Book review: Witty, wry, yet poignant and thought-provoking

This is a self-deprecating, insightful and humorous collection of stories where it feels like journalist Carl Kinsella is trying to understand the world, and himself

Matchmaker Willie Daly with his book of contacts at the Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival in 2011. Kinsella’s recounting of a few hours at the festival in one of his stories gives us a glimpse into the peculiarities of male friendships. File photo: Eamon Ward

• At Least It Looks Good From Space 
• By Carl Kinsella 
• Hachette Ireland

Journalist Carl Kinsella’s At Least It Looks Good From Space is a collection of essays. 

It’s Kinsella’s first book, but you wouldn’t know it, as a journalist he has a natural, easy way of telling a story that draws you in quickly. He gives us all the details without it feeling prescriptive, and to quote my dad “it’s as if you’re there with him”.

The book is part societal critique, part self-exploration. Kinsella is laying himself bare within the context of the world we live in — like when he started the rumour about the Luas being free because he had time on his hands, and he wanted a bit of an online reaction.

The story is all the more interesting because of the wider setting of what Kinsella calls “the attention economy” where online attention has seemingly become life’s most valuable, and elusive, currency. I was nodding along in agreement for large portions of this essay.

His tales are at times funny and wry, while at the same time thought-provoking and a little sad. Kinsella, now diagnosed with OCD, recounts a summer in the US where his intrusive thoughts and deteriorating mental health reached a worrying stage.

That’s just before he decides to catch a bus and travel the lesser-known parts of America on his own. This adventure culminates in a trip to Dollywood when he finds himself on the cusp of being thrown in jail for possessing moonshine, illegal in the ‘dry county’ of Sevier County.

Kinsella’s recounting of a trip to Lahinch with his close friends (aka The LadsTM) had me crying with laughter. Even thinking of it now makes me laugh anew. 

Within the capers and happenings of their weekend away, including a few hours at Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival, we get a glimpse into the peculiarities of male friendships, and the different types of groups of men that can co-exist in a place. So much happens in this particular essay that I almost forgot to mention Kinsella stepping into a lagoon in the pitch dark.

As well as his male friendships, Kinsella writes about his relationship with his dad. It’s a pretty typical Irish father/son relationship.

As a teenager, Kinsella played football for Firhouse Carmel; his dad was the treasurer, attended every home game, and drove him to and from every away match (this chauffeuring didn’t stop at football matches).

His description of their relationship is real. “There is an unease of sorts to my relationship with my father, though I’m not sure he feels it, or knows it. If he does, then I get the sense he’s not too worried about it, which is actually a great comfort.” 

His analysis of their connection speaks more about him than his father: “I long to be the birthday card version of myself” is a line I’ll remember for a long time.

Arguably one of the most intriguing essays is where Kinsella dissects the realities of his intrusive thoughts. It’s an honest look at how they have impacted his life, where they pop up and how they gather steam and take over, including the summer he wholeheartedly believed he had cancer. 

Through his genuine writing style Kinsella gives us a unique insight into how these compulsions can imprint on your brain. Here, the book reframes the unhelpful conversations around OCD, where it’s often seen as simply needing things to be a certain way.

This is a self-deprecating, insightful and witty collection of stories where it feels like Kinsella is trying to understand the world, and himself. The clever, and at times beautiful, writing makes it a thoroughly enjoyable read.