
Right
away, I knew I was in Seamus Heaney territory, with an Irish author
named Paul Lynch who cared about every single utterance and probably read
each one aloud--and I found out he did, in an interview, and that he
composed, if you could call writing this shivery prose in long,
breathless sentences composing, while listening to jazz.
But the plot, it was tight with rage (if I can steal one of his phrases). Set first in Donegal, 1832,bad
things happen to a poor Irishman with family, but mostly to Coll's
brother who's quickly caught by an evil bossman for a crime his Coll
committed. Coll Coyle. Even his name feels tight. Like everything else that happens here, which I won't reveal.
Paul Lynch is a comer, splendid with his leafy prose scattering in every direction but always holding you to the page.
Read it.
--Russell Thorburn, Poet Laureate of the Upper Peninsula