Engaging story of a Dublin neighbourhood
Well, all I can say is that it’s hard work being a newcomer to Pine Road because, based on Martha’s experience, the female residents of the road will be all over you like a rash before you’ve even finished unpacking. Or they’ll be exchanging snippets of information about you and your family in the Pine Road WhatsApp group. As one of the characters remarks, ‘Pine Road makes the Spanish Inquisition look like an amateur operation’.
Speaking of which, the sections showing the messages exchanged between group members were a lot of fun to read with some real laugh out loud moments. For example, when the subject matter of the “groundbreaking” newspaper column by Bernie, self-appointed matriarch of Pine Road, is revealed. Or the discussion about the precise specifications for an item to be procured for a planned street party which includes the instruction to ‘avoid gender specific shades’ of wrapping paper. And who knew that arguments over parking could illicit comparisons with the Middle East conflict.
Before long it becomes clear that amongst the residents of Pine Road it’s not so much three little truths as a plethora of big lies, some of a more serious nature than others.
Of the three main characters, Martha’s story was the one I found most compelling and it was her I found myself rooting for as more about her family’s experiences before moving to Pine Road is revealed. The author cleverly found a way to give the reader a direct insight into Martha’s thoughts and feelings about an event which was clearly traumatic for both her and her family, and has left her confused and uncertain about how to deal with it.
And this is where I began to have some reservations about the book. Although I enjoyed the humour, it made me slightly uneasy to be laughing at WhatsApp messages about stolen newspapers one minute and the next experiencing Martha’s obvious mental anguish or witnessing the curve balls life can throw for other residents.
Having said that, although I’d never want to live there, I did enjoy being introduced to the residents of Pine Road. ‘A curved row of twenty-one houses. Stacks of red bricks divided by iron gates. A collection of lives where the only automatic connection was a postcode. A place where families expanded, imploded and renewed. A place where people lived in company, alone and often, if they lasted long enough, both.’
Speaking of which, the sections showing the messages exchanged between group members were a lot of fun to read with some real laugh out loud moments. For example, when the subject matter of the “groundbreaking” newspaper column by Bernie, self-appointed matriarch of Pine Road, is revealed. Or the discussion about the precise specifications for an item to be procured for a planned street party which includes the instruction to ‘avoid gender specific shades’ of wrapping paper. And who knew that arguments over parking could illicit comparisons with the Middle East conflict.
Before long it becomes clear that amongst the residents of Pine Road it’s not so much three little truths as a plethora of big lies, some of a more serious nature than others.
Of the three main characters, Martha’s story was the one I found most compelling and it was her I found myself rooting for as more about her family’s experiences before moving to Pine Road is revealed. The author cleverly found a way to give the reader a direct insight into Martha’s thoughts and feelings about an event which was clearly traumatic for both her and her family, and has left her confused and uncertain about how to deal with it.
And this is where I began to have some reservations about the book. Although I enjoyed the humour, it made me slightly uneasy to be laughing at WhatsApp messages about stolen newspapers one minute and the next experiencing Martha’s obvious mental anguish or witnessing the curve balls life can throw for other residents.
Having said that, although I’d never want to live there, I did enjoy being introduced to the residents of Pine Road. ‘A curved row of twenty-one houses. Stacks of red bricks divided by iron gates. A collection of lives where the only automatic connection was a postcode. A place where families expanded, imploded and renewed. A place where people lived in company, alone and often, if they lasted long enough, both.’