“The others find her reading choices odd and pretentious because they are so determinedly not mainstream. She eschews the bestseller lists. She favours short stories over novels, because, she tells them, her concentration is fatally flawed.”
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Prosperity Drive | 
“The others find her reading choices odd and pretentious because they are so determinedly not mainstream. She eschews the bestseller lists. She favours short stories over novels, because, she tells them, her concentration is fatally flawed.”
“Crossroads to nowhere The avenue leading to St Jude‘s Hospital formed the upright, patches of green on either side with ancient oak trees, low clumps of whitethorn and forsythia, and wild clusters of snowdrops in the spring. Prosperity Drive was the cross-beam, bisecting the avenue. It was a later addition, and afterthought: a paved street of pebble-dashed houses petering out in two bland cul-de-sacs.”
In 1980 and 1981, I lived in a flat in Sandycove, County Dublin. The author of this book lived two floors down during part of that time. I don‘t think I ever spoke to her, or even met her face-to-face, but I certainly had a crush on her. I‘ve never actually read anything by her—I‘m looking forward to this, which I found in a charity shop a few days ago.
