Fifteen Irish writers play a game of top this, adding on to a story and making it more outrageous, ribald, and profane as they go along. It is interesting how they all have their own distinct voice, yet seem to carry on the main story as if there were but one author. Of course, there are many side alleys the writers venture down, and they seem to have a penchant for killing off the characters the previous writer had developed most, but mostly it makes for a funny and even suspenseful story. Very naughty, though, I couldn’t recommend this to my Mother.

“Nothing is wrong. That was his attitude. If it’s not broken don’t give it a belt of a hammer. Pondering your shortcomings was the type of reflection that could unsettle you. Something might really turn out to be wrong. And you’d have to do a right load of worrying then.” - Conor McPherson (p. 21 – 22)

“There were great writers, Joyce among them, who dealt at length with the seedy as an aspect, an inescapable aspect, of human affairs, but this was to throw something else into perspective. They did not rejoice in it for its own sake. And they were men with wide experience in life. They did not have this weak fascination with the sordid. Most of those who dealt in it now though, he thought, were actually sheltered middle-class males and females playing a game, trying to be toughies, to show their ladishness.” - Anthony Cronin (p. 94)

“I think books are wonderful … If they had never been invented and somebody thought of them now, they would be the greatest things ever. I can’t think of anything that had given so much happiness to humanity … No batteries, no wires, no earphones. Absolutely silent, don’t interfere with anybody else, you can take them anywhere with you, in bed, into the bath. And they can’t be broken. You can lie on them, sit on them, prop the door or window sash open and you still can’t damage them.” - Anthony Cronin (p. 100)

“By this stage his bulk and convulsions had killed at least nine rats, left several others disabled, still more with minor injuries and most of the remainder with low self-esteem. And as every dog on the street will know, a rat with low self-esteem is a dangerous rat.” – Charlie O’Neill (p. 185)

“Gary Reynolds had decided to linger on in his bed. It seemed the safest course at this stage. Lying on in the morning was a great thing, everyone knew that. And doing nothing was definitely better than doing something which, as far as Gary was concerned, clearly only led to trouble.

Stretched on his back he recalled the smell of toilet blocks with a certain sense of peaceful happiness.” Gerard Stembridge (p. 217) ( )

I was disappointed with this one purely because the story failed to flow succinctly between authors/chapters. If this was an exercise in showcasing Irish talent they could have at least got a decent editor in. ( )