What do you think?
Rate this book
Every One Still Here: Stories
A young girl spends her days on a double-decker bus. A bride-to-be prays to St Valentine's bones. Bouquets are found all over a museum. Teenagers gather to dissect a human body. Brimming with compassion and thrumming with energy, these stories are scrupulous in their attention to detail, epic in their scope. In this bravura debut collection, Liadan Ní Chuinn delivers a consummate blend of the personal and the political.
160 pages, Paperback
First published July 17, 2025
68 people are currently reading
2368 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 83 reviews
August 26, 2025
Northern Ireland is both setting and subject in this exceptional collection. It contains six stories which primarily take place post the turbulent period referred to as the Troubles - although they should shatter any illusions that the Troubles simply ended. Instead, these arresting pieces highlight the ways in which conflict persists even though its expression may have altered – witness for example the extraordinary rise in young people dying by suicide in the following years; and the ongoing, incendiary actions of loyalist paramilitaries. Born in 1998 in the wake of the Good Friday peace agreement, the writer behind this memorable debut is one of the so-called ‘ceasefire babies.’ Liadan Ní Chuinn is the pseudonym adopted by a West Belfast, non-binary author who has refused face-to-face interviews as well as participation in conventional marketing aimed at promoting them as a brand. Although the mystery surrounding their true identity has itself fuelled interest in their work.
At first glance Ní Chuinn’s style’s unusually unembellished, direct, immediate, sometimes intimate and confiding. However, even elements that appear raw and spontaneous are the outcome of meticulous crafting: Ní Chuinn deploys different points-of-view, tense and structure to communicate complex arguments and thoughts even when underlying emotions seem to be bleeding through. These admirably-disciplined stories also share the sense that they’re slices-of-ongoing-life - in keeping with Ní Chuinn’s emphasis on issues which have never, and may never, be truly resolved. The collection’s deliberately bookended by early pieces centred on the manifold legacies of British imperialism and the years of occupation by British ‘security forces’, in particular the lasting impact on families and communities. And both “We All Go” and the less even “Daisy Hill” are potent reflections on intergenerational trauma.
In the haunting “We All Go” with its vivid, visceral imagery, Jackie’s mired in grief after his father’s long drawn-out death; grappling with a narrative inheritance that includes strip searches, midnight raids and the time just before his birth when his parents were hijacked by loyalist paramilitaries out hunting Catholics. “Daisy Hill” explores overlapping territory, the terrifying stories passed down from generation to generation, the rage, helplessness and guilt of those who can only bear witness. It moves from downbeat domestic scenes to moments of near-frenzy. But then, unexpectedly, presents an immensely powerful recitation of the violence meted out by British forces - and successive institutional failures to hold individual actors accountable. It offers up a litany of atrocities through its listing of the names and circumstances of many of their victims: the ‘rape of the Falls’; the horrific events of ‘Bloody Sunday’; the children killed by soldiers on routine patrols; the summarily interned, the mocked, the tortured, the beaten, the slaughtered.
Fractured families also feature in “Amalur”, “Russia” and “Novena” – for me the weakest entry. Laced with flashes of lyrical beauty “Amalur” - titled after the Basque deity - is an evocative reminder of Northern Ireland’s diversity; an inventive examination of family dynamics, comfort and refuge, damage and the things that are left unsaid. Processes of dehumanisation preoccupy Ní Chuinn and recur as themes throughout, strongly informing “Russia” which discusses the brutal effects of the severing of roots through two siblings adopted from ‘somewhere’ in Russia. One of whom now works in a museum where an unknown activist is calling attention to the ethics of displaying the dead, particularly bodies plundered from other cultures and countries. The beautifully-constructed “Mary” critiques creative writing classes and the constraints they place on the rendering of everyday experiences, on what can and can’t be written about. It also echoes aspects of “Amalur” in its consideration of how seemingly-inconsequential actions can destroy close bonds, here a couple’s relationship is irrevocably changed when one recognises the other doesn’t share their most fundamental values.
