Beautiful. Elegiac. Barry’s noisy squawking Irishmen recounting their drug heists and lovers in a quiet smelly Spanish seaport.

Meaning in every greasy raindrop in the gutter.

This is without doubt the most original prose I’ve read in years. ( )

Barry's inventive structure propels the reader through a kaleidoscopic narrative that jumps between time and place freely. Barry paints engrossing scenes that engage the reader through each of these vignettes that peel back a layer of backstory from the two main characters.

While Barry's throwing of caution to the wind when it comes to form is laudable, there's a dissatisfaction that remains once you reach the end. The emptiness isn't from a want for a resolution to the story, which there isn't. Instead you're left with a desire to have continued jumping through the messy timelines and the varied places between Spain, Morocco and Algeria.

3.5/5 ( )

Lovely prose. Toss in a plot and you got yourself a book. ( )

The terse life stories, both cruel and funny, of two Irish drug dealers recounted over the course of a day while they wait in a boat terminal in Algeciras, Spain. It clearly owes something to Beckett and probably to Joyce. The dialogue is both humorous and crude and begs to be read aloud especially if you can do an Irish accent. ( )

Easily the worst book I have read in the last 12 months.
No story at all
Short 4 work sentences- most of the time with no punctuation- very James Ellroy at his worst!
No quote marks so half the time you have no idea which Irish degenerate is talking.
Lots of meaningless Irish slang.
Nothing interesting about the two main characters.
Nothing happens throughout the book.
How do books like this get so much attention? ( )