Within the stirrups he rose, he touched his spurs once more to his horse’s flanks and gave the beast its head, and he let the tender night wash over him as they sped away across the plains. This time, most of the sign language presenters are using the neutral gesture of a hand motioned near the abdomen, but one simulates the cradling of a baby. This is the kind of book that leaves you ruminating. Like a good meal or sermon, you want to glean every last nuance and morsel from it ensuring that nothing is lost, that it all sinks in. A little like Primo Levi's 'If this is a Man' this book leaves you with a sense of awe, reverence even, for this 'beauty of the world, this paragon of animals', for what we are and what we are capable of. It reveals a depth of spirit, a nobility of character and the sheer belligerent will that enables one to fight in the face of inhumane behaviour as well as a sadness at how far short we often fall. But inevitably there are reminders, some of them funny. "We were in a taxi together in London, and the driver kept looking at us in his mirror," says Keenan. "And then he came through on his intercom and he said: 'Sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but I couldn't help asking … wouldn't you be more comfortable travelling in the boot?'"

It is an intriguing study of the emotions of human beings under such adverse circumstances and how, even in these most restricted conditions (for much of his time in captivity he was blindfolded and chained) we are able to experience a range of emotions, adapting to our circumstances and battling to survive.Sleep while you can, prince,” he said slowly, almost sorrowfully; and his words drenched Maedhros in nothing but despair. “For my home is forged of nightmares, and you will find no rest there.” He slept then, and there were no dreams or sudden wakings, only a gentle cradling by soft, invisible threads that held him firm. I feel mean giving this book only three stars. I can only justify this by saying it didn't really grab me but then one could argue that there is nothing much in a true account of a horrendous hostage incident lasting over four and a half years to be grabbed by. Not to myself. To myself I never disappeared, I knew exactly where I was." Crucial, this. All the time that the world knew nothing of his existence, he hadn't ceased to exist, though he had transposed worlds. His reality, confined though it was, was his own. He didn't look outside. "My recollection is that if you focus on the real world, which isn't your real world, because your world is here in your head, then you are going to make life very difficult." I feel like the observations about humans and cruelty were enlightening. There was something intelligent about this book, you can see they're journalists.

The men's tender cradling of the women, the crawling in a circle - these moments were as affecting as ever. He wasn't sure about fatherhood. "I was anxious, still am. I thought, at 45, I was too old. But they are nice kids, lovely people." And tall, both of them are going to be over six foot. "As a small person I always wanted to be tall." When he was, his mum used to say to him, "'Be careful with what you want, you may get it.' So, she was right. I did get it." In his book he writes. "It is memory that ages us not time." The mind forgets nothing, he says. "I may forget things, but the mind doesn't." In captivity he found himself remembering details from his childhood, things that he didn't even know he knew. "I could smell the linoleum in the house I grew up in. I could feel, twirl in my hand, the earrings that my mother wore when I was a child and she'd carry me in her arms." So he knows, however much he says, what happened in Beirut is the past. "It's like a book I can take down from a shelf and read it and replace." Says that there is justice in people taking up arms in response to a loss of power (talking about Israeli invasion) but says they had no understanding of power or it’s uses. Gives sad story of Maronite girl who became pregnannt from Muslim man. Killed by brother who, based on the family and community beliefs convinced himself that itnwas Muslims that committed the fringe. ‘This kink of mind that confuses love with powers and equates power with aggression remains a painful sore under the skin of Lebanese society’One by one they were slain; the Noldor’s tight defensive knot frayed as the orcs gnawed at it, as the Valaraukar unravelled it; and Maedhros screamed out his hatred as he felt the rush of sundered fëar envelop him, and loathing bubbled in him that his friends might have been defiled so cruelly. For how dare the Moringotto think to cross him; viciously he decapitated the squat orc who leapt at him and sent its grotesque skull tumbling; how dare Morgoth renege upon his vows, how dare he lull the Noldor to their slaughter like some craven, honourless dog; and as the warm splatter of orcish ichor drenched him, a feral snarl ripped across Maedhros’ face. There will be, I am sure, a desire to know of the torture and brutality. I will not spare the reader but neither will I feed the voyeuristic vulture. I will reveal the moments of physical abuse but with extreme care and sensitivity so that what might be vicarious and even terrifying may be underscored with sympathy.