Overall, impressive, intense, moving and insightful. I can see why Ní Chuinn’s been so widely praised. Although for some, as with rap group Kneecap the ‘ceasefire babies’ from Derry and West Belfast, Ní Chuinn’s particular fierce and fiercely political stance on contemporary Northern Ireland will undoubtedly be considered highly provocative.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Granta Books for an ARC
Rating: 4.5
At first glance Ní Chuinn’s style’s unusually unembellished, direct, immediate, sometimes intimate and confiding. However, even elements that appear raw and spontaneous are the outcome of meticulous crafting: Ní Chuinn deploys different points-of-view, tense and structure to communicate complex arguments and thoughts even when underlying emotions seem to be bleeding through. These admirably-disciplined stories also share the sense that they’re slices-of-ongoing-life - in keeping with Ní Chuinn’s emphasis on issues which have never, and may never, be truly resolved. The collection’s deliberately bookended by early pieces centred on the manifold legacies of British imperialism and the years of occupation by British ‘security forces’, in particular the lasting impact on families and communities. And both “We All Go” and the less even “Daisy Hill” are potent reflections on intergenerational trauma.
In the haunting “We All Go” with its vivid, visceral imagery, Jackie’s mired in grief after his father’s long drawn-out death; grappling with a narrative inheritance that includes strip searches, midnight raids and the time just before his birth when his parents were hijacked by loyalist paramilitaries out hunting Catholics. “Daisy Hill” explores overlapping territory, the terrifying stories passed down from generation to generation, the rage, helplessness and guilt of those who can only bear witness. It moves from downbeat domestic scenes to moments of near-frenzy. But then, unexpectedly, presents an immensely powerful recitation of the violence meted out by British forces - and successive institutional failures to hold individual actors accountable. It offers up a litany of atrocities through its listing of the names and circumstances of many of their victims: the ‘rape of the Falls’; the horrific events of ‘Bloody Sunday’; the children killed by soldiers on routine patrols; the summarily interned, the mocked, the tortured, the beaten, the slaughtered.
Fractured families also feature in “Amalur”, “Russia” and “Novena” – for me the weakest entry. Laced with flashes of lyrical beauty “Amalur” - titled after the Basque deity - is an evocative reminder of Northern Ireland’s diversity; an inventive examination of family dynamics, comfort and refuge, damage and the things that are left unsaid. Processes of dehumanisation preoccupy Ní Chuinn and recur as themes throughout, strongly informing “Russia” which discusses the brutal effects of the severing of roots through two siblings adopted from ‘somewhere’ in Russia. One of whom now works in a museum where an unknown activist is calling attention to the ethics of displaying the dead, particularly bodies plundered from other cultures and countries. The beautifully-constructed “Mary” critiques creative writing classes and the constraints they place on the rendering of everyday experiences, on what can and can’t be written about. It also echoes aspects of “Amalur” in its consideration of how seemingly-inconsequential actions can destroy close bonds, here a couple’s relationship is irrevocably changed when one recognises the other doesn’t share their most fundamental values.
Overall, impressive, intense, moving and insightful. I can see why Ní Chuinn’s been so widely praised. Although for some, as with rap group Kneecap the ‘ceasefire babies’ from Derry and West Belfast, Ní Chuinn’s particular fierce and fiercely political stance on contemporary Northern Ireland will undoubtedly be considered highly provocative.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Granta Books for an ARC
Rating: 4.5
Read
August 4, 2025I was attracted to this collection by the lack of publicity. Having said that, there was definitely a publicity as I've read about it in a newspaper. However, the author has refused to participate in it. Liadan refused to give any interviews. Moreover, Liadan Ni Chuinn is not their real name. However the others described the collection as something extraordinary written by a new prodigious talent from Belfast. I personally admire Liadan’s stance. Nowadays it seems the readers are getting more from the discussions with the authors than from the actual text. I am kind of old fashioned in this regard. I always thought that the text should speak for itself. (In fact I prefer to play a little game trying to infer a personality of the author based upon their work.) I do not mind a piece of criticism, especially if it contains an original interpretation on a text. But all those direct conversations and interviews with the authors explaining their books puts me off from reading those books. I understand the other readers have a very different view on this. And of course it is totally fine. Plus I am sure all the publicity helps those authors to sell their books. But the refusal by Liadan in participating in this charade made me their fan.
