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Sherlock Holmes made his debut in “A Study in Scarlet”, a novella first published in 1887. He and his sidekick, Doctor John H Watson, appeared in over fifty mysteries together. “The Hound of the Baskervilles” is probably the pair’s most famous case, and was inspired by a legend about a ghostly hound that haunted Dartmoor. The story was first serialised in the Strand Magazine, with the final instalment appearing in 1902 – and the complete book first appearing that same year.

Although Holmes will be seen as the book’s hero, it’s Watson who tells the story. The pair’s involvement with case begins with a visit from Dr James Mortimer – although, initially, he has stopped by only for a little advice. Mortimer has travelled up to London from his home on the edge of Dartmoor. Sir Charles Baskerville, an elderly neighbour of Mortimer’s, has recently died and the doctor is in town to meet his successor. However, thanks to a family legend, the details of the death have the whole community panicking. Back in the 1700s, the man who ruled Baskerville Hall – Sir Hugo – was anything but a virtuous man. Having kidnapped the daughter of a neighbouring yeoman – she wouldn’t come willingly – he wasn’t at all pleased when she later escaped and fled across the moors. In true Monty Burns style, he pledges himself to all that was unholy, unleashes the hounds and sets out after her. Unfortunately, things don’t quite go according to plan. While a huge ghostly hound joins the hunt and the girl dies of fear and exhaustion, Sir Hugo also dies and the hound feasts on his throat. Holmes, of course, views this as little more than a fairy tale. However, those who live close to Baskerville Hall are worried that the curse of the Baskervilles has returned. Several have seen a huge black hound on the moors, “luminous, ghastly and spectral”, while Mortimer himself discovered massive paw-prints close to where Sir Charles’ body was found. Unlike Hugo, Sir Charles was very highly thought of by all those who knew him. Dr Mortimer is naturally very concerned for Sir Charles’ nephew and heir. Sir Henry, the last surviving Baskerville, will very shortly be arriving in London from Canada.

Naturally, the bad news keeps coming for Sir Henry. He has barely arrived in London when he receives a mysterious letter warning him to keep away from Baskerville Hall, there’s a mysterious bearded man is following his every move, an escaped killer is living rough on the moors and (strangely) someone keeps stealing his boots. Not to be put off, Sir Henry decides to return to the ancestral home – though not without Watson. Holmes, initially, is unable to join them – there are a few cases in London needing his immediate attention. However, he does issue Watson with some very clear instructions on how to proceed.

A short and easy read…though not quite as scary or as dramatic as I’d imagined. I’d put this partly down to the ‘old fashioned’ writing – while it was probably pacey stuff at the time it was written, it’s a little stiff and formal by today’s standards. I was also a little disappointed with Holmes : while Watson was a likeable character, I couldn’t really warm to the great Sherlock. He struck me as an egotistical showman, a little too keen to hog the spotlight. (He practically threw a huff when Mortimer compared him unfavourably to Bertillion). He appeared desperate to deduce everything – whether he needed to or not – so people could marvel at his incredible intellect. (I also wondered if he was – at least partly – trying to keep Watson in his place). Still, there isn’t too much damage done : Holmes goes missing for a stretch, and that gives Watson – who is much more likeable – the limelight.

“A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” tells the story of Stephen Dedalus, and is (I’m told) heavily based on Joyce’s own life. It was first published in 1916, and is a rewritten version of “Stephen Hero” – which Joyce gave up on in 1905.

His schooldays were dominated by the Jesuits, having been taught by then in two schools – a single year at Clongowes Wood College, before moving on to Belvedere. Stephen boarded at Clongowes, and it proved a difficult time for him – having previously been educated at home, he dreams of the holidays and has some difficulty in relating to his classmates. The school appears to cater for the well-heeled, and Stephen’s departure was (more than likely) caused by a downturn in fortune at home.

However, Stephen enjoys a lengthy summer holiday on leaving Clongowes – come the new academic year his new school still hasn’t been found. (His parents feel Belvedere was worth the wait – a Jesuit education is seen as something ‘refined’, much more ‘respectable’ than the sort provided by the Christian Brothers). He spends much of his free time during that summer with his Great Uncle Charles, training with his athletics coach, Mike Flynn, and having adventures with kids his own age. However, in time, his summer friendships fall victim to their homework-filled evenings, Mike Flynn goes into hospital and the family move away from Blackrock. Worse, Charles – who is late in years – becomes a little disorientated and confused. These changes in Stephen’s life throw up a range of emotions – anger, dissatisfaction, and a sense of isolation. He then chooses to cultivate a sense of detachment and takes to sitting on edge of things, taking some strange pleasure in “the joy of his loneliness.”

