Yes, we read on our holiday. We walked miles and miles and miles through Dublin Streets. And when we weren’t walking, we were riding on the heartbreakingly lovely Luas, Dublin’s new tram system, or the commuter line, or the DART, which is heavy rail and which took us to seaside towns where we walked miles and miles and miles, so you will understand that there had to be some rest from all of that walking, so we read. And thanks to A Boy And His Books we started our holiday read with Skippy Dies before we even left, continuing on the plane and finishing in Dublin which could not have been more perfect, and what a superb book even though it is yet one more tale of private school angst but as told by Paul Murray it’s too wonderful. What a letdown, then, when we had to move on to Freedom, which felt longer than War and Peace only not as light, but we soldiered on, blitzing through so that we could move on to Peter Helton’s Falling More Slowly, a proper police procedural set across the Irish Sea in Bristol, and that perked us up from the funk in which the Franzen’s Freedom had left us.
Oh, and by the way, all that lovely Irish rail business is in a metro area smaller than the car-cursed Queen City.
And furthermore, Dubliners are fearless and frequent bike riders, flying in front of two-storey buses, flinging themselves through mad-mixed medieval streets mostly without helmets. Fabulous.