Charles Maturin Archives | Swan River Press

The Green Book 24

*37 York Street, Dublin. Reproduced courtesy of the National Library of Ireland.*

“Editor’s Note #24”

In Issue 23 of The Green Book we featured a sketch of Charles Maturin (1782-1824) penned by James Clarence Mangan, originally published in March 1849. Although we now celebrate Maturin as the author of Melmoth the Wanderer (1820), Mangan identified The Milesian Chief (1812) as his own favourite novel: “the grandest of all Maturin’s productions”. In that essay, Mangan also muses on Maturin’s underappreciated legacy in his native Dublin—“not forgotten because he had never been thought about”. He goes on tell us that the writer William Godwin wished to make a pilgrimage to Maturin’s grave, but Mangan observes, “where the remains of my distinguished countryman repose, I confess I know not”.

The answer to that question in 1849 would have been simple: the churchyard of St. Peter’s on Aungier Street, where Maturin once served as curate. The answer to that same question in 2024, as we approach the bicentenary of Maturin’s death on 30 October, is substantially more complex: St. Peter’s was razed in 1980, the churchyard and its contents removed to make way for urban development. And so what of Maturin’s admirers who, like Mangan, would make that pilgrimage to the Gothic eccentric’s final resting place? Thankfully, opening this issue we have Fergal O’Reilly’s exploration of this literary mystery, taking us on a posthumous odyssey from Aungier Street to various churches and churchyards across Dublin, by way of various archaeological reports, in search of Maturin’s earthly remains—a puzzle worthy of Yeats’s own skeletal jumble. Readers interested in learning more about Charles Maturin will find a full biographical profile written by Albert Power in Issue 12.

In keeping with the forgotten and overlooked, we have another crop of profiles from our “Guide to Irish Writers of the Fantastic and Supernatural” series, although it strikes me that many of these names will hopefully be familiar to most: Maria Edgeworth, Katharine Tynan, and Dorothy Macardle; these writers do, however, rub shoulders with the truly lesser known likes of Filson Young, Shaw Desmond, and Martin Waddell. As always, I hope you will discover new literary paths to explore with these new entries.

And finally, Bernice M. Murphy weighs in on the freshly restored and re-released Irish “folk horror” film The Outcasts (1982), written and directed by Robert Wynne-Simmons—a name some will recognise as the screenwriter of The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971). For some in Ireland, this film is a dim but impressive memory, glimpsed on late-night television during its only broadcast in 1984. The Outcasts over the decades became a piece of Irish cinema legend, less seen and more peppered into conversations revolving around obscure celluloid. The Irish Film Institute describes this film as “folk horror”, a phrase I find too liberally applied these days to just about anything featuring sticks, rocks, and goats or set in the countryside. The Outcasts does not necessarily strive for the ultimate unified effect of horror. Instead, this film is of a rarer breed, more akin to Penda’s Fen (1974) in its otherworldly ruminations. I’ve come to prefer the phrase “folk revelation” as perhaps a more accommodating description for these sorts of stories. Whatever the case, I hope you get to see this remarkable film.

Buy The Green Book 24

Brian J. Showers
Æon House, Dublin
25 September 2024

The Green Book 23

“Editor’s Note”

As a whole, I like to think that The Green Book serves as a sort of portrait of Irish Gothic literature in its myriad guises, incomplete though it may be, but ever adding detail to the canvas. Looking over this issue, I feel that most of what has been assembled here are portraits of the proprietors of the darker fantastic—some of the pieces are direct reminiscences, others illustrate their subjects in more oblique ways. I like when this happens—when the themes of an issue, or even just an approach, emerge of their own accord.

The opening triptych of portraits in this issue comes courtesy of the thunder-scarred poet James Clarence Mangan (1803-1849), whose beckoning and forlorn visage also adorns this issue’s cover. Those of you who pay attention to such things, take note that 30 October will be the 200th anniversary of Charles Maturin’s death (1782-1824). Mangan’s reminiscence of the author of Melmoth the Wanderer (1820) makes for a colourful portrayal; it strikes me now as I read it that this piece is the touchstone for how we now perceive Maturin, with all his eccentricities and swiftly underappreciated Gothic legacy. Maturin’s final resting place seems to be something of a mystery. I won’t speculate here, but if any reader wishes to conduct an investigation—and write up their findings for The Green Book—please do.

Mangan also writes on his contemporary, John Anster (1793-1862), who is best remembered today for his English translation of Goethe’s Faust, later used in the 1925 edition illustrated by Harry Clarke. In his third sketch, Mangan gives us a brief critical overview of the oeuvre of Maria Edgeworth (1768-1849), though oddly does not mention Castle Rackrent (1800). This omission is a fascinating one and a reminder that the work of an author which we today hold in the highest regard, might not be the book for which they were celebrated during their lifetime or at the time of their death—after all, when was the last time you read Bram Stoker’s Reminiscences of Sir Henry Irving, much lauded in the weeks following 20 April 1912?