Brian Keenan is not just a good writer; his prose is poetic, descriptive and eloquent, but he is also a good thinker. A true philosopher with the capacity to honestly and unflinchingly look fallen man, the human shadow, in the face, within and without, in all it's ignorance, fear and brutality and over come it with faith, truth, dignity, humour and reason and in doing so, again akin to Primo Levi, he discovers himself; he is humanised, ennobled and empowered through the process. Stubbornly - it is stubbornness that he considers his principal trait - he has resisted having an identity foisted on him. And this has served him well. But intransigence, as he points out, can carry its own terrible consequences. "If I believe something, I believe it passionately and no one will change it. It's awful. I am old enough to know better, old enough to rationalise things. But, with me, belief has to be a hundred per cent." So he can understand, he says, what happened in Beirut. "The ramifications of that sort of belief. Why they took hostages. How they came to murder six people. I don't approve. But I can understand it." Frenzied hands clutched to him; shrill panic trembled in Maedhros’ throat, anger and terror waged their devastating war within him but through filth-stained lips he screamed, “Stop! Stop, let me go! Let me go!” No!” he screamed, though pain raced through him panic lent strength to his movements, and near blind with fear he tore against the orcs that held him. “No,” he spat; he grunted and shook as a savage jerk upon his hair pulled him up short, and those hateful fingers only grasped him the tighter. “No, no, let me go! Let me go!”The Balrog captain’s bellow seemed to reverberate through the very earth, and dread spilled through Maedhros’ innards. What was known about Turlough was his music, his art. He is honoured and revered by many musicians through the centuries, in contemporary times particularly by the Chieftains, who have been playing Turlough's music for 30 years. Yet nothing was known "of Turlough's head and his heart". Amazing preface. Speaks on paradox that make up book: how in the most inhuman circumstances men grow deeper in humanity Throughout the chapter ‘ Into The Dark’, Keenan goes through some distinct phases of mental states, each caused by a previous one and ultimately by his imprisonment. He uses a various range of strong descriptions to portray his condition, ideas, thoughts and impressions. The unusual syntax used throughout the chapter conveys the states of mind which he goes though, guiding the reader into the prisoner’s world.

And what?” the Balrog murmured, and the soft rue in its tone only stripped bare the cruelty of its truths. “Your bargains are empty, Noldo. As the soldiery might not take their pleasures with you, your freedom is not mine to barter.” Keenan took his destiny in his hands, dropping out of the plumber's apprenticeship he started, getting himself to university to read English literature, and then becoming a teacher: the only kid in his street, as he has often said - and not in a self- congratulatory manner - to do so. Under the Gileadaen regime the Handmaids never went out unaccompanied, this partnership system provided both chaperones and spies. Offred considers the image of both women dressed identically in red, thinking of them as doubles, both visually and in circumstances. "The truth is that she is my spy, as I am hers. " Each woman traps the other. However, a suggestion of freedom is present in the structure of the two novels. For Keenan, his ability to let his mind wander in times of extreme captivity has been vital to his survival. In Atwood's 'A Handmaid's Tale' Offred conveys a large amount of nostalgia towards her past. In the opening chapter Atwood contrasts the senses of the past. The lights are vividly described as "a revolving ball of mirrors, powdering the dancers with a snow of light. " Atwood chooses this poetic metaphor to show her fondness towards previous times. Atwood describes the simplicity of the lights under the regime "The lights were turned down but not out. " Offred's feelings of extreme claustrophobia are exacerbated through the juxtaposition of the former senses. In Offred's case she is more sensitive towards these feelings of freedom. It is a heartfelt reflection on the authors time as a hostage in Lebanon. As an Irishman going there to teach, there was no logical reason for him to have been captured by the fundamentalist militia but captured and held he was and he eloquently writes of the experience describing the frustration, the squalor, the brutality, solitude, torment, torture and beatings.Please,” he whimpered, and how he hated himself for it; he hated that he subjected himself to this creature, he hated that he begged for its mercy, he cursed every blind, arrogant, stupid decision that had cast down him so low, but still the words poured from him. “Please, please just let me go… Release me, and… “ It is a rare occasion that you get to read a book that manages to surprise you from beginning to end. I didn’t expect anything out of it, but I still discovered I had a number of expectations, because I discovered them whilst I was reading something that seemed to contradict what I subconsciously thought. Furiously he fought; they would not take him, they would not take him, the thought screeched through his head as his boots skidded through a mire of blood, but as a fiery whip suddenly cut towards his head, in that terrible instant he came undone. That survival is mutual. Everyone there had to put a part of themselves on the table for everyone else to take what they needed." So, until the debt was clear, he would not be free to act. He is a very unusual man, in many ways no doubt. But in one way in particular. He is not prepared to be cynical. Unmodern, you could say, in that way. Y’hear that, snaga,” a deep voice growled, and an iron-shod boot clipped into the side of Maedhros’ thigh an instant later. “My boys should ‘ave their fun with you. Such troubles we took with you, you might give us a little pleasure in return…”