The book itself has left a bit of a mixed impression on me though. It felt very much a debut for me that it indeed was. There was a presence of a very strong, unique and angry authoritarian voice throughout and it was a good thing. However, it seemed the author was still experimenting with different writing tools such as present tense, intermingling and juxtaposing too threads into a story, bringing a set of people into a single place (like a market) and making them think about their lives later connecting their stories only superficially. So all of this on occasion felt little raw, like a work of person learning the craft.
The stories are a type of kitchen sink realism with an element of rage. The rage is caused by the trauma of The troubles viewed from the perspective of a "ceasefire" generation. Also another theme running through is the complicity of a person in small acts of cowardice or betrayal. And how the person grapples with that after a fact. It is a very poignant and difficult topic. I think everyone can relate to this feeling as I do not think there is a single person in this world who is not complicit in something. It could be a small thing or could be something big and political when the choices are much less clear and the issue can seem quite remote. In some of these stories Liadan has successfully shown such situations.
The first story 'We all go" has created a very powerful impression on me. It starts with a little baby still not born facing the violence of The Troubles through his mum and dad. It shows how the trauma of The Troubles still directly affects the lives of the ordinary people. Liadan has convincingly depicted a family grappling with the loss of a father through the eyes of a son who tries to find whom to blame, tries to understand what justice means. The father has died of a disease, not during the conflict. But in the boy's mind it is the conflict to blame, and specifically the British state. The family's story is juxtaposed against the boy's practice with bodies's dissections in an anatomic lab. I thought it was really strong start of the collection.
Another story I loved was the one called 'Mary'. Liadan weaves a it around a situation of a little girl spending her days in a bus without anyone knowing where she is coming from. It is just a focal point. The story is layered and complex connecting many disparate themes and very human.
The rest of the stores though promising thematically were less successful in terms of execution. Some of them lacked a bit of a formal daring and were little too obvious. Some of them in their rage have become too didactic. The last story for example, seems a re-run of the first. But it also contains around nine pages listing factual atrocities the British state and its soldiers has committed against Northern Irish civilians. I guess it is done to underscore the lack of justice from the perspective of many citizens of Northen Ireland. All those cases are well documented and well known. I am not sure these nine pages or a third of the whole story adds to the power of the story per se. I might sound controversial here but in case of the literature, an understatement and omission sometimes is more powerful then re-ran of factual bits about the atrocities. (Dasha Drndic for example often included the list of names of the people perished in Holocaust without any further explanation. It was very effective as well as eerie.) I personally was familiar with these facts. There is for example a relatively recent BBC documentary Once upon a time in Northern Ireland that contains unfiltered testimonies of people with personal memories of the conflict. It was a very difficult but very powerful watch. But here, in this story these facts seem to stand alone under the powerful and symbolic subtitle "The Truth" instead of being incorporated into the fiction somehow. I can understand if Liadan's goal was to bring them up the wider audience of the new generation of readers and search for more justice. What is to be done about this now is the question it raised in my head. I do not have any answers.
The book itself has left a bit of a mixed impression on me though. It felt very much a debut for me that it indeed was. There was a presence of a very strong, unique and angry authoritarian voice throughout and it was a good thing. However, it seemed the author was still experimenting with different writing tools such as present tense, intermingling and juxtaposing too threads into a story, bringing a set of people into a single place (like a market) and making them think about their lives later connecting their stories only superficially. So all of this on occasion felt little raw, like a work of person learning the craft.
The stories are a type of kitchen sink realism with an element of rage. The rage is caused by the trauma of The troubles viewed from the perspective of a "ceasefire" generation. Also another theme running through is the complicity of a person in small acts of cowardice or betrayal. And how the person grapples with that after a fact. It is a very poignant and difficult topic. I think everyone can relate to this feeling as I do not think there is a single person in this world who is not complicit in something. It could be a small thing or could be something big and political when the choices are much less clear and the issue can seem quite remote. In some of these stories Liadan has successfully shown such situations.
