Would you want to have a drink with these famous Irish writers?

It's Saint Patrick's Day, which means many old and young alike find a reason to imbibe to obscene levels, all in the name of Ireland and something something something--hey, I love you--look! A beer!

Ireland has been the home to dozens of famous writers over the centuries, but that doesn't mean they're the type you'd want to hang around with to have a drink.

So, with today being the holiday and this being a blog that involves books, here the twain shall meet.

It's time to judge whether you'd want have a drink with the Irish writer...


Samuel Beckett:

The weathered face suggests a man who doesn't mind life's finer pleasures.

That's also the weathered face of a man who's judging. You never want to drink with a judger.

Verdict: God, no.


James Joyce:

The next photo you ever find of James Joyce smiling will be the first photo you ever find of James Joyce smiling.

James Joyce is depressing enough. You don't want to drink with a depressive.

Verdict: If you have to ask, you deserve what you get.



Seamus Heaney:

I'm pretty certain he's already had a few by the time this picture was taken. Who falls asleep upright in a photo?

Verdict: He might doze off, but that never hurt. Yes!



Jonathan Swift:

You don't develop that supple chin action and ruddy complexion unless you know about tippling back a few.

Meet Swift at the wig parlor room for a whiskey.

Verdict: Duh.



C.S. Lewis:

He might try to convert you to the Church of Ireland over a few, but at least you'll know he'll have a few.

Added bonus, he might make you a character in his next book. Sure, you might end up being a lion or a donkey or something, but something is something.

Verdict: All the religion talk will quiet down after awhile. Yes.



William Butler Yeats:

No.



Frank McCourt:

He looks like your grandpa. And all grandpas drink, at least a little. Unless they're an alcoholic, and then you never know. They might always sip on a ginger ale while quietly wishing it was a beer.

So, it might be better to never ask.

Verdict: I'm sorry, grandpa. I didn't mean anything by asking. I, just, oh, I...



Maeve Binchy:

It's almost impossible to find a photo of this woman and not see her smiling. If she didn't drink, I just so badly wish she did.

Verdict: Please?



George Bernard Shaw:

This is like Samuel Beckett if Samuel Beckett could at least seem pleasant after downing some scotch.

Shaw was cantankerous--but, damnit, you just know with a face like that after a night at a pub he'd lighten up.

Verdict: C'mon, pops.



Oscar Wilde:

Oscar Wilde famously drank champagne and took opium up until the day he died.

Or, as he once said, "I drink to separate my body from my soul."

Verdict: Anyone have a Dom Pérignon on hand?

Seamus Heaney is getting a museum in his honor funded by lotto money.

Seamus Heaney is one of a few poets of the last forty years that the world remembers. Now, Heaney will be remembered with a museum as well.

Heaney, the Nobel laureate who died in 2013 at the age of 74, will be the focus of a literary trail in County Derry, Northern Ireland, with a museum as the centerpiece. £688,700 in funding will be provided by the United Kingdom's National Lottery.

Poetry and the lottery.

It makes sense, because most poets will only know what money looks like if they win the lottery.




photo: The Celtic Times

Seamus Heaney: 1939-2013

I brought up Seamus Heaney's death to someone I know, figuring we'd mutually lament the death of a literary titan.

Except they didn't know who Seamus Heaney was. Never heard of him.

Which just goes to show--Nobel Prizes don't guarantee seats at a busy restaurant these days.





Not for nothing, but didn't Seamus kind of look like Dumbledore? Right? Right??




photo: The Guardian

Seamus Heaney wins Irish Times poetry award.

Seamus Heaney??

The Irish Times??

Really???

You don't say!

Hemingway always felt like a bit of a drama queen.

In the world of famous writers, Jane Austen always had the vibe of someone who might get involved in underground fight clubs--right after Truman Capote or Seamus Heaney. The gentry of Jane's time was wound so tightly that swinging brass knuckles would be an obvious outlet for stress relief.

A video--a mock trailer for a non-existent movie--has come out the past few days and gone viral. It blends together Jane Austen and the film adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club.

If only.