Stephen’s faith is something he has difficulty with throughout his teenage years, as he lurches from one extreme to the other. An unquestioning believer in his younger days, he was genuinely shocked when it’s suggested that some of his schoolmates at Clongowes had swiped some altar wine. He later loses his way, and spends a great deal of time visiting ladies of negotiable affection – before being ambushed by his conscience and positively terrified by a school retreat at Belvedere. He throws himself whole-heartedly into his repentance…but there is only so much you can cope with when you take things to the extreme.

The choice of Dedalus as a surname is something that appears to be widely commented on. Dedalus is probably best known from Greek mythology as being the father of Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun. However, Dedalus was also an architect and inventor who became trapped in a labyrinth he had created himself. Stephen may see a life abroad as a pair of wings, but I would see Stephen’s teenage years as the labyrinth he created himself. His refusal to relate to others and form friendships throughout his school years was a conscious choice – one that he made himself, and which made a huge contribution to the difficulties he faced later. His self-imposed isolation had little to do with either his academic abilities, the struggles with his faith, politics or bigotry – to me, it seemed more to do with the belief that he was better than those around him. Cranly, a classmate at university, was the first – and quite possibly only – friend he made. While Dedalus may well have been something of a genius, Cranly had a great deal more in terms of heart and wisdom. At one point, a colleague at university comments “You’re a born sneerer, Stevie”. Pretentious and self-centred could well have been added. Not a book that would encourage me to read more by Joyce…and as a result I’m making the first substituion of this goal : “Finnegan’s Wake” is being replaced by “Firmin”, written by Sam Savage.

Kazuo Ishiguro was born in Nagasaki in 1954 and moved to Britain at the age of five. He was awarded the OBE in 1995 and the Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres in 1998. “The Remains of the Day” is his fourth novel, was first published in 1989 and won that year’s Booker Prize.

Opening in July 1956, the story is told by Mr Stevens – a butler approaching the end of his career. He has been based at Darlington Hall for many years and, for most of his time there, had served Lord Darlington. While the outside world has changed dramatically since Stevens started out as a butler, the changes within the walls are proving a little more difficult for him. Following the death of Lord Darlington a few years previously, the stately home is now in the hands of an American called Farraday. Unsurprisingly, Farraday is a great deal less formal than Lord Darlington and Stevens isn’t quite sure how to relate to his new boss. Furthermore, when once there were twenty-eight members of staff at Darlington Hall, there are now only four. Sections of the house have now been put ‘under wraps’ – effectively closed down – with fairly radical alterations to what would have been each person’s ‘traditional’ responsibilities. Stevens has become rather worried when some small errors creep into his own work – these, he feels, stem from the slightly flawed staff plan he developed.

Stevens is taken by surprise when his new employer suggests he takes some time off and borrows the car – to the point he, initially, doesn’t take the suggestion seriously. However, he starts to change his mind when he receives a letter from Miss Kenton, Darlington Hall’s former housekeeper – the first time in seven years he’d heard from her. Technically, Miss Kenton has been Mrs Benn since she left Darlington Hall in 1936 – though, it seems, her marriage has recently ended. In her letter she spoke of her time at the Hall as the happiest period in her life and, reading between the lines, Stevens believes she may be willing to return as a member of staff – an appointment, he believes, that would iron out the kinks in his staff plan. Accordingly, having organised a meeting with his former colleague, Stevens takes a road trip to the West Country. “The Remains of the Day” follows Stevens on his trip and, as he looks forward to his meeting with Miss Kenton, he looks back on their times together at Darlington Hall.

