No news is good news, goes the saying.

But the day at primary school near Belfast begins with prayers and a news bulletin. The news, brought by the pupils, is a bulletin of horrifying events. Killings, shootings, beatings, bombings, riots, hunger and poverty. It is the time of the Troubles, and there’s no respite from the news.

The children are familiar with the vocabulary of wartime, phrases like “boobytrap, incendiary device, gelignite, nitroglycerine” roll off their tongues. 24-year-old Cushla, their teacher and the protagonist of Louise Kennedy’s debut novel Trespasses, is protective of her students, often going the extra mile to protect them from the awfulness of the times in whatever ways she can.

In times of war

The news, of course, does not come on its own two feet. The three-decades-long violence has seared itself into Irish hearts and minds. Faith has become the business of the state and violent clampdowns are imposed, dispelling any doubts of normalcy. Cushla, a Catholic, lives with her widowed mother, Gina, in a predominantly Protestant town in the 1970s. We meet Cushla as an adult who keeps the company of children, and through her, the reader sees just how terrifying and unfair the circumstances are.

Cushla is most protective of Davy McGeown among her pupils. A child of an interfaith marriage, he is often subjected to bullying and isolated by his peers. His family is discriminated against too. His older brother Tommy has dropped out of school, his father has been severely injured by the forces, and his mother is exhausted trying to keep the family together. Cushla offers to take Davy to and from school, buying him meals, and doting on him. Cushla’s own family owns a pub in a Protestant part of town, and serves patrons of all faiths. A practising Catholic herself, Cushla takes her faith seriously. The security forces and their brutish methods trample on freedom and the innocence of childhood.

Trespasses unfolds in two strands – Cushla’s relationship with the McGeowns and her romantic relationship with Michael Agnew, a sophisticated, Protestant barrister, married, and twice her age. He is a patron at the bar too.

The differences between Cushla and Michael – age and social status aside – emerge in their language, dialects, and views on the nationalist movement. There are instances of Michael asking her to speak Irish with the Catholic twang. He jokes about her faith, even saying that “Catholic girls are nymphomaniacs.” The joshing is in poor taste, especially given the times. In the company of his acquaintances, their differences become sharper – some are openly hostile to her, calling her “a native speaker”, and souring up at her Catholic ways. Cushla is used to such discriminatory behaviour and, in the face of the thrilling affair, remains quite unfazed.

The state-sanctioned violence is imitated in personal corners. Protestants and Catholics, rebels and nationalists, swoop down on each other for the differences in their backgrounds, language, and idiosyncrasies. The hostility bred by the state is nourished by the people. The atmosphere changes from city to city, making it quite impossible for the people to keep up. When Michael and Cushla go to Dublin for the weekend, Cushla has to readjust her previously held notions about Ireland’s capital city.

The ordinary and the normal

Cushla’s relationship with her own family is equally complicated. Her father is dead, her mother is an alcoholic, and her brother tries to keep her in a vice-like grip. She sneaks around, keeps her relationship with Michael a secret, and lies about seeing her colleague Gerry. Almost every hour spent at home is unhappy and demanding, with Gina becoming increasingly irrational and spiteful with age. There is great excitement and thrill in Cushla’s life, but very little joy.

Her affection for Davy gets her involved with the McGeown family. She starts to visit them regularly and weighs in on their personal matters. She despairs about their poverty, the rebellious phase Tommy is going through, and the tragedy that will befall the McGeowns once again if the boys aren’t kept in check.

The madness of the Troubles manifests itself as the normalcy of everyday violence – couples are detained, soldiers turn up at weddings, bomb scares are abound and oftentimes the threats are true, and many people lose limbs and life. Through it all, Kennedy reminds the reader that this was nothing out of the ordinary. A peaceful day would, in fact, be unbelievable.

But with each instance of violence, tragedy inches closer to Cushla. The McGeowns are in trouble once again, this time, because of Tommy. Catastrophic events have culminated in this moment but the worst is yet to come. Cushla comes under suspicion – her entanglements with Michael and McGeowns are not taken kindly. The final sections of the novel are claustrophobic and unnerving, with events unfolding at an incomprehensible, maddening pace. Actions and words, long forgotten, boomerang with fatal consequences. Cushla, who is quite aware that her relationship with Michael is doomed, is nevertheless shocked by the guilt that accosts her when the end does come.

In Trespasses, the reader grapples with the cost of hope in times of carnage. In such times, misfortune is granted – a more generous hand of fate or enlightened agency can do little to negate this. Even when grief surrounds Cushla on all sides, the truth is that she has nothing to do with it. The grief just exists, parallel to her and the millions of others who have been embittered and broken by conflict.

In recreating the utter commonplaceness of violence and sorrow in wartime, Trespasses reminds the reader that a person’s joy and sorrow are immaterial to the juggernaut of destruction – bad things that are destined to happen will happen, all goodness, especially the private and the small, are bound to get crushed under its immenseness.

Trespasses, Louise Kennedy, Bloomsbury.

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