It is a metaphor, yes; a metaphor for the island of Ireland, of course, but also a metaphorical distillation of the experiences of all countries colonised since the 15th century by Britain or other European nations.

But even on this isolated island, where you're as likely to catch a rabbit for dinner as eat shop-bought food from the mainland, English is creeping in, and not just via the radio in the corner. Although one of the oldest people on the island, Bean Uí Fhloinn still speaks only Irish, most of the rest of her family can either understand or speak English to varying degrees while the youngest member, Séamus is fully bilingual, wants to be known as James and is keen to leave island life behind. in the story itself, where one character's perspective is not shared by another's, over, and over, and over again. The Colony has been described as a metaphor for Ireland and a fable about the effects of colonialism. Did you set out to create such a metaphor? Does the book feel more topical due to the effects of Brexit?

BookBrowse Review

Well-written novels that engage with Hot-Button Social Issues always win prizes, and The Colony is sure to be no exception. This is a book that flaunts its “Post-Colonial Novel” badge proudly. Magee’s characters clearly exist primarily as a means of exploring ideas about imperialism in Irish history and the politics surrounding the Gaelic language. A really fascinating and distinctive fictional examination of the effects of colonization – ranging from artistic appropriation, through language (cleverly both external dialogue and internal monologue) to the legacy of violence. Inspired . . . Magee strikes an expert balance of imagination and lucidity . . . [The Colony] proves that the path to understanding is a meaningful one. As to winning, that would be a wonderful gift for The Colony, a novel that explores the societal controls around colonisation and their impact on language, art, violence and self-determination. I tell the story from an Irish perspective, but the narrative echoes the experiences of other countries around the world where there is a relationship or the legacy of a relationship between the colonised and the coloniser. The first real strength of the book alongside the themes it examines is its use of interior monologue.

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange. A careful interrogation, The Colony expertly explores the mutability of language and art, the triumphs and failures inherent to the process of creation and preservation.” JP, initially confident of his welcome on the Island and in love with language, starts both fluent, wordy and heavily figurative – before over time moving into both a more academic and more suspicious register as the Islanders make it clear he is as guilty of appropriation as Lloyd. The American author John Gardner reportedly said there were only two plots in literature: a man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town. Audrey Magee's second novel is firmly in the latter camp, but with a unique spin. The Colony sees two strangers come to "town", which is to say, a small island off the west coast of Ireland, three miles long and a half-mile wide. In the late 1970s, this isolated strip is home to 12 families, or 92 inhabitants, most of whom view their summer visitors with a mix of scepticism and fear. Dunmore, Helen (1 March 2014). "The Undertaking by Audrey Magee – review". The Guardian . Retrieved 20 April 2016.

Reader Reviews

How long did the book take to write, and what does your writing process look like? Do you type or write in longhand? Are there multiple drafts or sudden bursts of activity? Is there a significant amount of research and plotting before you begin writing? The author is also particularly dexterous in switching from interior monologue immediately and seamlessly to dialogue or to another character’s interior - with the two streams blending seamlessly together. The opening scenes of Mr Lloyd bumbling around in a currach for his crossing to the island were beautifully done. The initial descriptions of the villagers, the windswept cliffs, the puffins, rabbit stew, how to make an Aran jumper- all good. Where I started to get restless probably coincided with the introduction of the French linguist. There were now little asides about the history of the Irish language, coupled with the reportage from the mainland - it became a real question of why I might not just prefer reading a book on Irish history instead. Part of my inability to transcend my own experience comes from the fact that I identified very closely with one of the main characters: fifteen-year old island-boy James, wearing jumpers hand-knit by his mother, spending days on the cliffs catching rabbits with a net—and taking in every aspect of his wild Atlantic surroundings with an artist's eye though completely unschooled in art. I felt I knew James through and through. I felt I was James.