The first story 'We all go" has created a very powerful impression on me. It starts with a little baby still not born facing the violence of The Troubles through his mum and dad. It shows how the trauma of The Troubles still directly affects the lives of the ordinary people. Liadan has convincingly depicted a family grappling with the loss of a father through the eyes of a son who tries to find whom to blame, tries to understand what justice means. The father has died of a disease, not during the conflict. But in the boy's mind it is the conflict to blame, and specifically the British state. The family's story is juxtaposed against the boy's practice with bodies's dissections in an anatomic lab. I thought it was really strong start of the collection.
Another story I loved was the one called 'Mary'. Liadan weaves a it around a situation of a little girl spending her days in a bus without anyone knowing where she is coming from. It is just a focal point. The story is layered and complex connecting many disparate themes and very human.
The rest of the stores though promising thematically were less successful in terms of execution. Some of them lacked a bit of a formal daring and were little too obvious. Some of them in their rage have become too didactic. The last story for example, seems a re-run of the first. But it also contains around nine pages listing factual atrocities the British state and its soldiers has committed against Northern Irish civilians. I guess it is done to underscore the lack of justice from the perspective of many citizens of Northen Ireland. All those cases are well documented and well known. I am not sure these nine pages or a third of the whole story adds to the power of the story per se. I might sound controversial here but in case of the literature, an understatement and omission sometimes is more powerful then re-ran of factual bits about the atrocities. (Dasha Drndic for example often included the list of names of the people perished in Holocaust without any further explanation. It was very effective as well as eerie.) I personally was familiar with these facts. There is for example a relatively recent BBC documentary Once upon a time in Northern Ireland that contains unfiltered testimonies of people with personal memories of the conflict. It was a very difficult but very powerful watch. But here, in this story these facts seem to stand alone under the powerful and symbolic subtitle "The Truth" instead of being incorporated into the fiction somehow. I can understand if Liadan's goal was to bring them up the wider audience of the new generation of readers and search for more justice. What is to be done about this now is the question it raised in my head. I do not have any answers.
October 19, 2025
This short-story collection has been the subject of much fanfare in the media of late. It's the first book of a young author from Northern Ireland, writing under a pseudonym, about whom little else is known. 'Among the best Irish books of the 21st century' according to the Irish Times - it's fair to say my expectations were sky high.
And it gets of to a flier with the best story in the collection. We All Go considers a young man named Jackie, who struggles with the anatomy class he attends at university as well as the grief at losing his father. It excels at depicting the claustrophobia of his life at home, as he is shunned by his mother in favour of his sister. It takes place in the shadow of the Troubles, as all theses stories do, leaving the characters searching for meaning in its wake. Another tale named Mary stood out for me, about an unemployed woman who joins a writing class and decides to compose a story about a young girl she meets every day on the bus. She also learns that her kind and gentle husband, a taxi driver, has taken a large fare to transport three girls who were clearly being trafficked. Her dilemmas had me intrigued.
However I'm afraid to say the rest of the stories didn't really grab my attention at all. The final effort, Daisy Hill, has been much discussed. It ends with a record of dozens of people killed by the British Army in Northern Ireland - I guess its intent is to shock, but I didn't find much literary merit in it. For me this book is the introduction of an exciting new talent, who is not quite the finished article just yet. Keep an eye out for the name Liadan Ni Chuinn - let's see what they come up with next.
And it gets of to a flier with the best story in the collection. We All Go considers a young man named Jackie, who struggles with the anatomy class he attends at university as well as the grief at losing his father. It excels at depicting the claustrophobia of his life at home, as he is shunned by his mother in favour of his sister. It takes place in the shadow of the Troubles, as all theses stories do, leaving the characters searching for meaning in its wake. Another tale named Mary stood out for me, about an unemployed woman who joins a writing class and decides to compose a story about a young girl she meets every day on the bus. She also learns that her kind and gentle husband, a taxi driver, has taken a large fare to transport three girls who were clearly being trafficked. Her dilemmas had me intrigued.
