Second paragraph of third story (“Bluebells”):

She unpacked her clothes, but was drawn back to the wall-paper. She looked closely at it, ran her hand over the circular bouquets of bluebells on the pale-pink background. It was like seeing a face in a crowd she couldn’t quite place. But then it came to her. The street in West Belfast from her childhood. The room she shared with her little sister, Sarah. Not much money in the house. Bare wooden floorboards before that became fashionable. No oilcloth or carpet in their room, but that same lovely pink wallpaper covered with bluebells just beside their bed.

Gerry Adams will need no introduction to anyone familiar with Irish politics; as well as his public career, he has published a number of books, and my brother got me this short story collection as a joke, a few years back.

It’s not very good. Adams’ command of language in his public speeches has always been somewhat clunky, and that’s true here as well. Abrupt shifts of tone and setting make it difficult to focus on whatever it is each story is about. I read the first four and put it in the charity pile. The author is retired now, but was wise to stick to his day job. You can get Black Mountain here.

This was the non-genre fiction book that had lingered longest unread on my shelves. Next on that pile is The Good Wife of Bath, by Karen Brooks.