Pardon the irony—beginning a book about reclaiming women's history with a chapter focusing on a man. But Patrick isn't just any man; he's regarded as Ireland's primary patron saint, though he has two partners in that role, Brigid and ColmCille. He was placed in that position due to a fluke of history: his writings, describing his work spreading the faith in Ireland, survived where others perished, a lasting beacon like Inis Cathaig to Canair after all other lights had dimmed. He left us two texts, his Confession (Confessio), or autobiography about his spiritual journey and missionary work, and Letter to the soldiers of Coroticus (Epistola), written to a Christian chieftain and his men after they abducted recent converts to sell as slaves. Somehow Patrick’s writings came into Armagh's possession; its propagandists claimed him as its founder, recasting him into a near godlike mold, and Patrick, and Ireland, were never the same again.

Chances are, you should try to forget what you know about Patrick before proceeding. The amateur hour of drunken debauchery unleashed upon the masses on his feast day, Shamrock Shakes, the dyeing of the Chicago River—none of that has anything to do with Patrick himself. Even aspects with greater claim on the Patrician legend—the banishing of snakes, the conversion of the entire island to Christianity, the truly impressive vindictive cursing—are remote from the man revealed in his own words.