Ordinarily, I find the work of new writers as hyped as Ní Chuinn underwhelming, to say the least, but in this case, do believe the hype. Ní Chuinn continues the long line of writers out of Ireland (Barry, Barrett, Erskine etc) who shake up the short form and explore voice and structure with a confidence and ingenuity that staggers. ‘Mary’ is a second person address to the partner of one Christy, who, we are told in the opening sentence, is ‘gentle’. What follows is an examination of squalid compromise, of good people being forced, through circumstance, to do not-so-good things. Needless to say, this is not the Ireland of rolling green and jolly fellers singing in bars; this is a land of exploitation and trafficking and awful anger and a marrow-deep sorrow that can never be eradicated. That such a place consistently produces writers of immense skill and stature is a mystery the world cannot do without.

First published in The Stinging Fly, 2024, collected in Everyone Still Here, Granta, 2025