I dove into “Prophet Song” during the Christmas break, and I can’t say it provided the festive cheer I may have hoped for. The dark, Stalinesque future it paints for Ireland is undeniably bleak. While I have a soft spot for dystopian tales, this one didn’t hit the mark.
Lynch’s writing style just didn’t resonate with me. Interestingly, it caught the attention of the Booker panel, but to me, it felt more like a performance for critics rather than a narrative for readers. The choice of narrator kept me at arm’s length from the characters. This could be an artistic choice to mirror a sense of surveillance, yet it only served to distance me further. The prose, often poetic to excess, seemed more about showcasing cleverness than storytelling. I hesitate to call it pretentious, but it fails to connect me with the characters or their plight. It felt overwritten, a style perhaps appealing to certain critics. Still, it left me disengaged from this dark, disturbing, dystopian Ireland and the poor, blighted souls fighting to escape – but not in a particularly decisive manner. I also struggled with the portrayal of Ireland as an isolated, proto-fascist state, seemingly cut off from external influences. This concept didn’t ring true for me. Then there’s Eilish, the protagonist. Her indecisiveness didn’t come across as a believable trait for her character, making her seem more like a hollow figure than a relatable mother. The dialogue, often devoid of paragraphs intended to create urgency, only confused. It may be my preference. Still, the lengthy, adjective-heavy sentences felt more like style over substance.
In the end, “Prophet Song” and I didn’t click. I found myself more at odds with it than engaged. It’s a book I regretfully didn’t enjoy. I apologise to those who found it appealing—it wasn’t my cup of coffee. I see its potential for sparking a lively debate at our book club. Love it or hate it, it’s bound to provoke thought and discussion.
SCORE: 3.5/4 of 10.