However I'm afraid to say the rest of the stories didn't really grab my attention at all. The final effort, Daisy Hill, has been much discussed. It ends with a record of dozens of people killed by the British Army in Northern Ireland - I guess its intent is to shock, but I didn't find much literary merit in it. For me this book is the introduction of an exciting new talent, who is not quite the finished article just yet. Keep an eye out for the name Liadan Ni Chuinn - let's see what they come up with next.
October 12, 2025
An impressive debut collection about intergenerational trauma and those who are left behind, with indignation about State violence as driving force.
I enjoyed the first three stories best, after that it felt slightly uneven.
Especially the opening story We All Go - about a dying father from a family struggling with the reverberations of the Troubles - is deeply moving and has so many layers.
The final story 'Daisy Hill' deals with the same subject matter but is angrier.
I loved 'Amalur' too, set in the Basque country, about a girl from a broken home who comes to realize she loves her boyfriend's warm family more than she loves him.
Clearly a writer to watch.
I enjoyed the first three stories best, after that it felt slightly uneven.
Especially the opening story We All Go - about a dying father from a family struggling with the reverberations of the Troubles - is deeply moving and has so many layers.
The final story 'Daisy Hill' deals with the same subject matter but is angrier.
I loved 'Amalur' too, set in the Basque country, about a girl from a broken home who comes to realize she loves her boyfriend's warm family more than she loves him.
Clearly a writer to watch.
2026
September 4, 2025📱 Thank you to NetGalley and FSG Originals
July 2, 2025
What an impressive debut! This is a collection of short stories and each of them feels so well realised & actualised.
Now this is sad. Every last story is sad! But they are also compassionate & there is occasional hint of humour. Being that Ní Chuinn is from the North it is local (complimentary). But then the last few pages are a sucker punch.
Cannot wait to read more from this author.
*read via NetGalley
Now this is sad. Every last story is sad! But they are also compassionate & there is occasional hint of humour. Being that Ní Chuinn is from the North it is local (complimentary). But then the last few pages are a sucker punch.
Cannot wait to read more from this author.
*read via NetGalley
October 26, 2025
Feels contemporary in a way little other writing coming out of Ireland at present doesn't - captures our uncertain moment in which the docile pacification which characterised the 1990s and 2000s has finally died completely, but has yet to be replaced with a new path for the future in a moment where global tendencies towards conspiracism and catastrophe sit alongside the traumas of Irish history.
July 28, 2025
I loved this so much. So viscerally emotive. I would be very excited to read anything else from this author.
October 29, 2025
really remarkable, even more so as a debut
August 4, 2025
that last story was mesmerising and haunting. chills.
November 23, 2025
Every One Still Here opens with a grim clarity. Jackie mourns a father already lost, but the weight pressing on him comes from further back: the British state’s harassment and torture of his uncle and grandfather. Ní Chuinn writes this inheritance in a pared, almost affectless tone that makes the sadness land without theatrics. The story shows how the Troubles survive in muscle memory, in family rooms, in what isn’t said. It sets the register for the whole collection: violence as residue, grief as something handed down rather than survived, and a young narrator carrying a past that never gave him permission to move on.
The remaining stories widen the field without breaking the mood. A fraudulent clinic poisoning a town, a woman treading the line between love and denial, a museum worker stalked by protests, adopted siblings trying to place themselves in the world—each piece sits inside private lives with political aftershocks humming under the floorboards. The prose stays stripped back, almost flat, which keeps the tension raw. By the time the final story hits, and the coda names real civilians killed by British forces in the present tense, the book’s argument is unmistakable: peace may have been signed, but the reckoning never finished. Ní Chuinn’s debut is unsettling, sad, and quietly furious—exactly as it should be.
Thank you NetGalley for the opportunity to read this debut.
The remaining stories widen the field without breaking the mood. A fraudulent clinic poisoning a town, a woman treading the line between love and denial, a museum worker stalked by protests, adopted siblings trying to place themselves in the world—each piece sits inside private lives with political aftershocks humming under the floorboards. The prose stays stripped back, almost flat, which keeps the tension raw. By the time the final story hits, and the coda names real civilians killed by British forces in the present tense, the book’s argument is unmistakable: peace may have been signed, but the reckoning never finished. Ní Chuinn’s debut is unsettling, sad, and quietly furious—exactly as it should be.