Stevens proves to be a very stiff, formal, nearly snobbish character – one who has become quite obsessed with ‘dignity’. He (rather ridiculously) believes that only the English are capable of ‘emotional restraint’ required to being butlers – though, as time goes on, it becomes clear that Stevens’ emotional restraint has cost him more than he cares to admit. His memories of Miss Kenton tend to focus on professional matters, and – while it began and ended a little badly – for many years, it seems they had got on quite well. Stevens’ memories, of course, only tell half of that story. Lord Darlington, naturally, also features strongly in his memories. Stevens had been blindly loyal to Lord Darlington – under no circumstances would he disagree ever disagree with his lordship’s decisions, publicly or privately. Darlington had fought in the First World War, though – being an honourable gentleman – believed the Treaty of Versailles was excessively harsh on the German people. He had become an important figure in the period between the wars – and, having played host to many influential people during this time, had even tried to shape Britain’s foreign policy towards Germany. Unsurprisingly, his reputation has been in tatters since the Second World War. Stevens still feels Lord Darlington was a well-meaning man, though perhaps misguided – though still denies having worked for him several times during the book.

Ishiguro’s books are definitely better than most you’ll find on the bookshelves, and many people seem to rate this as his best to date. Personally, I preferred both “When We Were Orphans” and “Never Let Me Go”. However, “The Remains of the Day” is certainly a worth reading and, despite Stevens’ stiffness, it was hard not to feel sorry for him come the end of the book.

Frank Cauldhame is sixteen yeras old and hasn’t quite had what you’d call a typical upbringing. In fact, he doesn’t officially exist : Frank was never registered, has no birth certificate, no passport and no national insurance number. The upside is that, as a result, he’s never had to attend school – though he was educated at home by his father. (Angus, Frank’s father, did occasionally embellish parts of the curriculum – for example, Frank believed for a time that there was a character called Fellatio in “Hamlet”). Angus is a scientist : the discipline is never clearly identified, though he does appear to be involved in the biomedical sector. These connections have also apparently allowed Angus to provide for Frank’s medical needs – despite his son’s official non-existance. (These needs were increased at an early age, following a devastating encounter with a dog). Angus’ study is strcitly off-limits to Frank and is permanently locked – though Frank is determined to make it inside someday.

The pair are pretty comfortable, whatever it is Angus does for a living. They live on a small island, just off the coast of Portneil in Scotland. Frank never knew his mother, Angus’ second wife, as she left shortly after he was born. (Apparently, she didn’t care much for children). It’s probably lucky for her that she didn’t stick around : Frank has turned into a very strange kid whose values and beliefs don’t really overlap with those held by ‘normal’ society. He’s very fond of general destruction and killing – so far, he’s dispatched two cousins, one brother and various animals. (He’s yet to be caught out). He is also very inventive and has essentially created his own belief system – involving a Wasp Factory, some Sacrifice Poles and the Bunker (a pillbox on the beach, a relic from the Second World War). He also has his own name for various parts of the island, depending on what he’s done there – for example, the Snake Park, Black Destroyer Hill and the Bomb Circle.

The events of “The Wasp Factory” take place over a couple of days – beginning with the news that Eric, Frank’s half-brother, has escaped form hospital. (Eric was committed several years earlier, for setting dogs on fire). The book sees Frank looking back over his life, in the build-up to Eric’s expected return. This isn’t something that causes Frank any great amount of stress, despite the fact that Eric clearly still isn’t firing on all thrusters. (Frank is more than a match for his brother : the worrying thing is that he sees himself as being the “somebody sane who still likes” Eric.) Unsurprisingly, the book can be a little gruesome at times – it’s a very different book to “The Crow Road” and “Whit”, and it isn’t one I’d recommend if you’re feeling a little queasy. However, if you’re feeling up to a challenge, it’s certainly well worth reading !

The book’s central character is Isis Whit, commonly called Is – though more formally known as Blessed or Beloved Isis. Isis is a Luskentyrian, a member of a religious sect founded by her grandfather, Salvador. Like him, she is very important to the faithful – she holds the position ‘Elect of God’ and is a future leader of the Luskentyrians. Home is High Easter Offerance – located in Scotland, on the banks of the River Forth. The book opens in May 1995, when Isis is nineteen years old and with the Festival of Love approaching. The Luskentyrians consider people born on the 29th of February very special – the Blessed Isis herself was born on that date. As a result, a Festival of Love is held every four years – at the end of May in the year preceding a Leap Year. As the end of May is nine months before the end of February and it is a Festival of Love, I’m sure you can figure out what happens at it…

Isis’ cousin, Morag – while not strictly considered a missionary – has been living in London for six years. Based on her letters, it appears she has become a successful musician – an internationally renowned baryton soloist, no less. She had been due to return to High Easter Offerance for the festival, where she would have been the Guest of Honour. However, her most recent letter to the community includes the news that she has turned her back on her faith and will not be returning. One possible option was for Isis to take Morag’s place as guest of Honour – something she wasn’t entirely keen on. Instead, Isis is sent to London to try and rescue her cousin – the book tells the story of her journey and return.

