Still technically in Dublin, Glasthule is thirty minutes south of the River Liffey. But this is not a city, this is a town. And all the dog walking and side-walk conversations among neighbors give it the feel of a good one.
Not far from here, just outside the Dublin city line, is Dalkey. With gated houses on the cliffs, one of which Bono owns the locals say, the gussied-up shopping street demands you honor the money god more than you must on the shopping street of Glasthule.
The money god, of course, confers status to those who practice commerce for ego rather than necessity or community.
Still, compared to PC Hooftstraat or the Upper East Side, both of these Dublin suburbs come with a pleasant lack of faith.
Yesterday I quoted Mr. Dash saying that Ireland is the global south of the global north. Maybe so, but the lack of ostentation and showiness you feel in the center of Dublin, let alone in Glasthule, makes Germany or Switzerland feel brittle and harsh by comparison.
By the lights of the Morrissey song, Glasthule could be confused with the seaside town they forgot to bomb. The only cultural marker is the Martello Tower, the setting for the start of Ulysees. And though, no one on the streets looks to need more than each other and a walk along the sea, the cutting edge does not cut deep here.
But Ireland’s turn away from Catholicism means that one of the local churches has been converted into a museum and the swankiest new building here is a glorious library.
The chief thing economies must guard against is the division of wealth. The more middle-class neighborhoods the better, to which Glasthule testifies.
Lovely.