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"GAY MEN'S PRESS (UK) ISBN 0-85449-088-4 IR£5.50 /PB. I was not impressed by the first chapter of this gay detective novel. Far too pleased with itself. Far too naive and irritatingly so. Well the moral of this story is never judge a book by its first chapter. I am quite happy to admit that by the end of the second chapter I was enjoying it to the extent that I did care ""who killed cock robin"" or in this case Guy Latimer (what a name). It is a classic whodunnit set in the London Gay scene. The main characters are a bunch of average gay guys who are friends of the victim. All of them, in the eyes of the police, could have had some motive to kill Guy, and knowing this they decide to find the protagonist. No nancy boys here. I would regard this as a better than average trash novel. I now know that it irritated me because of its shaky use of adjectives and adverbs which are the signs of an inexperienced novelist who is testing his talents. In this case they are also the sign of a potentially good fiction writer who it is hoped will be able to improve the goods put out by this publishing house. It is also hoped that the next novel put out by this writer will not be so timid in its sex scenes - they could easily have been left out such was their coyness. This is the kind of reading for sleepless nights or drowsy days on the beach. Cíarán Coleman"

"Two new books recently launched by Attic Press: Feminism in Ireland Women's Studies International Forum - Special Issue Attic Press, Dublin IR£9.95 (incl. p&p) Ailbhe Smyth has edited a selection of the most stimulating contributions from the Women's World Festival and Congress which was held in Dublin during July 1987. A vast number of contributors have covered issues like poverty, emigration, lesbianism, divorce, the legal system, the role of the Church in the construction of ideology, the effects of partition and British Imperialism. Attic Press have also published the 10th edition of the Irish Women's Guide Book and Diary 1989. This neat, little A6 diary contains very practical information for women as well as a menstrual calendar and of course the diary itself. Costs IR£3.95 (ISBN 0-946211-57-4) Both books available by mail order from Attic Press, 44 Essex Street, Dublin 2."

"Third House (London) ISBN 1-870188-071 Once again Mr. Rees has come up with a captivating romantic novel about first love. This time it's set in Spain during the Spanish Civil War and concerns a young English University boy who is studying Spanish. He is sent to Spain by his father for the Summer, to teach English to the son of a town mayor. While there he falls in love with the mayor's elder son (and also manages to hit it off with the younger son!). This is at the start of the War. He returns to England for college in October and goes back to Spain the next Summer, gets caught in a siege, has to flee the town and finally ends up in Jail. He eventually, and surprisingly, manages to get out and return to England. The novel is enthralling from start to finish. Although it is set in wartime we are thankfully spared the ""rambo"" mentality, where every bullet fired must have a paragraph devoted to it, and the eventual mess. This novel is mainly concerned with romance, but beware the sting in the tail all you die-hard romantics (like myself) who believe in a happy ending. I can recommend this book - even if you consider love and such things as nonsense - as a good night's read. To pass away a cold winter's night, here are a few suggestions to go with this book: some slow Motown records; a log fire and a hunky man’s (or woman's as the case may be) arms wrapped around you. Tony Murphy"

"Third House, London ISBN 1-870188-05-5 pb. IR£5 Survivors, by Peter Robins, is a book which should not be instantly boxed-off as purely gay fiction: to do that would be to impose unfair limitations on the writer himself. As 'City Limits' magazine commented: '...Robins appeals to both gay and straight.' It is preferable and necessary not to classify any book according to the readers' sexuality, particularly in the case of 'Survivors'. The book has an appeal which reaches into two facets of one's character. One is the taste of adventure we (hopefully) retain from childhood. The other is the taste for romance that revolves around fantasy and impetuosity. Robins speaks a language of fantasy, creating a pursuit for perfect love applicable to any love affair, depending upon your capacity for idealism and romance. The story revolves around two men, two 'Princes' (Sven and Guy), who, unknown to each other, seek each other with a view to perfect love. Bored with life and old loves, each sets out upon a worldwide trek to find one another. Each leaves behind a lover, each of whom set out upon their own trek, partly out of rejection, partly out of mimicking devotion. These provide a sort of anti-hero, sub­ plot ingredient. The travels of all four provide the substance of the story - their individual thoughts and adventures keep it moving, while particular attention is paid to those of the 'Princes'. The story's heroes and anti- heroes are reserved for each other and do not belong to the reader, that is to say a little distance is created. However, any man reading this will find himself in all four characters, perhaps principally with the 'Princes'/Heroes. Robins has beautiful control of language which draws the reader into the story. One does not become a character so much as a present overseer - a willing and enthusiastic one at that. This effective control creates the dream-like quality of the novel. Countires and cities are vast and nameless - and journeys of great distance are exectued with great ease, and all surroundings have appropriate colour according to their mood and purpose. Robins has qualities as a writer unfortunately absent among many of his contemporaries - simplicity and sensuality. He fulfils the tasks that Ian McKewans of this world neglect; a little escapism. Robins, thankfully, has left the task of exploring the blackness of life to others. Survivors in a book for survivors everywhere; those who hold on to dreams, fantasies, and love in an arena where darker recesses are favoured. The overall result is a very pleasant, succumbing 'trip', of sorts. Incidentally, the book is published by 'Third House' - a new company (with whom David Rees is involved), which if this book is anything to go by, has a lot of good things going for it. David Matchett"

