Revolving around the sometimes chaotic lives of five teenage boys in the Liberties, Estelle Birdy’s Ravelling channels the energies and agonies of young men let loose in Dublin city.
Already optioned by Sleeper Films to be made into a major television series, <i>Ravelling</i> is an explosive debut title from Estelle Birdy that tracks five Dublin teens—Karl, Deano, Hamza, Benit and Oisín—as they navigate the tumultuous trajectory of youth and young manhood, balancing their hopes with the harsh realities of the present.
Bound by friendship, place and the memories of those who’ve died too soon, these young men grapple with race, class, sex, parties, poverty, violence and Garda harassment, all while wondering what it means to be a man in twenty-first century Ireland. Fast-paced, funny and eye-popping, think of <i>Trainspotting</i>, <i>White Teeth</i> and <i>Milkman</i> as its cultural predecessors.
In this extract Karl, Deano, Hamza, Benit and Oisín try the patience of their teacher Mr Finnegan as they head off on a school trip to the Young Scientists exhibition…
The bus is already looking full when Karl gets there. Finnegan’s standing beside it, counting heads.
– Ah Dean, and Mister Karl Quilligan, good of you to grace us.
– No bother, Sir, anytime, Karl says.
Deano raises a hand, gives the peace sign. He’s looking ropy but at least he’s here. Bombarding him with messages, all the boys, did the trick. An intervention, Oisín said.
Karl climbs on the bus. This isn’t going to be so bad. Day out with the nerds. Some of the fifth years are in with a chance. Not Karl’s buzz in anyway. Something about growing things with no soil. Where do the roots grow? You need roots in the dirt. Karl’s no gardener but he knows that much.
– You need roots, he mutters, as he slides into a seat beside Oisín.
Finnegan’s beckoning. Not him he’s looking for. Rarely is. Being a good boy, these days. Maturing.
– Mr Cusack, Dean, a word. There’s a peculiar smell off you.
A load of roaring and whooping.
– You saying I smell, Sur? Deano says, making a big deal of sniffing his armpits. Smells mighty fine to me. How bout you … here, check it.
He sticks his armpit close to Finnegan’s nose. He’s stoned, obviously. But whatever gets you through the night and onto the bingo bus. Or the Young Scientists bus.
– No need for smartarse stuff, Dean. If you’ve been on something … Your eyes are pink.
– He’s tired, Sir. All that studying, Karl shouts up.
There’s a rising hum of support.
– Well, I was sitting down in me seat on the bus but yeh dragged me up here to tell me I stink peculiar.
– I did not say that you stink, Finnegan says.
Definitely not. If there’s one thing that you can say about Deano, it’s that he’s very clean. No matter the battle for the shower with all of June’s kids, he’s always fresh. When they went on the tour to the Aran Islands, Deano hogged the shower at least twice a day. Some of that’d be wanking but still, clean.
– Look, you haven’t been here in a long time, Dean, Finnegan says, lowering his voice.
Karl stands up to find a place for his jacket and bag on the shelf above. He moves a step closer to them. It’s a skill, listening in. Famous for it, Karl is. A source of pride, since he was a kid and he’d be sent by the older cousins or Deano or whatever gang around the flats to listen at doors, hang about near groups of men, kicking a ball at a wall.
– If you’ve turned up intoxicated, we have a problem, Dean.
Deano lifts up his arms, surrendering.
– Look Sur, I swear to you …
Doing a spit cross on his throat with his finger.
– On me mam’s grave …
Oisín covers his face with his jacket. Karl stifles his own laugh. Benit’s standing behind Finnegan and Deano, trying to get down the bus.
– Your mam’s alive. I met her yesterday, Finnegan says.
He what? Deano’s still smiling, doesn’t seem to be passing any remarks. June, Finnegan must mean June.
– I wouldn’t disrespect you or this fine institution we call Colmcille’s, Deano says, waving towards the rest of the bus. Or the school motto or my family or my …
– Just sit down, Dean. Any trouble and you’re suspended.
Cos that would be Deano’s worst nightmare. Deano, grinning and slapping palms on his way down the aisle, slouches into an empty window seat across from Karl and Oisín. Oisín nudges Karl out of the way and slots in beside Deano. Hamza’s pretending to be asleep in the seat behind. Fair enough. Pissed off as usual since the party.
– Just wanna give him this music, Oisín says, by way of explanation for dumping Karl.
Droves of people march along the canal. Grown men in suits fly along on hoverboards and electric scooters in the cycle lane. Everyone’s rushing somewhere. Women, all in uniform, grey and black skirts, runners, oversize bags that hold high heels. Headphones on all of them, blank faces.
– All of these people are miserable.
Oisín leans across.
– Yeah, miserable ants.
– Ants are happy, Benit says.
Hamza sticks his face between the headrests.
– Until we seize the means of production …
Thinks this is his way back in. Trying to make them laugh or argue.
– I will, yeah. I’ll seize the means of production, gimme a second, Karl says, and then thinks better of grabbing his bollocks.
– If it was real work, they’d be happy. It’s work in the service of financial capital. They all know the emperor has no clothes but they’re all afraid to say it.
– Fuck off and give it a rest, Lenin. We’re not even properly awake yet, Oisín says.
– What are yiz saying? Deano says, just starting to liven up a bit.
– Nothing, go back to sleep. Just saying that you’re the man most likely to climb the corporate ladder, Hamza says, sneery.
– What the fuck are yeh on about, yeh mad Paki? Deano says, keeping his eyes closed.
They all go quiet. Please God, for once, just stay shut up Hamza. Gotta do it, let Deano off with a bitta messing. Him being here at all is a big enough deal. Karl glances back at Hamza. He looks like he’s actually, physically, biting his tongue. Moody bollix.
They’re stuck in a jam at the nice end of the canal now, where nice trees and nice statues of poets live. There’s even more birds here than at their end. Even birds know that it’s quality round here.
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