It is the summer of 1979, and in Audrey Magee’s lyrical and brooding novel The Colony, two outsiders, one an English artist, the other a French linguist, visit a small, sparsely populated, rocky outcrop of an island off the west coast of Ireland, each in his own way striving to encapsulate the truth of this place—one in his painting, one in his faithful rendition of its speech, all with unforeseen and haunting consequences. The story is reminiscent of Anna Burns’ Milkman (yet totally different!), because "the troubles" in Northern Ireland feature here too, yet they remain a backdrop to a deeper, rural island story that is really about art and language and family and colonialism. This traditional island fishing community becomes a laboratory in which Magee dissects the gulf between what Ireland is and how the rest of the world fantasizes it to be (the sectarian violence claiming victims across Ireland is very effectively and dramatically rendered in short, sobering interludes interspersed with the main narrative.) Apropos of a novel dealing with art and language, Magee paints a vivid portrait of the island and its people (especially enriching is Magee’s portrait of James, a 15-year-old island boy seeking a bigger, better life). The novel’s ideas about language and culture are provocative and profound, but in a quiet way. And there is an elegant simplicity to the terse, direct dialogue; the pace of the novel is unhurried, the language often poetic, often strangely funny, with some inner thoughts relayed as streams of consciousness or ingeniously in bits of verse. Longlisted for the 2022 Booker Prize (it would be my favorite to win!), one of my favorite novels of the year, a novel I found near perfect and, honestly, didn’t want to end (trite I know, but true!), Ed loved and highly recommends!
— Ed