"Carthaginians is a new play by Frank McGuinness which is directed by Sarah Pia Anderson and is currently being staged at the Peacock, Dublin. It is McGuinness' contribution to the everlasting 'national question' and while his contemporaries may parade and recite the usual rhetoric, McGuinness attempts to transcend the political statement by focusing on the psyche of Derry and its troubles, through its victims. The play is staged in a burial ground, with its characters engaged in a vigil - waiting for the dead to rise. Derry and the Bloody Sunday killings provide a backdrop and a central reference point to the stories and pain of the characters who are placed in the limbo between life and death. The play, in McGuinness' now familiar style, exudes metaphors, symbols and incantations - some falling short of the mark, but generally succeeding in perturbing and bemusing the audience. This is his first play where humour rides high above everything else, at times obliterating the sadness and pain of the characters. It is an uneasy marriage, and one which doesn't so much blend the tragi-comic aspects but in effect, segregates them. It is also Rosaleen Linehan's most startling performance to date - she is nothing short of brilliant, pounding humour, pathos and pain together in the creation of Maela, the middle aged woman whose visions inspired the vigil. David Herlihy's Dido (Queen of Carthage, 'queen' of Derry) provides over and for the gathering in flights of pique and exuberance, a visible represent­ation of the unquenchable spirit that is Derry. The characters gradually realise that the dead must be left to the earth; that the dead in themselves must also be buried in this burial ground. The focus shifts from the dead to the dying (i.e. themselves), when they finally understand that the miracle has actually occurred. The rebirth of their dead hope, their will to carry on, the care­ taking of the living. As a statement about Derry, Carthaginians is powerful in understanding and heavy with implication. As a piece of theatre it seems unpolished until the end, with the actors seeming at times to plod through many words and actions, which appear too obscure for general understanding and not involved enough in ritual or body language to make nay other kind of impression. There is something about the use of language which bother me, as it bothered me in Innocence. Traces and grasps of notions are not sufficiently powerful in themselves, unless placed firmly in the realm of the visual, where rhyme and ritual can send them flying towards the unconscious. For me, Carthaginians failed more often than not to achieve this, and left me waiting in vain for the full blow of their impact. Only in the final scene did anything come together, where the ritual naming of victims of bloodshed by the cast conjures up power and magic by using the mundane. It served to remind us of what McGuinness was capable of doing in Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme but which he has strangely failed to achieve ever since. Peter Hussey"

"The Dublin Theatre Festival went into its thirty-first year this season, with a condensed programme of over thirty-five productions spanning a three, rather than a two, week run. There is a considerably larger imput this year from Irish writers and companies, with over fifteen new home-grown works premiering at the Festival. Among them is the haunting Carthaginians by Frank McGuinness, a tale of tales of Derry and Derry people. McGuinness is of recent years, one of the more prolific contributors to the Festival, as this year also sees the first staging of his version of Peer Gynt at the Gate. International contributions to the Festival have become progressively more frequent since 1981, with over ten major shows from Europe, Australia, South Africa and Japan highlighting this year's season. Included amongst those are Simon Fanshawe and Jenny Lecoat, two of London's most popular and controversial comic performers; Amampondo, the South African dance/music/singing group who perform a shattering explosion of African culture on stage in the Olympia, and the Torokko Puppet Theatre giving a short run in the Mansion House. Reviewed below are some events of particular interest to GCN readers. A number of plays are running to the end of the month if you haven't seen them."

"Torchlight and Laser Beams is a new play based on the writings of Christopher Nolan. The play is directed by Michael Scott and is currently playing at the Gaiety, Dublin. It is a play about language and silence. The silence of Joseph Meehan whose brain teems with words, sentences, metaphors and magic but has no way to impart it all. Christopher Nolan (Joseph Meehan) is a unique figure in Irish literature, but the medium he uses, language, is rigorously social and communal. Nolan wants to express a silent language, but logically the notion is absurd as is a lot of this play. All the action of the play filters through the lead character Joseph Meehan, alias Christopher Nolan. The early years of his life resemble the opening scene in which mad doctors perform an operation on Meehan's mother to allow him to be born. Born without control of his limbs and without a voice. The play maps out the frustrations and problems that Nolan (Meehan) has to overcome if he is to exorcise his poetic demons. The whole problem with this play is that it is exclusively centred on Meehan's frustrated development. He eventually triumphs with great strength and courage but at that stage who cared? I certainly didn't. The play was without tension, plot or development of character. All the other characters were only a sounding board for Meehan's despair. The gaping lack in this play was one of humour, even though Meehan tries to use laughter to transcend his physical and social incapacity. This is attempted in one poignant scene when Meehan is at school. Some of the kids get him to smoke his first cigarette by getting him to inhale and then holding his nose. The smoke almost hits his toes and Meehan bursts into wild ecstatic posturing. They laugh together but unfortunately it is the last one of the play. Nolan/Meehan is too self-centred, too absorbed with his own 'voice' to worry about its contents or effects. The language of this play is musical and muscular but repetitious. Christopher Nolan is a good writer but his play is long on dialogue and short on drama. Martin O'Neill"