Archive for the ‘Brian Moore’ Category

The Feast of Lupercal

April 3, 2026

Brian Moore’s second novel, The Feast of Lupercal, mines similar territory to his first, The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne. Here, too, an inexperienced, unloved protagonist, Diarmuid Devine, believes he may have found a candidate for marriage; in this case, the niece, Una, of a colleague at the boys’ school where he teaches. His thoughts of marriage originate in an overheard conversation in the toilets where Devine finds himself described as “that old woman” by a younger teacher:

“How can you expect the likes of Dev to understand what a fellow feels about a girl?”

This moment of self-doubt coincides with his friend and colleague, Tim Heron’s, daughter’s engagement party, and the arrival of his niece, Una, from Dublin. When they meet at the party he might, at any other time, have thought little of it but “he had promised himself he’d get out of the rut and now he’d met a girl.” The next day Devine, stage manager at the local amateur dramatic society, is asked by Father McSwiney about a performance of Mulligan’s Will to raise funds. Though Devine is reluctant, he realises that Una’s claim, “I’ve always been keen on the stage,” opens up an opportunity for him as the actress who had previously played the lead female part is unavailable and he offers to rehearse with Una in preparation for an audition. Moore is excellent in describing the change in his character as their relationship develops:

“…he was filled with an outrageous joy. He smiled into the shocked faces of strangers, walked across Donegall Street against a red light and stopped to kick an apple core into the formal flowerbeds of City Hall.”

The novel also cleverly balances the possibility that Una likes Devine, despite being much younger, with the more cynical suspicion that she is using him. Alongside the fact she is Protestant, Devine has also been told that she is in Belfast as she “was mixed up with a married man”. On the one hand, this adds a suggestion she is sexually available, but on the other it could prove scandalous for a Catholic schoolteacher. The religious dimension is important not only because Devine is expected to be morally exemplary in his life or risk losing his job, but because his own religious principles prevent him from taking advantage of Una. When they are rehearsing and an opportunity arises for him to kiss her as scripted:

“Dammit, he couldn’t. It might not be acting any more, it might be something else entirely.”

Una, too, must guard her own reputation, which has already been tarnished, and her uncle is duty bound to ensure there is no hint of further scandal. This explains Heron’s anger when he hears that Devine has taken Una out for a meal. When Heron confronts Devine, however, Devine plays down any relationship with Una:

“She’d rehearsed so hard all week, I thought she needed a little treat.”

This will be the first, but not the last, occasion, when Devine will ‘deny’ Una to save himself: “he felt as though he had committed sacrilege. How could he face Una, after letting her down?” As the novel progresses it becomes less about their relationship and more about whether Devine can find the courage to be himself whatever the cost – not only his job but his lodgings (as with Judith Hearne) being under threat.

Both The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne and The Feast of Lupercal are about characters who find themselves lost and lonely in middle-age. Both aspire to be good Catholics but find their religion is not enough to sustain them. Both are seen by others as rather dull, leading routine, unexciting lives. Moore reveals the passions that lie untapped beneath the surface, suppressed by both Catholicism and hopelessness, giving the reader glimpses of neglected possibilities, while never forgetting we are bound by the societies we live in. Moore’s vision is both hopeful in recognising that his characters can still be stirred to action, but pessimistic in suggesting that society will reject any attempt at change, a pessimism reflected in the novel’s final image:

“The horse, harnessed, dumb, lowered its head once more.”

The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne

January 24, 2026

Brian Moore’s first novel, The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne published in 1955, was not actually his first novel – he had already written a series of pulp thrillers and would go on to write three more after. It is, however, very far from the thrills implied in A Bullet for my Lady and This Gun for Gloria despite sharing the author’s love of a female-centred title. There is nothing in the way of violence in Judith Hearne unless one counts the violent passions that arise in Judith, a middle-aged spinster, on the appearance of her landlady’s brother, James Madden, from New York where he has spent most of his adult life. (Moore similarly left Ireland for Canada in 1949, and would later live in New York).

Hearne lives a lonely, unfulfilled life, moving from boarding house to boarding house (we think, initially, as a result of her high standards), counting every coin she spends as her pupils (she teaches piano) dwindle in number, and unlikely ever to marry now that she is in her forties. Watched over by a picture of the aunt she nursed through the prime years of her life, and Jesus with his Scared Heart, she seems content with her limited existence until she meets Madden:

“He was a big man. He alone had risen when she entered… Who else but an American would wear that big bluestone ring on his finger.”

His manners (important to Hearn who has earlier dismissed her landlady’s son, Bernard, as having “no manners, staring like that”) and the glamour of his stateside life are attractive to Hearne; her interest in that life pleases Madden. Yet, she immediately fears rejection:

“He would, see her shyness, her stiffness. And it would frighten him, he would remember he was alone with her… he would see the hysteria in her eyes, the hateful hot flush in her cheeks. And he would go as all men had gone before him.”

This fear is rooted in her desperate loneliness, which Moore exposes in the pages which follow. Her meagre budget is such she cannot afford to eat lunch, describing hunger as an “expensive little rascal”. She meets an ex-pupil only to discover he has a new music teacher:

“You’d think I had the plague or something. That’s four pupils gone in the last six months.”

The only bright spot in her week is Sunday, “the great day of the week,” her only social occasion when she visits the O’Neill’s. The visit is viewed as a chore by their children, Shaun describing it as “the advent of the Great Bore” before disappearing to study, as does his sister, Una. The routine nature her visit is emphasised by their mimicking of her greeting, “It’s only me,” and her regular refusal of a third glass of sherry. Hearne is both aware of this but unable to break free from the straitjacket of her repetitive existence:

“There! She’d done it again, saying something she always said. She saw the small cruel smile on Una’s face…”

It is this awareness that prevents Hearne being simply a figure of fun to the reader as she is to the children. Where they assume that she is contented with her unchanging routine, we sense that she still hopes, as she does with Madden. At the same time, Moore suggests from the beginning that her feelings are not reciprocated:

“Friendly, she is. And educated. Those rings and that gold wristwatch. They’re real. A pity she looks like that.”

The emphasis on her expensive jewellery and dismissal of her looks indicate that, though Madden may admire her sophistication, he does not view her romantically. Throughout the novel, Moore will allow the reader glimpses of Hearne from the point of view of other characters, enhancing the essential tragedy of her story. Her weakness for alcohol is also hinted at on her first visit to the O’Neill’s:

“The first sip was delicious, steadying, making you want a big swallow. But it has to last.”

Even the language (“a big swallow”) suggests the loss of decorum that will come with drinking. As Hearne loses the tight control she attempts to hold on her life by constantly denying herself there is something to admire as well as regret. Moore’s ability to write the life of a middle-aged woman is quite remarkable and though the novel may not be a ‘thriller’ the narrative tension is, at times, exquisite.


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