Thank you NetGalley for the opportunity to read this debut.
July 17, 2025
3.5 Stars – Quiet and Emotional
Every One Still Here is a gentle, emotional story about grief, memory, and holding on to those we’ve lost. The writing is soft and reflective, with some beautifully written moments.
It does move a little slowly in parts, and the story can feel a bit aimless at times, but the emotion behind it is strong and real.
A good read for fans of quiet, thoughtful fiction.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
Every One Still Here is a gentle, emotional story about grief, memory, and holding on to those we’ve lost. The writing is soft and reflective, with some beautifully written moments.
It does move a little slowly in parts, and the story can feel a bit aimless at times, but the emotion behind it is strong and real.
A good read for fans of quiet, thoughtful fiction.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
October 17, 2025
Extraordinary debut book from an anonymous author. It captures the quiet complexities and emotions of normal, everyday life set against the lasting legacy of The Troubles in Northern Ireland. Deeply poignant and a timely reminder of humanity amid these war-filled times. Must read!!
October 13, 2025
One of these was maybe the best short story I've ever read, and the rest were very good. The ending worked but I think suffered from being contained within a story rather than standing alone.
November 12, 2025
although each story is individual, i defo recommend reading the whole thing like a novel, rather than dipping in and out.
October 18, 2025
Every short story was captivating, the writing style is original and poignant, would like to read more!
November 28, 2025
no one is angry enough about anything. these stories are singular, really like no writer i’ve read before
July 26, 2025
Every One Still Here is a collection of short stories by Irish debut writer Liadan Ní Chuinn, and it is one that I will not forget soon. The prose is quiet yet intense, spellbinding the reader as they are drawn into the six stories, mostly told from the first-person perspective. Thematically, the offering is weighty: we are shown a depressed, quietly traumatised Ireland. Despite this, the stories are more moving than depressing, more enraging than numbing. I wanted to savour every sentence, yet I could not put the book down. Although the stories appear to be separate, we soon realise that they are connected by underlying themes and that some of the characters feature in more than one story.
We start with We All Go, the longest story by far. The protagonist is a young man studying medicine who, while beginning to dissect corpses, also starts to explore his family's past, but only encounters silence. It is an impressive story about generational trauma, the pitfalls of memory, and perhaps most importantly, what an inability to speak about violence means for the next generation.
In Amatur, the protagonist is in love with her boyfriend's family more than with him. The story revolves around the question of what family is, and explores mother-daughter relationships. The gulf between different lived realities is starkly revealed, but I also felt great sympathy for how hard some of the characters tried.
Mary is a story about a relationship under pressure, and about a woman who has lost her job and is now unsuccessfully taking a creative writing course. It explores themes of communication, guilt, frustration, economic hardship and loss.
Russia follows a young man to a psychic, where he needs to figure out what the question is he wants answered. Meanwhile, the museum where he works experiences a peculiar form of protest. This narrative focuses on belonging and community, but also touches heavily on memory, remembrance and family.
Novena is about a man and a woman who work at stalls in a market: an antiques dealer who has lost his family and a coffee cart owner who wishes for a different life. A plethora of social undercurrents and themes are revealed, not least by a teenager named Moll, who observes and judges these individuals.
And Daisy Hill is a heavy hitter right at the end, closing the distance to the first story. What starts as the story of a man who cannot stand that his dog is dying develops into a highly effective way of focusing on the often only implied trauma that runs through the other stories. Here, the violence that British soldiers inflicted on Irish society and the impact of any lack of accountability come starkly to the foreground.
Overall, this is a highly impressive and readable collection that manages to focus on certain themes without becoming perdictable, one note or overly dramatic. I am really glad an ARC from NetGalley gave me the opportunity to read this gem I might otherwise have missed.
We start with We All Go, the longest story by far. The protagonist is a young man studying medicine who, while beginning to dissect corpses, also starts to explore his family's past, but only encounters silence. It is an impressive story about generational trauma, the pitfalls of memory, and perhaps most importantly, what an inability to speak about violence means for the next generation.
