Description:

More than four dozen pieces of microfiction that are set in and around the northern Irish city of Derry carry the reader to places of incredible beauty and vicious nightmare, times of absolute joy and moments of complete terror. In stories which tread a blurred line between poetry and prose, a never named and not-quite described narrator reveals a story both national and personal, played out upon a canvas filled with stunning landscapes and fascinating characters. ---- “I say it again, “this is pretty much the end of the earth,” and she just smiles. “Well, certainly,” I admit, “there are the Faroes out lost in the fog somewhere beyond and even past that Iceland sure, but that’s really only for Vikings and drunk Germans who like to get naked in the hot pools,” and she just laughs.” But really it is just wild water until it turns to ice and ice until you’re going south again and the ice turns into Siberia.” – from "for Owen who did not think Donegal had proper beaches"