It is the summer of 1936 and Europe is on the verge of terrible change. But far removed from the frightening violence, the Mundy family are sheltered in their close-knit home in Ballybeg, Donegal. Michael, the illegitimate son of the youngest sister, feels the joy and security of his family, but when his father comes home, the cracks begin to show. Secrets and sorrows break through the happiness and repressed passion is unleashed. Lingering below the surface lie concealed anxieties which will tear their world apart and change the Eden of Ballybeg forever.
As a man, Michael is called again and again to the summer that eclipsed the Mundy sisters. Memories of Uncle Jack and his waking dreams of Africa. Memories of those wonderful sisters; the abandon with which they loved him and each other. And images from that night, when they joined together to capture the light and the dance within themselves. It was as though they were the last altar of the Lughnasa fires before the flames must go out. For Michael, that sweet music created by the Mundy sisters would forever echo in his life.
The memory of that summer is like a dream to me. A dream of music that is both heard and imagined, that seems to be both itself and its own echo. When I remember it, I think of it as dancing. Dancing as if language had surrendered to movement. Dancing as if language no longer existed, because words were no longer necessary.
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