Reading a short story by Kevin Barry is a bit like listening to a kraut-rock-record from the 1970s. The foundations are built on a solid rhythm. Then every so often, the form veers left-field, unveiling a portal to a world of magic.
In this sense, you could argue that Barry is an experimental writer. He spends considerable time wrestling with language, bending each turn of phrase and piece of dialogue into shape, until he’s convinced he can make it sing.
As far as modulating with the form itself, Barry works from tradition: giving his readers short vignettes of isolated individuals — mostly men, who have failed in one way or another.
In ‘A Cruelty’, part of Barry’s new collection Dark Lies the Island, we witness Donie, a shy, sensitive soul, whose daily regimental excursion, from Roscommon to Sligo, is transformed into a hellish onslaught, as a heartless bully picks him apart, piece by piece.
The pitch-perfect diction of ‘Beer Trip to Llandudno’ (for which Barry won The Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award) adumbrates a group of middle-aged real-ale drinkers, on a jolly-boys-outing from Liverpool to Wales.
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