In Amatur, the protagonist is in love with her boyfriend's family more than with him. The story revolves around the question of what family is, and explores mother-daughter relationships. The gulf between different lived realities is starkly revealed, but I also felt great sympathy for how hard some of the characters tried.
Mary is a story about a relationship under pressure, and about a woman who has lost her job and is now unsuccessfully taking a creative writing course. It explores themes of communication, guilt, frustration, economic hardship and loss.
Russia follows a young man to a psychic, where he needs to figure out what the question is he wants answered. Meanwhile, the museum where he works experiences a peculiar form of protest. This narrative focuses on belonging and community, but also touches heavily on memory, remembrance and family.
Novena is about a man and a woman who work at stalls in a market: an antiques dealer who has lost his family and a coffee cart owner who wishes for a different life. A plethora of social undercurrents and themes are revealed, not least by a teenager named Moll, who observes and judges these individuals.
And Daisy Hill is a heavy hitter right at the end, closing the distance to the first story. What starts as the story of a man who cannot stand that his dog is dying develops into a highly effective way of focusing on the often only implied trauma that runs through the other stories. Here, the violence that British soldiers inflicted on Irish society and the impact of any lack of accountability come starkly to the foreground.
Overall, this is a highly impressive and readable collection that manages to focus on certain themes without becoming perdictable, one note or overly dramatic. I am really glad an ARC from NetGalley gave me the opportunity to read this gem I might otherwise have missed.
Read
August 5, 2025‘I thought I would have all this energy. And I thought, I knew, my parents weren’t happy but I thought I knew why and i thought I could avoid it, but I haven’t, and maybe I can’t. I always thought it was so grim the way people talked about getting older and I thought I’d never do that but then I am getting older and I do, I can’t help it, because it’s like, it’s like, it’s me who’s exhausted, it’s me doing these shifts, and I thought, I thought it would be different for us. I thought we were going to be these brilliant people. I thought the adults we knew were miserable but only because, I guess I thought they were weren’t doing it right. I thought because we didn’t want to do it we would find a way to not have to but now I’m thinking, O my god, nobody has a fucking choice. And I thought I was going to have this beautiful life but I just, I just feel tired all the time, actually. Even when I’m only just waking, even, even I think when I am asleep, I think that I dream that I’m tired.’
September 28, 2025
ah lads this was bloody fantastic
September 16, 2025
A varied collection of short stories written under a pseudonym and bookended by political ones at the front and back. Disparate plots and themes are soldered together in each story. Overall, they do not connect well nor resonate.
We All Go.
A carjacking of the narrator's family during the Orange Order, the interning of his paternal grandfather and uncle by the British Army, partitionism. These are interlaced with the experiences of a medical student at an cadaveric dissection. If there is a connection, it is obscure. But running through this story are memories and longing for the narrator's father, who was ill and had passed on.
Amlur. Amlur is the mother of the sun and moon in Basque mythology. So this is mostly about motherhood. The narrator is more enamoured of her boyfriend's family than of him. She is taken in by their warmth and approach to life, despite their imperfections and misfortune like his sister's iracible husband and his mother's premature death. Her boyfriend's younger sister's teen pregnancy stands in contrast with her mother's relatively late childbearing. Her mother is unable to relate to anybody, including narrator, but we see that her mother sacrifices a lot for her.
There is an brief deviation from the main plot in describing the oppression of the Basque people.
Kurdish writer Musa Anter is quoted as saying, if my mother tongue is shaking the foundations of your state, it probably means that you built your state on my land.
Mary
This story is about writing, including characters and devices. The format unusual, as the narrator refers to a protagonist in the second person. The protagonist follows a child on a bus, hoping to use her as a subject in her writing class, but her opinions clashes with those of her instructor and classmates. Her husband comes in as a side plot in his participation in human trafficking.
Russia
The narrator visits a psychic, with no particular question in mind. The psychic, with very droll replies, is the most interesting focal point in this otherwise odd story. About his sister? Shame involving his sister? We learn that the narrator and his sister are from Russia. A prank or protest in a museum for exhibiting human remains, where the narrator works, puts the staff on edge.