“Whit”, as I’ve come to expect from Iain Banks, was hugely enjoyable. It’s told entirely from Isis’ point of view – she describes her journey, outlines her discoveries, explains her beliefs and tells the history of her sect. Luskentyrians avoid modern technology as far as possible – nothing at High Easter Offerance runs on electricity, for example. It’s amusing, at times, to see her reaction to life in the ‘modern’ world. There are several very strong supporting characters – Yolanda, Isis’ very colourful and hugely entertaining Texan grandmother, particularly stands out. The only disappointment is that some of them didn’t make a bigger appearance.

The Crow Road’s central character is a young Scot called Prentice McHoan. A Star Wars fan as a boy, he’s given up his attempts to master the force and now studies history at university in Glasgow. It would be fair to say, however, that he has more interest in alcohol, drugs and sex in general and the beautiful Verity Walker in particular. Prentice’s key relationship, however, is probably the one he has (or, more accurately, doesn’t have) with his father, Kenneth. Rather than Glasgow, most of the story takes place in and around his home village of Gallanach – Prentice’s visits home are fairly regular for various parties and funerals. Most of the supporting cast is made up of his own family, the Urvills and the Watts (friends to the McHoans over several generations). Fergus Urvill is not only Kenneth’s brother-in-law, but also a lifelong friend. (In fact, based on the amount of abuse they give each other, they’re clearly very good friends). As boys, Kenneth and Fergus were also friendly with Lachy Watt, an uncle of some Prentice’s best friends : Ashley, Dean and Darren.

Due to a falling out with Kenneth, Prentice usually stays with his Uncle Hamish when he comes back to Gallanach – the rift between Kenneth and Prentice being caused by a difference of opinion over religion. However, not only is Uncle Hamish certain there is a God, he’s also invented his own faith. Another uncle, Rory, hasn’t been seen in 8 years – some believe him to be dead. Prentice, meanwhile, has a suspicion he’s still alive while Kenneth seems strangely sure of it. The curiosity about where he is and what has happened to him simmers in the background until Prentice tries to find out what really happened to him.

The sections of the book that focus on Prentice are told from his point of view (“when I started to understand the lyrics of a Cocteau Twins song, I knew I was wrecked”). The remainder is told in ‘flashback’, about various different family members, and is written about them (“It was the last time Kenneth ever saw Rory”). I found it a little strange to begin with, but – once used to it – I found it really added to the enjoyment of the book. I’d look on it as less of a story, and more of a book about a group of people that strange and / or funny things happen to. That may sound a little strange, but it’s a hugely enjoyable book and one that I would highly recommend.

Jim Dixon is in his first year as a college lecturer and he’s been in trouble nearly from the second he arrived…unfortunately, since he’s also on probation, he’s panicking a great deal that he’ll lose his job. He despises his boss – an elderly, absent minded and rather self important gentleman called Professor Welch – and doesn’t even like his subject, Medieval History. (He only ever studied it himself because he’d seen it as the easy option when he was a student). He’s had a few unfortunate encounters with his fellow academics since he started – he’d barely arrived at the college when he accidentally caught the Prof of English with a stone on the knee, and then knocked over the Registrar’s Chair at his first Faculty Meeting. (If only the Registrar himself hadn’t been on the verge of sitting down…) There had also been the essay submitted by one of Dixon’s pupils had submitted an essay heavily criticising a book written by one of Welch’s ex-pupils. What made this difficult to sweep under the carpet was the level of Welch’s involvement – the book was written at his suggestion and under his guidance – while the essay was based heavily on Dixon’s lecture notes.

