I’ve been hunting down a physical copy of Catherine Airey’s debut novel Confessions, for the last two weeks after listening to the audiobook on Libby — the free audiobook app provided by the Fraser Valley Regional Library.
Five different book stores in three different towns and nothing. I gave up. Until low and behold there it was, one single copy on the shelf at Coles right here in Abbotsford! Now that I have my hands on the book that’s changed the way I’ve seen storytelling, I need everyone to know about it.
Airey opens with Cora in New York City just as the attack on the twin towers happens. We spend some time with Cora wandering the empty decimated city before she gets whisked away to Donegal, Ireland and we go back in time to the 1970s. Roisin and Moira have a difficult sister relationship that next door neighbour Michael always seems to be in the middle of. As readers, we bounce between their history and Lyca’s present as the story starts to unravel. Lyca is the daughter of a proud activist fighting for the legalization of abortions in Ireland in 2018, but Lyca can’t seem to find the same passion her mother has. We explore four women, three generations of the same family, their relationship to each other, Donegal, and New York City.
This book is the epitome of generational trauma, touching on addiction, mental illness, and abortion. It also has queer representation! Airey weaves each woman’s tale together like a tapestry, at its centre is an old video game, a bundle of letters, and a few life changing secrets. The actions of one character are felt by everyone else. There are small hints to how everyone is connected, which at times felt a little too obvious. A few things I figured out pretty quick and then had to impatiently wait for the characters to finally catch up. But there were also connections that even I didn’t see coming. Those moments of putting the pieces together had me marvelling at Airey’s ability to craft these characters’ lives.
Thanks to UFV’s Study Abroad program I’ve been lucky enough to have lived in Ireland for a few months and this novel had me missing its super tight roads, long rolling hills, and the smell of salty ocean air. What I wasn’t expecting was a yearning to go to New York with the book in hand as a guide. Airey writes both places like they are their own characters and the relationship between the two spaces are felt by the characters who move between them. Ireland’s slow progress feels heavy and ever-present compared to progressive New York City. In the end, both places play their distinct role in shaping each character’s life.
There’s something about this book that is hard to put into words for me. As I develop my reading taste — taste does feel a bit too strong, but I’m attempting to be a scholar here — I find myself drawn to books that are character-driven. The ones that dive into what it means to be human; and that’s what Airey does so perfectly. To give you a sense of what I’m talking about, I’ll leave you with this quote from the book:
“Why does any of us hold on to things and write them down when surely in the end it is easier to let go?”
