In his influential trilogy of science fiction novels published between 1984 and 1988, American author William Gibson imagined a future in which the exponential growth of cities along the east coast of the United States would eventually lead to scenario in which all of the major urban areas joined together to form an amorphous 'Sprawl'.
"[It] was like a deranged experiment in social Darwinism," he writes in the first and most famous book, Neuromancer. "Designed by a bored researcher who kept one thumb permanently on the fast-forward button."
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In 21st Century Ireland, being under the influence of Dublin’s economic pull can sometimes feel as though the capital is spreading in much the same way – like a culture under a microscope – until all that’s left of the once distinctive towns and villages that border its commuter belt are service stations and suburban housing developments, tech company HQs and three-lane motorways.
In writer and filmmaker Dave Tynan’s debut short story collection We Used to Dance Here, this dilemma is captured with lyricism and panache. His characters may be motivated by the usual Millennial concerns of financial precarity and fracturing relationships, but what they lack in fiscal security they more than make up for with searing insight into the rigged political system passed down from their parents. Into the rejections and broken promises of a country they were led to believe would be their inheritance.
We Used to Dance Here is a surprising, compassionate, funny and musical collection of stories
This is especially urgent for Róisín, the 29 year-old protagonist of Baby’s First Plague, who discovers over the course of an emotionally turbulent spring that she is about to be evicted from her flatshare with best friend Marcus.
"The screen imposed the fact: Gary Landlord," Tynan writes. "The phone rang and rang and eventually she had to answer it…
"If you can be out two weeks from now, that’d be awesome.
Two weeks?
Yeah, I know. Look, I know we had an arrangement that suited everyone. Way below market rate… I mean, all good things come to an end, you know yourself."
In Forge Worlds, a young labourer named Oran discovers that he has been priced out of his native Dublin after returning home from Canada with his long-term girlfriend. They end up buying a house where neither of them feels particularly welcome and where they each struggle, in different ways, to adjust to a slower pace of life.
"Howiya bud, everyone was always saying, like it was the funniest shit in the world, and everyone in town called it Howiya Estate, because half of them were Dubs forced down here."
Oran’s life on the commuter belt begins to unravel after he causes an accident at work, which leads to his foreman Ger losing the tip of his index finger. In a deft act of mirroring, while one of the men deals with the literal consequences of losing a part of himself, the other – through his behaviour – starts to lose himself completely.
Watch: Dave Tynan's acclaimed short film Just Saying
It’s the kind of suburban angst that would make Richard Yates or John Updike proud, though the subtle interplay of shrewd characterisation, scene-setting and pinpoint accurate dialogue elevates the writing above simple imitation. Tynan may have written to a formula tried and tested in mid-Century America, but he has particularised it in such a way that one cannot imagine these stories taking place anywhere other than Ireland.
We Used to Dance Here is a surprising, compassionate, funny and musical collection of stories, and while the action may at first appear to be maddeningly Dublin-centric, it has so much else to say about the precarious state of contemporary Irish living that readers will recognise themselves whether they live in Navan or Newry, Donegal or Dingle.
