Dark, peppery Syrah with smoke and an iron-edged grip that tightens as it goes. Serious wine for Eilish's Dublin as the walls close in, sipped slowly between breathless paragraphs.
Grown on the slopes of an active volcano, it tastes of ash and wild red fruit, beauty under constant threat. That tension is exactly Lynch's register.
A mother's Dublin slides into authoritarian nightmare in unbroken, breathless prose. It is claustrophobic and devastating, and tender in its refusal to look away.
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