There’s a handful of outstanding Irish writers whose business is the meticulous dissection of domestic relationships.  I’m thinking of the likes of John McGahern, William Trevor, Anne Enright, and Colm Toibin, writers whose work is acclaimed by critics and loved by readers and who practice quiet craft, not grand gestures.  To my mind, one of the very best of this group is Bernard MacLaverty.  Don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of him.  In a writing career of forty years, MacLaverty has published only five novels and five collections of short stories.

Midwinter Break is his first novel for sixteen years.  It tells the story of an apparently unremarkable and long-married couple, Gerry and Stella. Born in Northern Ireland but now living in quiet retirement in Scotland, the opening of the novel finds them preparing to set off on a short winter break.  The tensions between the couple are evident from the first page, but it’s only as they explore, separately and together, the cold streets of Amsterdam that the depth of the fault line between them starts to show.  Alcoholism has its grip on Gerry, driving Stella to contemplate the possibility of living the final years of her life alone.

Midwinter Break is that rare thing: a completely truthful account of old age and marriage – the compromises, stresses, and small betrayals, and, ultimately, the redemptive potential of love.

“Sitting beside Stella in this grey light seemed to Gerry such a privilege, such a wonderful thing to be doing, despite the nightmare of their surroundings.  He believed that everything and everybody in the world was worthy of notice but this person beside him was something beyond that.  To him her presence was as important as the world.  And the stars around it.  If she was an instance of the goodness in this world then passing through by her side was miracle enough.”