There's a sense of authenticity in the portrait of a rural Irish community, so accurately conveyed in character and mood and tempo that one almost sees- with Tarry Flynn- the ""dry brown headland of the potato field""- ""the crossroads of a Sunday evening"" his mother alone making pancakes for him, things, as his uncle tells him, that he'll love yet more at 300 miles distant. Tarry was nearly thirty and in his imagination and talk with his friend Eusebius, he was always on the verge of having a woman. Just as he was always going to be a better farmer. But the woman matter- like the farm- stayed just there, and somehow the sleepy mood of the region could be held to account.... There is almost no plot; the lilt of Irish dialect has charm but is difficult for American readers. And the pattern of Catholic thinking that runs through makes it largely a book for Catholic as well as Irish-American readers. Limited market.