A brief side note, albeit a morbid one: Mangan penned an addendum noting that Edgeworth died during the composition of his sketch. Edgeworth died on 22 May 1849; the sketch was published on the 26th of the same month; Mangan himself scarcely survived another month, dying on 20 June 1849. Edgeworth was buried in the churchyard at St. John’s in Edgeworthstown; Mangan rests in Glasnevin Cemetery on the northside of Dublin.

There is much else to explore in this issue, each article illuminating in different ways its subject. Helen C. Black gives us a bucolic interview with Charlotte Riddell—wonderfully capturing the latter’s personality; while John P. Irish and Douglas A. Anderson each explore aspects of Fitz-James O’Brien’s writing: the former examines a pair of O’Brien’s most popular tales through the lens of mad science, while the latter reconsiders a clutch of stories in the light of recent bibliographic scholarship.

An unfinished canvas comes to us from Richard Bleiler, who has unearthed more biographical information (and a previously unpublished poem) by the enigmatic “Keith Fleming”—Kathleen Fitz-Patrick (1849-1945)—author of Can Such Things Be? (1889) and By the Night Express (1889). There’s an exploration of George William Russell’s mystical transformation into “A.E.”; and finally a trio of pieces by Mervyn Wall, including his dazzling reminiscences of mid-century Dublin’s literary milieu, and his encounter with Gerald Gardner at the Museum of Witchcraft while on holiday in the Isle of Man.

On a final note, I would like to dedicate this issue of The Green Book to the memory of David J. Skal, a writer, scholar and friend who was no stranger to these pages. You might have your own favourites, but of his books, these are mine: The Monster Show, Dark Carnival, Death Makes a Holiday, and Something in the Blood. You can find David’s scholarship in The Green Book issues two, four, and six, the latter of which contains a lengthy interview with him. Thank you for the inspiration, David. Rest easy—and keep doing the Monster Mash wherever you are!

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Brian J. Showers
Æon House, Dublin
16 January 2024

The Green Book 14

Green Book 14 EDITOR’S NOTE

We encounter and enjoy authors mostly through their writing, forgetting sometimes that there are personalities behind their words, some astonishingly well-known in their time, often now relegated to small press rediscoveries. With sufficient spans of years, these authors and their personalities pass out of memory, becoming less familiar to us as people and more so as names on title pages. But it is important to remember that these authors lived and worked, had careers and relationships; some of them died while relatively unknown, others were widely celebrated for their creations. With this in mind, I’ve decided to focus the current issue on reminiscences, interviews, and memoirs in hopes of summoning the shades of these writers and to show that in some ways their lives were not always so different from our own.

To that end, you will find a number of texts I have been collecting these past few years, now nestled here comfortably beside one another. Each one, I hope, will give you some insight into the lives of these authors, who they were, and a past that is not necessarily so far distant.

There are first-hand accounts by authors with whom I hope you are now familiar. Rosa Mulholland, Cheiro, and Dorothy Macardle all relate anecdotes of their own experiences with the psychical and supernatural. Elsewhere in this issue, you can spend an entertaining evening with Mervyn Wall. In this talk, given to the Bram Stoker Society in 1987, he delves into witchcraft and details the origins of his best-loved novel, The Unfortunate Fursey (1946).

We have a few interviews — “chats” — with those who worked as professionals, and whose names were familiar to the broader public on a weekly basis, as their stories were published and novels serialised in magazines of the day. Among these sketches you’ll be invited to spend agreeable afternoons with L. T. Meade, Charlotte Riddell, and Katharine Tynan. While they may not discuss strictly ghastly material, I hope these interviews bring us that much closer to authors whose works still find admiration of a modern readership.

You’ll also find some brief memoirs, including litterateur William Winter’s reminiscence of his fallen comrade Fitz-James O’Brien, who died in the American Civil War; and Samuel Carter Hall, who conjures two of Dublin’s gothic greats: Charles Maturin and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu — perhaps reminding us that these authors existed in a wider social world.

However, the issue commences with Albert Power’s appraisal of George Croly’s Salathiel (1828), a novel which Stoker biographer Paul Murray posited as an influence on the composition of Dracula. Although, a tale of the Wandering Jew, Salathiel might have more in common thematically with Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer, than Bram Stoker’s more famous book. Power aptly leads us through the life of Reverend Croly and how his book fits into the literary milieu of the dark fantastic.

