This has not been a summer of brilliant sunsets – only one so far but I remain hopeful with August still to come. On 19th June, just a day before the longest day of the year, we had a multi-coloured sky in the gathering darkness at 11pm. The first photo below, which reminded me of Edwin Church’s famous painting Twilight in the Wilderness and this site, which shows the painting comments that in the painting Church presents a dramatic and vivid sunset scene that captures the fleeting moments of dusk. The sky, a central element of the composition, is filled with fiery clouds that range in color from deep reds and oranges to softer yellow and blue hues, creating a powerful contrast against the cool tones of the land below. I am, of course, not comparing my photo to Church’s brilliant work of art, but some of the colours are similar. I like the way that there appears to be motion – and maybe commotion – as the swirling clouds appear to be competing with each other for space and prominence. Below the active sky, two tankers, which sat on the horizon for quite a few weeks, are anchored serenely on a calm sea, which itself has a tinge of sky colour on the left edge of the photo.
The second sky photo – below – looks very similar to the one above but one of the features of watching the late sky in June is that it constantly changes, with clouds taking on different shapes and colours, and this happens in a few seconds sometimes. This photo was taken to the left of the previous one and the sky has taken on a very different hue i.e. it is much lighter with fewer very dark clouds and the shades of orange, yellow and purple are more pronounced. The semi-darkness of the photo clearly shows the outline of the town, with Dunbar Parish Church prominent on the left and then the zig-zag pattern of roofs and chimneys of the High Street all the way along towards the harbour. Writers often refer to orange/yellow skies as being on fire. The poet Douglas Kearney writes in the poem The Orange Alert We’ve known/ the orange alert, fires reaching for helicopters/ like cartoon cats clawing at panicked birds. This refers to wildfires in California, with flames so high that they almost reach helicopters. There is definitely fire in this photo.
The third photo of the late evening sky – below – focuses only on the sky, which looks as if it is in a turmoil, like something out of a Greek legend where the gods are angry and are about to visit destruction on the earth. In fact, this was a relatively calm night, with hardly a ripple on the incoming tide. Perhaps the most famous painting of swirling clouds – much less dark than those in my photo – is Van Gogh’s The Starry Night which you can view here. What I particularly like about the sky below, is the range of colours – orange, blue, yellow and white – all seeking to be the most prominent. There is also a touch of impressionism in this sky and it might also be seen as an abstract work, with the clouds merely shapes and colours and not necessarily actual clouds. Every time I look at this photo, I see something different that did not catch my eye before, so try looking at it, then one of the photos above, and come back to it. You might be surprised what draws your eye to one part of the picture on a second or subsequent viewing. Enlarge the photo to get the best effect.
Sebastian Barry is one of my favourite authors and I reviewed his remarkable novel A Thousand Moons in 2020 – see here. Barry’s latest novel is Old God’s Time (Guardian review) and as expected, it is a beautifully written literary novel. We are introduced to Tom Kettle, a retired policeman who worked in Dublin and now lives in part of a renovated castle out in the countryside. From the start, we suspect that Kettle is an unreliable protagonist and throughout the novel, he recounts events which, it turns out, never took place. Nevertheless, the reader is fascinated by the ex-policeman’s memories, especially of his wife June, who suffered sexual abuse by a priest from the age of six. Kettle’s love for his wife is unlimited, both when she was alive and in his recollection of happy events. The story revolves around a visit by two Dublin policemen who are seeking Tom Kettle’s help in prosecuting another former child-abusing priest.
As the novel progresses, there is a suggestion that Tom’s wife may have been involved in the death of the priest who abused her. We have Kettle’s memory of the incident and trust that it is a true recollection, but we are never sure. The novel presents us with more tragedy near the end of the book and I thought that Barry was challenging us as readers to face the effects of trauma and death, on those left behind and for me, this does not always come off. Despite this small caveat, I would encourage everyone to read this outstanding novel in order to appreciate – at times this is a hard novel to enjoy – both the in-depth characterisation and Barry’s imaginative and at times striking prose. In the first paragraph, Barry tells us that one wall in the main room was made of special wood, its veneer capturing light and mutating it into soft brown darkness. I liked the inclusion of mutating. Later, when the weather turned nasty Scimitars of blunt wind flashed about everywhere. Barry’s descriptions of night and darkness throughout the novel are often startling images, such as The moon would soon rise and her cohort of stars like figures at a Hajj. I wrote down about twenty phrases, each one eyebrow-raising e.g. The light from the other flats was laid out on the lawn like modern paintings or A gang of impish sparrows suddenly on the tar path in front of them, like big dice thrown from a hand. This book may be an uncomfortable read at times but it one that will live in your memory. Go out and buy it!
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