“Sometimes he gave the impression of being very tired and tired of feeling tired. And he had to peer up close when he tied a fly. He spoke in a charming, reflective sing-song, but it was the voice of an old man.”
“By ten o’clock the sun was elbowing the clouds away, and the three of them were trudging along beside the racing, rising Glady, and soon to the loch and in the boat and out upon it.”
And so the scene is set in Donegal, with the old gillie and much fishing parlance, and bridges over the Glady that more often break when someone’s on them, and places where fishing or hunting avoided by gillies, with haunted implications from the old Irish troubles, today two tourists fishing with this gillie, and well, a catch that took one tourist in and the other after him, some strange hardness and softness to be parted beneath the river…reminded me (me, a sensitive tired old man, too) of flesh needing to be unhinged from bone….
Context of this review here: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/2022/08/14/look-up-there-by-h-russell-wakefield/
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