To the Irish, words are not a currency—they are a complete value system. They can be as solid as building bricks, as mellifluous as lovers and as ephemeral as the fall mists.
And their delivery is swifter than Fedex; more sinuous than Broadway. To an Irishman, irony is as natural as breathing. As in: "'Twas a fatal goldfish bite."
All of which underscores Ireland's four Nobel literature prizes of the twentieth century: Yeats, Shaw, Beckett and Heaney.
Whilst modern Ireland is more accustomed to such imaginative concepts as "gridlock, trauma, profitability and compensation", the literary heritage—and the landscape which inspired it, are far from departed. In the same way that the US west inspired the cowboy story, so the flatlands of Offaly and the wilds of Mayo and Donegal still give the traveller pause for thought. If you doubt me, I suggest you try one of the blackest and bleakest comedies ever to surface from the bog water: Bogmail by Patrick McGinley. It's the literary equivalent of Munch's "The Scream".
For your particular delectation we recommend the Literary Pub Tour in Dublin, as enjoyed by many of our more literate clients, and the "Angela's Ashes" tour of Limerick. In the north, there is a fine Seamus Heaney centre in the Bellaghy Bawn in Co. Derry, close by the great man's birthplace.
Even if it is only in the grim graffiti or the dour shopkeepers of the north— "There's nothing free in Ballymena but salvation, missus"—you'll find that the Irish of all descriptions still enjoy a telling phrase—mostly told against themselves!
This same ethos inspires and informs Lynchpin's grand literary tour, which we present for your delight and delectation.
Click here to send us your phone number, and Tour Director Lowell Courtney will call back with more information shortly!