We are our stories. We tell them to stay alive those who only live now in the telling . . . so writes Ruth, bed-bound, in her attic room in rain-sodden County Clare as she struggles to find her roots, her poet-father, her lost twin-brother . . . and in the background, always constant, is the river, the salmon running through it and the curse of the family's Impossible Standard. Funny, heart-wrenching, Irish writing at it's most sublime.
(Jenny Baker - bwl 79 Winter 2016 ) |