If you would like to read more about some of these writers among these pages, you’ll find lengthier profiles in earlier issues of The Green Book. In Issue 9: Rosa Mulholland; Issue 12: Mervyn Wall; Issue 13: Cheiro and Beatrice Grimshaw. While this issue and the next will serve as an intermission in our Guide to Irish Writers of Gothic, Supernatural, and Fantastic Fiction, fear not — we will return with more entries in future instalments.

Brian J. Showers
Rathmines, Dublin
15 April 2020

You can buy The Green Book here.

Contents

“Editor’s Note”
Brian J. Showers

“Who Marvels at the Mysteries of the Moon: George Croly’s Salathiel”
Albert Power

“Sketch of Fitz-James O’Brien”
William Winter

“Le Fanu and Maturin: Two Reminiscences”
Samuel Carter Hall

“About Ghosts”
Rosa Mulholland

“How I Found Adventure”
Beatrice Grimshaw

“A Biographical Sketch of Mrs. L. T. Meade”
Helen C. Black

“Sweet Singer from Over the Sea”
A Chat with Katharine Tynan

“A Chat with Mrs. J. H. Riddell”
Raymond Blathwayt

“Extracts from Confessions: Memoirs of a Modern Seer”
Cheiro

“They Say It Happened”
Dorothy Macardle

“Ghost Story of a Novelist”
Katharine Tynan

“Witchcraft and the Origins of The Unfortunate Fursey”
Mervyn Wall

“Notes on Contributors”

The Green Book 12

Green Book 12 EDITOR’S NOTE by Brian J. Showers

“Ireland’s contributions to supernatural literature has been a major one and, like its contribution to literary endeavour generally, out of proportion to the country’s small size.”

– Peter Berresford Ellis, Supernatural Literature of the World

One of the occasional criticisms of The Green Book is that it’s far too niche. That the focus on Irish literature of the gothic, supernatural, and fantastic is too limiting a remit. I could never really understand this assertion, especially not now that the journal has survived twelve issues — and I’m already working on the next.

In fact, I’ve found quite the opposite to be true. The more I look at the island of Ireland’s wide-ranging and far-reaching contributions to fantastical literature, the more I learn and the more I feel excited about further exploration as both a reader and publisher; a sentiment I hope the audience of this publication shares.

So here is my reply to that occasional criticism:

The first point I’d like to make is that literature of the fantastic is incredibly broad and covers a staggering range of authors writing in myriad different modes. Lafcadio Hearn and John Connolly couldn’t be more different from each other as prose writers, and yet they are both welcome among these pages. The same can be said of Lord Dunsany and Elizabeth Bowen, or of Regina Maria Roche and Flann O’Brien — their themes, styles, and preoccupations are strikingly different. But they all belong here, each a writer who has contributed to the genres we explore in this publication.

The second point I’d like to address is — to borrow an academic word — the “problematic” notion of Irish and Irishness. Who gets to be Irish? What does it mean to be Irish? And who do we suspect — gasp! — is merely an interloper? This aspect of The Green Book is, I admit, in some sense almost arbitrary. While writers are free to choose their mode of literary expression, the exact location on the surface of this planet where they are born is nothing more than a geographical lottery. I write this as a Wisconsinite who now identifies as a Dubliner — more so than as Irish or even as American — and, believe me, I’ve been informed many times over the two decades that I have lived here that I cannot possibly be Irish. That I am a mere interloper. And yet here I sit, apparently quite inexplicably, editing this journal. (Would you believe that a Dublin-based artist, in a conversation about Francis Bacon, once told me “Bacon wasn’t really Irish, was he?” This, despite Bacon having been born in Dublin. How does one even begin responding to something like that?)

So where does that leave us?

My own approach to this dilemma — who does and who does not count as “Irish” — is simply to be as inclusive as possible, which is still no easy task, especially given the extent of Ireland’s diaspora. But I always try to fill these pages with as much interesting writing as possible.

A couple years ago Jim Rockhill (who hails from Michigan) and I decided to put together what we’re tentatively calling the Guide to Irish Writers of Gothic, Supernatural and Fantastic Literature. In Issue 11, I started publishing the fruits of this on-going project, and the present issue is filled cover-to-cover with more fascinating results.

Peter Berresford Ellis also writes in Supernatural Literature of the World, “Practically every Irish writer has, at some time, explored the genre for the supernatural is part of Irish culture”. And so I figured, if the Guide is to be of any use, and lest we include unwieldy swathes of the literary canon, it is probably best to set a few limitations, keeping in mind that these limitations might sometimes be ignored . . .

