‘The Pilgrimage’ by John Broderick

Pilgrimage

Fiction – paperback; Lilliput Press; 130 pages; 2004.

Upon publication in 1961 The Pilgrimage, like so many Irish novels that dealt with sex and the Church at the time, was banned by the Censorship Board. Four years later it was retitled The Chameleons and sold more than 100,000 copies in the US.

It was John Broderick’s first novel. He went on to write 11 more — most of which are out of print — and an autobiography, but he got his start as a journalist and book reviewer. He died in 1989.

A dark book about sex

While the scandalous element of this novel may have lost its potency — so much about Ireland has changed since then and the Church is no longer a dominant force — there’s no doubt that this is a very dark book, and the depiction of sex within it still has the power to shock. I’ve not read Fifty Shades of Grey, but I suspect there’s a particular scene in The Pilgrimage that even EL James would not even think to write.

Set during the 1950s, this is very much a story about the hidden Ireland, about what goes on behind closed doors. It is also a disturbing portrait of what happens to ordinary men and women when the Church tries to control sex and sexuality. And it peels back the facade to show how women and gay men were particularly affected by the hypocrisy at the heart of its religious doctrine.

An upstanding woman with a secret life

The story is largely told through the eyes of Julia Glynn, a fine upstanding Church-going woman, who has a secret life. Married to a rich bedridden man, who can no longer fulfill her sexual needs, she seeks out casual encounters with strange men and rekindles her affair with her husband’s handsome young nephew and personal doctor, Jim Glynn.

But when Julia receives a malicious note from an anonymous correspondent detailing her relationship with Jim, she fears that this secret life may become exposed. Not that it puts her off too much — she later instigates a sordid night-time relationship with the household’s butler, a cold man called Stephen Lydon, who may or may not be her husband’s former lover.

As you can see by this brief description, the relationships in this novel are rather complicated and twisted — all the more so when you begin to realise that Julia’s marriage is merely one of convenience. Nothing is spelt out, but if you read between the lines it is clear that her husband is gay and that even on their honeymoon in France, when they “struck up a friendship with a young German who accompanied them everywhere and waved them a sentimental farewell at the airport”, he was having an affair right under her nose.

Restrained prose

Like the best Irish novels, the prose here is restrained, stripped back, bare. Every word counts. Much of the plot moves forward by dialogue, and it is this dialogue which reveals so much about his well-drawn, believable characters — it’s like every time they open their mouths, they reveal their souls.

And despite the lack of any superfluous words, Broderick manages to convey feelings and whole atmospheres — usually of malice and foreboding — so that they resonate off the page. A recurring theme is the claustrophobia of small town life, where everyone knows everyone’s business — or thinks they do — something that Julia finds particularly difficult to live with.

She was glad she had brought the car: to walk through the narrow, claustrophobic streets of this town with its almost indecent sense of intimacy would, at that moment, have been more than she could bear. She was too accurately attuned to the tempo of the place not to know that the tiniest change of mood, or worried preoccupation, was as accurately registered as an earthquake on a seismograph. These people did not lay bare their petty secrets by any logical system, but by an instinct which was almost entirely physical; and, therefore to Julia most terrifying, since her own reactions were largely of the blood. For that reason, like many others who live in those closed communities, she had developed a natural gift for dissimulation to an uncanny pitch of perfection. The city dweller who passes through a country town, and imagines it sleepy and apathetic is very far from the truth: it is as watchful as a jungle.

Two kinds of pilgrimage

The main plot, which involves Julia’s husband planning a trip to Lourdes in the hope he may be cured, gives the book its title. But it could also be argued that the way Julia uses her “smooth-skinned marble body” is a form of pilgrimage, too.

I loved this book for its insights into human nature, its political and social commentary, its spotlight on hypocrisy in the Church and people’s spiritual obsessions — all told in such a simple, crisp prose style and at a surprisingly gripping pace. The ending, which is abrupt and does not feel in keeping with the rest of the novel, has meant more to me with the passing of time.

I haven’t been as excited by an Irish author since I discovered the late, great John McGahern in 2005. This was the first novel I have read by John Broderick; it won’t be the last.

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14 thoughts on “‘The Pilgrimage’ by John Broderick

  1. I believe Broderick was gay, which may partly explain the content of this novel. It is very underplayed, though. I had suspicions that Julia’s husband might be gay, but had to reread certain passages to see if I had picked up the clues correctly. I guess Broderick, writing in 1961, didn’t want to be too obvious about things…

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  2. Would be interested in your take on this, Lisa. These kinds of books — about repression in the Church — are right up my street, although I have no idea where this interest comes from, being not the slightest bit religious or Catholic. But then, maybe that’s what I find so fascinating — that people’s lives can be so dominated by religion.

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  3. A comparison to McGahern certainly demands attention from me, even if you have already made sure that my Irish TBR shelf is overflowing.
    And I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that this “pilgrimage” is quite a bit different from that of Harold Fry from this year’s Booker longlist. 🙂

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  4. I have a confession to make, Kevin. I actually bought this book for you prior to our trip to Canada in May this year, before I managed to source the McGahern first edition that I passed onto Mrs KFC. But because I was conscious of airline baggage limits I ended up keeping this one. I have now ordered another copy to be sent to you as a small token of appreciation for the Giller books that were hand-delivered by Sheila last week.

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  5. I’m no prude, but there is one particular scene in this book — written in the sketchiest of terms — that left me feeling very shocked. At first, I thought maybe I had misunderstood what had happened, but after reading it several times I realised I hadn’t misinterpreted the meaning.

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  6. Well you have sold this one to me Kim. It sounds like its an intriguing novel all round and for you to give any book five stars is certainly worth a read.
    And I must read more Irish fiction, I think this and the comment you left on my blog yesterday has got me thinking about less classics more gems from other countries. How to get a good list of them though?

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  7. Good luck… I couldn’t even get this one on inter-library loan (6 million books), so I reckon the only way you’re going to get hold of this is to buy it direct from the Book Depository.

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  8. Excellent article – I have an old Pan paperback of this novel, which I must read again very soon – I saw John Broderick in person just once when he opened an Athlone Musical Society production of “Oklahoma” in 1969

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