I simply could not put this book down. Much more than an entertaining portrait of early 20th century life in some remote places, this is a highly informative social and political history and a compelling reflection on nationalism, patriotism and the fears, violence and intrigues which sometimes accompany them. Mr. O'Neill obviously has talents for both research and scene-painting, and his writing is both literate and engaging. After 340 pages, I was sorry to put the book away. But I feel wiser now that I have made the journey with Mr. O'Neill.

"Blood Dark Track" provides a fascinating background into the history of both Ireland and Turkey during the first half of the Twentieth Century. These two very disparate regions actually have more in common than we would initially suppose: neutrality during WWII, an antipathy to British Imperialism, persecution of religious minorities, and layers upon layers of history underlying bloody Twentieth Century history.

These areas also combine in the persona of the author, Joseph O'Neill, who has provided an intriguing personal narrative of his own family. His father's side, Catholic, poor, and Republican from Cork; his mother's, Catholic, bourgeois, and apolitical from Mersin (a coastal city near Syria). Their meeting is as fortuitous as it was unlikely.

The author deftly melds the pieces into a coherent whole, despite geographic, cultural, and temporal distances. Because of the personal connection of the author to events, people, and places, it reads more like a novel than a history.

Informing the story is the author's discovery of his grandfathers, both as family and as characters in two distinct, though subtly parallel, historical contexts. I was surprised to find the story so gripping that I finished it in three days.

This is a brilliant book. The author searches for the reasons why his two grandfathers - one Irish, one Turkish - both ended up in prison during the Second World War. His Turkish grandfather, Joseph Dakad, was interned by the British in Palestine on suspicion of spying for the Germans. His Irish grandfather, Jim O'Neill, was interned by his own government in the Curragh as a member of the IRA. By subtly intercutting the two stories, the book looks at nationalism in two very different contexts - the polyglot, post-Ottoman culture of Turkey in the years between the two world wars, and the hidden story of the IRA between De Valera coming to power and the resumption of The Troubles in 1969. In searching for the reasons why these two very different men were interned, O'Neill illuminates unspoken ideas of nationalism and individuality that permeate (like DNA) the two sides of his family. While he sifts through British intelligence reports on "undesirable" activity in Jerusalem, and discovers who really murdered Admiral Somerville in West Cork in 1936, O'Neill's book is shot through with contemporary echoes of his grandfathers' ordeals. As the author watches Bernadettes Sands reject the Good Friday Agreement in the name of Ireland's republican martyrs, and interrogates former Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Shamir about the morality of political assassination and the lessons the Zionist underground (the Lechi also known as the Stern Gang) learnt from the IRA, we realise that the ghosts of these men still haunt today's headlines, and our ancestors can exercise the power of an unconscious force over our political reflexes.