Stations by Louise Kennedy
I remember reading Louise Kennedy’s Trespasses in 2024, staying awake until 3 a.m. to finish in a pool of tears. Shortly after, a friend of mine read The End of the World is a Cul de Sac, and left feeling unsure of the stories, as if they lacked any real meaning. I kept my opinions to myself. It takes a certain type of reader to love a Kennedy novel, but it doesn’t take much effort. Her stunning writing speaks for itself––the language is never the hang-up. But the reader must be willing to wander; Kennedy novels are leisurely walks, not sprints. To follow a person over the course of a life—or at least a period of time that feels as long as a life. It takes someone who can sit in the quiet discomfort forming between characters and watch, as helplessly as we are as readers, as the cracks form in their relationships. Just like her characters, none of us come out the other end unchanged or unmoved. All of this to say: Of course, I devoured her newest novel, Stations, in a single day.
After an awkward first encounter at age 15, Róisín and Red are inseparable… until they aren’t. Once excommunicated from his family and facing familial troubles of her own, Róisín loves Red and follows him to London. Despite himself and his desire to help Ró connect with her baby sister, Red loves drugs more. In a way, maybe without even realizing it, she betrays Red. Then, for a myriad of reasons, he spirals worse into drug abuse, and Róisín blames herself. She returns home to Ireland. The novel then follows Ró as she grows up without her best friend. Who do we become when we are no longer accountable for a loved one? 18 years later, attempting to find him, Ró uncovers dark truths about his childhood. What was he running from all those years ago—what led him to sleeping on her mother’s couch for weeks at a time? Why didn’t he tell her?
One of our greatest living writers, Kennedy’s Stations meditates on addiction and family in all their forms. It’s part coming-of-age romance, part family drama, and part missing person’s case. Róisín, Red, Barry, Tina, Octavia, Sinéad…they are people I know. (And Wilbur is unfortunately just like my dog.) Even though I’m not from Ireland and was born in the next century, I feel they are people I grew up with. No one makes me as miserable as Louise Kennedy, and yet it is self-harm I willingly endure every time because she, and I don’t say this lightly, writes perfect novels. I cannot wait for everyone to read Stations.
Stations by Louise Kennedy, (List Price: $28, Riverhead Books, 9780593714607, November 2026)
Reviewed by Abigail, Parnassus Books in Nashville, TN
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