A wonderful, poetic book about love and memory. Also pain, and loss, and how you can miss the most important thing in the world, even though it's right under your nose.
Ireland too, of course.
We're all innocent Roseanne, locked up in an asylum for decades for no reason, or because she happened to be born with the wrong religion, or because the jealous people around her find her beauty too disturbing. She never really knows why, but she manages to forgive her tormentors anyway, even the cruel Fr Gaunt. At the same time, we're poor Doctor Grene, who's messed up his own life and those of three other people, because he got drunk one evening and acted without thinking of the consequences.
He creates fantastic images. The burning rat. Her mother's clock. The German planes, flying low over the sea on their way to bomb Belfast.
The hammers and the feathers. I can still see them falling.