One Of The Most Depressing Reads!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                       A woman who works in my local bookstore gave me a copy of this, suggesting I might enjoy it.  It is certainly well written, but somewhere along the way, I saw where this was going.  I hoped I was wrong, but sadly, I was right.  And if anyone is interested in reading this book, stop reading this post right here.

                                           "When All Is Said" uses a "Ulysses" type structure--an evening in the life of a man drinking in his neighborhood bar, musing on his life.  There has been some tragedy--what Irish novel wouldn't have some?--in his life, but, save for the death of his wife, he cannot get past it.
I get it.  But he has a successful son in the States, who, with a wife and children, love him dearly.  Maurice Hannigan, for that is the man's name, is reaching that point where he may not be able to care for himself.  A nursing home looms, and, to be sure, his son and family will find him a comfortable, not abusive, place.

                                               He will have none of it. So, leaving a tape recording to his son, he descends the stairs to the honeymoon suite in the hotel he now owns, and takes his life.

                                                 So, the entire novel amounts to a suicide note.

                                                  I am at an age where most in my early life have left.  I am so grateful to have my David.  But this book got under my skin, and not in a good way.  I have fears of loneliness and isolation; this book triggered them all.  I am now reading a piece of fun trash to get the taste of this book out of my mouth.

                                                  And I also happen to be of Irish descent!

                                                  I cannot say the book is bad, or that Griffin is a bad writer.  She is not.
But if you don't have the emotional constitution for this type of material, stay away.  Had I known what I was in for, at the start, I might not have read it, in the first place.

                                                    And, yet, it is being touted as "the next great Irish novel."

                                                   Can't the Irish write anything that is not morose?????????????????