I recently heard an interview with Bernard MacLaverty on RTE, and in reply to the question, “Who is the author who has most influenced your work,” he replied without hesitation, “Michael McLaverty,” and went on to expound why. I had never heard of Michael McLaverty and immediately went in search of his work. Unfortunately, I ascertained that most of his books have long been out of print, but late last year I obtained a beautiful hardback volume published by Blackstaff Press in Belfast, a reissue of his Collected Stories.

Although a comparison could be made between McLaverty and the likes of Liam O'Flaherty (harsh irony) and Frank O'Connor (calm, precise voice), I ‘d go one step further. Although not equal to the status I bestow to the holy trinity of Carver, Chekhov and Trevor, some of McLaverty's stories deserve to be placed in the same sphere - not spot on but definitely within radar. His humanity, his grasp of the Irish tongue and his facility to elicit a scene or emotion with a simple word or sentence is close to pitch perfect. That rare, profound emotion I felt after reading his stories After Forty Years and The White Mare was equal to what I’ve experienced after reading from any one of the trinity’s works.

McLaverty passed away in 1992 and had not written much after 1980, having suffered a severe bout of depression, but still, one wonders why he remains such a hugely underrated talent, especially after reading the praise heaped upon him by McGahern, Heaney, Banville and MacLaverty. And although I won’t hold my breath waiting to see his name on a beautiful NYRB reissue or two, I’ve recommended McLaverty to the them just the same.