First and foremost, the Irish author in question must have contributed either substantially or uniquely to literature of the gothic, supernatural or fantastic. For example, B. M. Croker wrote enough ghost stories over her career to fill a slim volume and therefore merits inclusion for that reason; Hilton Edwards wrote and directed a single, highly notable ghostly short film: Return to Glenascaul, a strong enough achievement to merit his inclusion for at least a short entry.

Furthermore, to be considered for the Guide — and this is where things get stickier — authors should be either born in Ireland (e.g. Caitlin R. Kiernan), raised/schooled in Ireland (e.g. Lafcadio Hearn), lived a substantial or formative portion of their life in Ireland (e.g. Maria Edgeworth), or have a strong connection with Ireland through their writing (e.g. Peter Berresford Ellis).

I should probably add, with no prejudice, that mythology, folklore, and science fiction, despite the occasional overlap, not only fall slightly outside our expertise, but are already well-served in different corners by those better informed.

Even with these limitations, I estimate our Guide will clock in at a staggering 180k words. Possibly more.

Of course not everyone will agree with our definitions, nor are we asking you to. Instead, I’d like to invite you to make suggestions, naturally backed up with considered reasoning (as opposed to indignantly spitting out a name), regarding authors falling within our scope that we might have missed. Better yet, let me know if you’d like to write the entry too.

Ireland is a small island, simultaneously divided and unified, as it is, to different degrees in its various guises. But I’m constantly amazed, even if only looking at literature of the gothic, supernatural and fantastic, at the broad range of writing and the far-reaching influence that our speck of land has had on world literature. And that’s worth exploring.

You can buy The Green Book 12 here.

Contents

“Editor’s Note”
Brian J. Showers

“Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)”
Albert Power

“Charles Maturin (1782-1824)”
Albert Power

“Brinsley Le Fanu (1854-1929)”
Gavin Selerie

“Robert Cromie (1855-1907)”
Reggie Chamberlain-King

“Clotilde Graves (1863-1932)”
Mike Ashley

“H. de Vere Stacpoole (1863-1951)”
Mark Valentine

“Arabella Kenealy (1864-1938)”
Mike Ashley

“Vere Shortt (1874-1915)”
Mark Valentine

“Lord Dunsany (1878-1957)”
Martin Andersson

“James Stephens (1880/2-1950)”
Derek John

“Herbert Moore Pim (1883-1950)”
Reggie Chamberlain-King

“Mervyn Wall (1908-1997)”
Darrell Schweitzer

“Notes on Contributors”

Charles Maturin (1782-1824)

1 Maturin “I have traversed the world in the search, and no one, to gain that world, would lose his own soul!” –Melmoth the Wanderer (1820)

Charles Maturin, novelist and playwright, was born in Fitzwilliam Street on 25 September 1782. In his youth he had a fascination for the gothic novels of Walpole, Radcliffe, and “Monk” Lewis. His early novel, The Milesian Chief (1812), won the praise of Sir Walter Scott; while his play, Bertram (1816), though successful, drew harsh criticism from Coleridge. A lifelong member of the clergy, serving as curate of St. Peter’s Church on Aungier Street, Maturin is now best remembered for his sprawling gothic novel Melmoth the Wanderer (1820). Maturin’s great-nephew, Oscar Wilde, paid tribute to the gothic novelist by adopting the name “Sebastian Melmoth” during his final years of exile in France. Maturin died in his home on York Street on 30 October 1824.

Notable Works

Melmoth the Wanderer (1820)

“Leixlip Castle” (1825)

Find out more about Irish Writers of the Fantastic.

Irish Writers of the Fantastic

2017-08-05-Irish-Writers-Po A good while back I posted the image of a poster designed by myself and long-time Swan River conspirator Jason Zerrillo. It features a line-up of Ireland’s most recognisable and possibly most influential writers of fantastic literature. I explained the impetus for the poster’s creation in an earlier post.

While I’m pleased with the results, it was not easy choosing who to include and who to leave off. Much as I wanted to indulge in the most obscure and overlooked (Oliver Sherry, anyone?), there is also merit in showcasing the luminaries: a reminder of this island’s contributions to worlds of unbridled imagination.

Ultimately, this poster is meant as a gateway for exploration. So you can imagine my delight when Alison Lyons of Dublin City Libraries and Dublin UNESCO City of Literature agreed to produce copies of the poster to distribute for free around Dublin this autumn. The goal had always been to make this poster available to libraries, schools, bookshops, to anywhere that loves to promote good literature, and to anyone who loves to read it.

To augment this poster, I also wrote a series of capsule biographies and recommended reading for each authors. You can find it over on the Dublin City of Literature website.

And so how do you get a copy of the poster? Easy! Go into any Dublin City Library branch and ask! Better yet, have a browse around for these authors’ books. Librarians will be happy to help!