Jim, however, does have a few allies – including Alfred Beesley, (who works in the college’s English Department), Bill Atkinson (someone always happy to provide Jim with a cover story) and Carol Goldsmith (the wife of a colleague at the history department). However, Jim spends most of his time with Margaret – another member of staff at the university. It’s not that he particularly wants to – rather, he more or less feels morally obliged to. The problem is things have now got to the point where they’re widely seen as a couple. Margaret is now “recovering well” at Welch’s house after a recent (apparent) suicide attempt. (Prior to Jim, she’d been spending some time with an utter cad called Catchpole…who, rather understandably, ran off with his new girlfriend to North Wales for a couple of weeks). Jim had been supposed to meet her for a pot of tea that evening , but had backed out to write the following day’s lecture…it’s something he feels rather guilty about that, bearing in mind what had happened. (This guilt is something Margaret shamelessly trades on throughout the book).

Since Margaret is staying at the Prof’s house, Jim can’t avoid visiting once in a while. One of the most significant – not to mention disastrous – visits is for a weekend long artistic gathering. Jim manages to set fire to his bedclothes, destroy his bedside table, and make an enemy of Bertrand – one of the professor’s sons. Bertrand, a pretentious artist with an awful beard and a significant superiority complex, arrives from London for the proceedings with a very pretty guest called Christine Callaghan. Jim naturally is smitten – but is afraid to make any move…partly for fear of what it will do to Margaret, and partly because he knows stealing Betrand’s girlfriend will lower his standing in the Professor’s eyes even further. Still, at least he’s interested in Christine herself…unlike Bertrand, who’s only interested in her uncle – the noted art critic, Julius Gore-Urquhart.

An amusing and easily read book. Jim proves a likeable character – although the laughter comes mostly at his expense, as he lurches from one disaster to another.

“The Woman Who Walked Into Doors” is set in Dublin and is told by Paula Spencer, a woman in her late thirties. Both Paula’s parents are dead, while only two of her siblings ‘appear’ in the book – her sisters, Carmel and Denise. She did have another sister, Wendy, who died in a motorbike accident, while her brothers – Roger, Edward and George – are only ever mentioned in passing. Paula’s relationship with her father had once been good, though it seemed to have deteriorated as time went on. (Carmel, on the other hand, hated their father and subscribes to the view that all men are b@$t@rds). Paula, meanwhile, hasn’t seen Roger in years, and isn’t particularly bothered about it – theirs was another difficult relationship.

However, it’s Paula’s relationship with her husband, Charlo, that’s central to the book. They have been separated for over a year as the book opens – though they are still technically, married. They couple had four children together, three of whom still live with Paula. (She hasn’t seen her eldest son, John-Paul, in quite some time: she last heard of him squatting in some flats and suspects he’s on heroin). She works as a cleaner, just about earns enough to make ends meet and is an alcoholic. As if all that isn’t enough, the book opens with the arrival of a policeman at her front door to inform her of Charlo’s death. Paula spends the book looking back over her life in general and her time with Charlo in particular.

While it isn’t always a very cheerful book, Paula’s story isn’t one that will leave you feeling depressed. She proves to be a character you want the best for and, not only does she manage to raise a smile from time to time, she also manages to leave you with a bit of hope. Absolutely recommended.

“Of Mice and Men” was first published in 1937 and has been adapted for the stage and screen. It’s set in mid-1930s California and opens beside the Salinas river, a few miles outside Soledad. The book focuses on Lennie and George, a pair of migrant workers who earn a living on the state’s farms. George is the dominant character of the pair, as Lennie isn’t quite capable of looking after himself properly. Although big and strong, he has a poor memory, panics easily and doesn’t always understand what’s happening around him. All he wants out of life is to have his own farm with George, look after some rabbits and “live of the fatta the lan’”. As the book opens, the pair are on their way to a new job; they had to leave their previous job and go on the run after Lennie was (falsely) accused to rape. Things don’t go smoothly for the pair when they arrive at their new place of work. It’s clear that the farm owner’s son, Curley, and his wife are going to be the source of a great deal of trouble.

“Of Mice and Men” is a very short book – a great deal shorter and much easier than I’d expected. I had a great deal of sympathy for Lennie, who was based on a real person : in an ideal world, he shouldn’t have been leading the life he was living. Similarly, I think George was placed in an impossible position at the end of the book – though I couldn’t help but wonder how George himself saw things. As I was reading the book’s climax, I couldn’t help but think of something Candy had said to George earlier in the book, regarding his dog.

I’d definitely recommend this book, particularly the Penguin Classics edition if you can get your hands on it. Susan Shillinglaw’s introduction for this edition really set things in context for me. However, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend reading the introduction first – it does contain a couple of spoilers.

