Páraic Kerrigan

New Island Books, 2024. 256 pages.

ISBN: 9781848409224

In the seminal work Terrible Queer Creatures: Homosexuality in Irish History, published in 2008, Brian Lacey offers a rather bleak assessment of queer Irish history scholarship, highlighting significant international gaps. He notes the “virtual absence of the words ‘Ireland’ and ‘Irish’” (2008: 6) in the indexes of many history books focusing on queer sexuality, underscoring a lack of attention on Ireland within the broader field. Since the publication of Lacey’s book sixteen years ago, Ireland’s cultural, literary, socio-economic, and political landscape has undergone seismic change, with new voices emerging that are finally finding focus on the task at hand. Over the past decade, we no longer face the challenge of finding resources for readers who are eager to delve deeper into Irish queer historical studies, thanks to the release of notable texts such as Una Mullally’s In the Name of Love – The Movement for Marriage Equality in Ireland: An Oral History (2014), Patrick McDonagh’s Gay and Lesbian Activism in the Republic of Ireland, 1973-93 (2021), and now Páraic Kerrigan’s Reeling in the Queers: Tales of Ireland’s LGBTQ Past (2024). Kerrigan’s Reeling in the Queers achieves more than simply “filling a gap”, a familiar curiosity-driven aim of research; it amplifies voices that have too often been marginalised. The book exemplifies one of Irish Studies’ greatest strengths: its commitment to storytelling as a vital cultural tool. Unlike many examinations of contemporary Irish queer life and the accompanying political and cultural struggles, Kerrigan’s work makes use of both archival research and oral history, unearthing lesser-known stories and figures who have largely been overlooked. This approach allows Kerrigan to craft a rich narrative-based tapestry, resonating not only with LGBTQ+ readers and scholars, but also with a broader more general audience. In chronicling personal anecdotes supported by meticulous, well-designed research, Reeling in the Queers engages readers not just intellectually but emotionally, presenting material accessibly, free from the usual academic jargon that creates a barrier between the writer and reader. What is important here is the voices that were not (always) intentionally silenced; it gives voice to the lesser-known battles many of us in the LGBTQ+ community have faced, and continue to face, even in today’s world.

Similarly, Paul Ryan’s article, “Coming Out, Fitting In: The Personal Narratives of Some Irish Gay Men” (2003), which I encountered early in my own research, leans into personal accounts of gay men in Ireland. Both works share a commitment to crafting narratives, though Kerrigan’s approach stands out for its intersectionality, which enriches the collection and offers a more inclusive view of queer experiences. Kerrigan’s choice to use “queer” in the title is deliberate, as he defines the term to encompass “various sexual orientations and gender identities that differ from the heterosexual norm and those identifying with the gender they were assigned at birth” (4). This inclusive framework is central to the book’s mission, allowing Kerrigan to present a balanced portrayal of diverse identities and ways of being. Reeling in the Queers comprises fourteen chapters, each dedicated to a unique theme or case-study, some of which may be unfamiliar to many general readers. From profiling the Irish gay pop band 4Guyz, to recounting the life of self-identified transvestite Judith Storm, and covering transgender rights and the Belfast Lesbian Line, Kerrigan offers a rich array of stories often absent in traditional Irish queer histories. Instead of focusing on well-known figures, he emphasises the contributions of “ordinary” individuals who have shaped the community in one way or another. For instance, while readers might anticipate a section on Senator David Norris, he is mentioned only in passing in Chapter 5, “A Private Matter? Gay Soldiers in the Irish Army”, where the focus is on Tom Brace’s experiences as a gay man in the Army. Tom’s story highlights the risks of being openly gay in the Irish Army in the 1970s, with his initial coming out to Norris sparking a lifelong friendship where Tom could “truly be himself” (63). Here, Kerrigan’s work emphasises the significance of centring lesser-known voices in documenting queer history.

One of the most poignant chapters is the story of Father Bernárd Lynch, the “AIDS Priest”. Born in Ennis and having been active in the New York chapter of Dignity USA, an advocacy group for LGBTQ+ Catholics, Lynch dedicated himself to supporting AIDS patients and their families during the initial years of the pandemic. This chapter is both eloquent and emotive, and one which I had to re-read multiple times. Kerrigan’s sensitive approach to Lynch’s legacy not only honours his work but also, I believe, will resonate with younger LGBTQ+ readers who might benefit from understanding their own “queerstory”. Accounts like this foster a sense of historical kinship, bridging generational divides and enriching queer historical narratives – we have to see it, to be it, after all.

It would be remiss not to mention a particular aspect the author might have included, although I take full responsibility for my own bias. Given that any work of such high calibre must operate within its own scope and limitations, a chapter exploring the queer Irish language community would have been valuable. Sociolinguistic studies, such as those by John Walsh (2019) on queer new speakers of Irish, along with his article on the queer arts collective AerachAiteachGaelach (2024), suggest that a focus on this dimension of queer life would have offered readers another perspective; a community within a community. Interestingly, this suggestion was also made in Duncan’s review (2022) of Kerrigan’s first monograph, LGBTQ Visibility, Media and Sexuality in Ireland (2021), where he states “The book’s stated focus is on LGBTQ visibility in Irish-produced television and yet Irish language television is utterly absent from that focus” (Duncan 2022: 187). While this book is a vastly different text, one that has a different audience in mind, it is regretful that Kerrigan did not take on board this aspect of Irish culture in Reeling in the Queers. For instance, highlighting the contributions of Roy Galvin, who founded Gaeilgeoirí Aeracha Aontaithe (known as the GAA) in 1993, would have been a welcome addition to the book (Woods 1998: 41). Although Kerrigan’s commitment to inclusivity is clearly evident, and while the Irish language community is often (and routinely, it seems) overlooked in such contexts, this could be the bones of an interesting future project. Furthermore, the experiences of the queer Irish traveller community might have given additional insights, should the author have considered the work of Vesna Malesevic (2023) who has been working in this space.  There may have been other unsung heroes who did not quite make the cut in this text, but that is not to say that they are not out there, nor does it say that a project such as this can cover such a plurality of identities. That being said, this could be the beginning of a lifelong love letter by Kerrigan to the queer community as other everyday heroes come to light.

Making the shortlist for An Post’s “Best Irish Published Book of the Year”, Reeling in the Queers (2024) richly deserves its overwhelmingly positive reviews. The text’s style does not lack substance, and seeing that the text starts with a “Timeline of Queer History, 1971-2024”, it would not be surprising if Kerrigan embarks on a second project of a similar theme in years to come. The legacies left by those who have positively shaped the queer community is something that should be transmitted from generation to generation, and with that a standard has now been set; a standard that is a high one at that. While books such as this attempt to mirror the ongoing development of the queer community here in Ireland, it is important that we remind ourselves of how story-telling such as this is so intricately entwined with Irish identity, a phenomenon that spans the centuries. Reeling in the Queers, I hope, is a positive, joyful snapshot of an evolving Ireland, and while there is much more work to do that celebrath other unsung heroes, Kerrigan, it seems, is going to continue to unearth these narratives for many generations to come. Reeling in the Queers will have you reeling in the tears, but will also give you space to meditate on how each of us can create real change.