Set in post recession Ireland, this daring novel pushes form and stylistic boundaries which some readers may find difficult to accept. Reliving episodes from his life, like the proverbial drowning man, the narrator of this extended monologue is unaware of what the reader knows - that he is no longer in this world. Bear with it, because the emotional resonance of this ominous fact makes the lyrical stream of consciousness compulsive reading.
'... that collapse which happened without offering any forewarning of itself, none that any of or prophets picked up on anyway as they were
all apparently struck dumb and blind, robbed of all foresight when surely this was the kind of catastrophe prophets should have an eye for or some foreknowledge of but didn’t see since it is now evident in hindsight that our seers’ gifts were of a lesser order, their warnings lowered to a tremendous bleating, the voices of men hedging their bets and without the proper pitch of hysterical accusation as they settled instead for fault-finding and analysis, that cautionary note which in the end proved wholly inadequate to the coming disaster because pointing out flaws was never going to be enough and figures and projections, no matter how dire, were never likely to map out the real contours of the calamity or prove to an adequate spell against it when, without that shrill tone of indictment, theirs was never a song to hold our attention and no point whatsoever meeting catastrophe with reason when
what was needed was
our prophets deranged
and coming towards us wild-eyed and smeared with shit, ringing a bell, seer and sinner at once while speaking some language from the edge of reason ...'