crash of glass sends crows and conversations skittering.
‘What’s wrong with ye at all? We’re supposed to be partying, like – I’d more fun at my grandmother’s funeral. I’m getting locked, so fuck ye,’ Cian says, and he unscrews a naggin. He downs it without flinching – only possible when you’ve an iron stomach and no brain. He grabs my guitar and starts to play, beating the strings into tuneless submission, and a black knob of anger rises in my chest, squeezing air from my lungs. I could feel it when he smashed the bottle, the tiny hello of it in the pit of my stomach, and if I open my mouth now it’ll come out like a fist and hammer the fuck out of him.
It’s Finn who cops it. Feels it. And he’s over and talking to Cian and taking the guitar away from him and my eyes are blurry with tears and rage and something else. Loneliness. Weirdness. I don’t know what to call it.
‘He’s out of it,’ Finn says, crouching in front of me. ‘Are you OK?’
Cian has the guitar again and Finn tries to grab it from him, but Cian’s enjoying this new sport. I get up, but my legs are shaking and I know that the black fist in my chest is bursting to get out.
Cian holds the guitar up in the air. ‘Go on, Finn, jump for it, hahaha, watch Finn, lads, wimp is all he is,’ he says. He falls backwards, the guitar slipping out of his hands and thumping down towards the river. One of the Clancy twins grabs it before it hits the water. Megan’s recording the pantomime for TikTok or Insta because if it’s not on her feed then it didn’t happen.
‘Come on, we’ll go into town and get something to eat,’ says Dylan, as he grabs my guitar and slips it into its soft case. Finn stacks all the cans and bottles into a neat pile and I can see his eyes searching for the nearest bin. I like that about him.
‘We can head out to the beach after the grub – and fuck it, some of us need soakage,’ says Dylan. ‘You’re coming to the beach, aren’t you, Saoirse? There’s a gang out there already – Iron Blake, Lanky, they’ve a fire going and all.’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I’ve work in the morning,’
‘I forgot,’ says Dylan. ‘The new job. Come for a while anyway. Jaysus, we need a decent singer or we’ll have Cian howling for the night.’
The last thing I feel like doing is singing. For them.
We’re walking the brow of the hill beyond the roaring waterfall and the sky blackens. Starlings swoop in a moving murmuration over and back across the pink and navy sky. I’m laughing and pointing but only Finn looks up too. I never saw a murmuration until I moved here and I think now that this is TikTok-worthy, Insta-perfect, and the others don’t even notice. They call starlings shitlings . The birds weave intricate paths and I’m shivering and scared and happy all at once.
We walk into town in a long straggle, Dylan and I leading the way, Cian walking in the middle of the road, forcing motorists to swerve and honk at him. He loves that and gives them the finger and shouts long, loud strings of swears after them. He’s very articulate when it comes to swearing. This town, Cloughmore, has a whole lexicon of swears that I had to master. If you don’t swear, you’re weird. I think that’s why they all love Jade. She’d come on visits and teach them new swear words and a lot more besides.
We turn down Main Street and head towards Manny’s. The street’s deserted, although I can hear the sound of a squeeze box coming from one of the pubs and the loud buzz of alcohol-infused chat.
‘What are you getting, Saoirse? Let me guess – the veggie option,’ says Dylan, leaning in to me as we go in the door. I laugh. The veggie option in Manny’s is a garlic chip.
‘The usual, love?’ Manny asks. Manny was the first person I spoke to when I moved here. It