Brian O’Nolan, born in Strabane in 1911, wrote under a number of pen-names – although Flann O’Brien is probably the best known. He studied at University College Dublin and spent nearly twenty years working in the Irish Civil Service. He also spent thirty years writing a column – The Cruiskeen Lawn – for the Irish Times under the name Myles na gCopaleen. “At Swim-Two-Birds” is his first novel, and was published in 1939.

The book’s narrator is a university student who lives with his uncle in Dublin. His bedroom is permanently locked, whether he is in or out – an arrangement that allows him to occasionally take a day off and stay in bed, with his uncle thinking he’s gone to college. (Well, when I say take a day off, he actually spends winter and early spring in his bedroom). While our hero doesn’t have a very high opinion of his uncle – at various times, he describes his aged relative as rat-brained, cunning, concerned that he should be well thought of and abounding in pretence – his aged relative, however, is a Holder of the Guinness Clerkship (Third Class) and quite correctly thinks he doesn’t study enough. Although he claims to read James Joyce and Aldous Huxley, he appears to be more interested in backing the horses, and subscribes to a very dodgy tipster based in Newmarket. On the few occasions our narrator leaves his bedroom, there’s a fair chance he wind up in the pub drinking porter with Kelly – a fellow student, though later a soldier. One such session leads to a three day hangover and – thanks to an impressive bout of vomiting – a very smelly suit.

In his spare time, our narrator is writing a book. One of the main characters is an author by the name of Dermot Trellis. Trellis lives at the Red Swan Hotel on Lower Leeson Street and, like our narrator, is rather fond of his bedroom. (Trellis has spent the last twenty years in bed for no good reason). Trellis, who considers evil to be the most contagious of all diseases, is writing a book on sin. The story will feature one villain after another – the most depraved of which is called Furriskey – and a woman of exceptional virtue, by the name of Sheila Lamont. Naturally, after a great deal of drinking, debauchery, high living and colourful language, Ms Lamont is eventually corrupted, ravished and killed. When Trellis starts working on his story, he decides all the characters from his book should also move into the Red Swan – to prevent any unauthorised boozing, he wants them locked up and asleep before he goes to bed himself. (It’s a rather strange world our narrator has created : not only does Trellis have the cast from his book living with him, but – in Trellis’ world – children need not be born young. For example, Furriskey – the chief villain – was born at the age of twenty-five and a heavy smoker from the moment of his arrival. Furthermore, the Wild West exists in Ireland, and the Circle N is considered one of Dublin’s more venerable old ranches). Although Furriskey, Sheila Lamont (with whom Trellis, inevitably, falls in love) and the Pooka Fergus McPhellimey (a magical Irish devil) are Trellis originals, several of the characters to feature in his book have been ‘borrowed’ from other sources. Several cowboys were created by William Tracy, an author of Western romances set in Ireland, while the legendary Finn MacCool also features. Meanwhile, the cellar is apparently full of leprechauns.

Given the book’s reputation, I came to it with high hopes – even more so, given how I had enjoyed “The Third Policeman”. Unfortunately, I was badly disappointed. I’ve seen it blurbed as “a brilliant impressionistic jumble of ideas, mythology and nonsense”, while others have referred to it as O’Brien’s masterpiece. These assessments put a very positive spin on what I found. The book’s narrator seems to have quite an opinion of himself, and I found myself occasionally wondering just how much of O’Brien there was in the character. He describes one of the stories featuring Finn MacCool as a “humourous or quasi humourous incursion into ancient mythology” – naturally, none of the sections that featured Finn were even remotely funny. In fact, it appeared to me that these sections were rather high-handed attempts to mock Lady Gregory, and possibly even WB Yeats. Sections of the book are convoluted, over-long and tedious – even when he comes up with something that could have been funny, O’Brien generally kills the humour by labouring the point. One of the few things that did raise an unintentional smile was a conversation between Furriskey and Shanahan : “But the man in the street, where does he come in ? By God he doesn’t come in at all, as far as I can see…Feed yourself up with that tack once, and you won’t want more for a long time.” With that, O’Brien has given a perfectly valid assessment of “At Swim Two Birds”. Probably a good book for an Irish Literature course – there’s plenty to analyse – but it’s not necessarily one you’d read for pleasure.