Novena
Three stall operators at a market have family issues. Tara, an only child, has her life centred on her phone. Her parents are a tight fit but somehow Tara is not part of it. Her employee, Molly stays with her mother and grandmother. There is intergenerational friction in her family. Felix breaks up with his wife over the inability to have a child. The other focal point between them is a fraudulent IVF clinic.
Daisy Hill
A poorly-thriving John is grieving the death of Zita and his dying dog. He summons his nephews who then fetch him to hospital. The story abruptly transitions into a list of the brutal deaths in Bloody Sunday, the Falls Curfew, as well as other merciless killings by the British Army of civilians in Northern Ireland.
We All Go.
A carjacking of the narrator's family during the Orange Order, the interning of his paternal grandfather and uncle by the British Army, partitionism. These are interlaced with the experiences of a medical student at an cadaveric dissection. If there is a connection, it is obscure. But running through this story are memories and longing for the narrator's father, who was ill and had passed on.
Amlur. Amlur is the mother of the sun and moon in Basque mythology. So this is mostly about motherhood. The narrator is more enamoured of her boyfriend's family than of him. She is taken in by their warmth and approach to life, despite their imperfections and misfortune like his sister's iracible husband and his mother's premature death. Her boyfriend's younger sister's teen pregnancy stands in contrast with her mother's relatively late childbearing. Her mother is unable to relate to anybody, including narrator, but we see that her mother sacrifices a lot for her.
There is an brief deviation from the main plot in describing the oppression of the Basque people.
Kurdish writer Musa Anter is quoted as saying, if my mother tongue is shaking the foundations of your state, it probably means that you built your state on my land.
Mary
This story is about writing, including characters and devices. The format unusual, as the narrator refers to a protagonist in the second person. The protagonist follows a child on a bus, hoping to use her as a subject in her writing class, but her opinions clashes with those of her instructor and classmates. Her husband comes in as a side plot in his participation in human trafficking.
Russia
The narrator visits a psychic, with no particular question in mind. The psychic, with very droll replies, is the most interesting focal point in this otherwise odd story. About his sister? Shame involving his sister? We learn that the narrator and his sister are from Russia. A prank or protest in a museum for exhibiting human remains, where the narrator works, puts the staff on edge.
Novena
Three stall operators at a market have family issues. Tara, an only child, has her life centred on her phone. Her parents are a tight fit but somehow Tara is not part of it. Her employee, Molly stays with her mother and grandmother. There is intergenerational friction in her family. Felix breaks up with his wife over the inability to have a child. The other focal point between them is a fraudulent IVF clinic.
Daisy Hill
A poorly-thriving John is grieving the death of Zita and his dying dog. He summons his nephews who then fetch him to hospital. The story abruptly transitions into a list of the brutal deaths in Bloody Sunday, the Falls Curfew, as well as other merciless killings by the British Army of civilians in Northern Ireland.
November 4, 2025
I love a literary mystery, so of course when I heard about Liadan Ní Chuinn, the pseudonymous author of a buzzy new short story collection, I was intrigued. In an age when authors are expected to become Brands in order to market themselves, and in which social media followings can translate into book deals, it’s interesting (and refreshing) to see a debut author who reveals so little of themselves outside of their writing.
The biographical information available on Ní Chuinn is limited and sometimes vague — they are variously referred to by “she” and “they” pronouns depending on the interview, they are born in 1998 (although it has been pointed out that this is also the year of the Good Friday Agreement so there’s a chance that this could have been chosen rather than factual), and they are from Northern Ireland.
This last, at least, is surely true, and key to their writing, which is evident in the six excellent stories that make up Every One Still Here. Although the volume is slender, this is not a light and easy read. I wasn’t even sure I liked it at first, although I was impressed by the writing. But it got its hooks in me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it even when I wasn’t reading it.
For me, the strongest stories are Mary, about a recently unemployed woman who joins a creative writing class and finds herself fixated on one image in the story she’s attempting to write; Russia, the story of a man who visits a psychic in the midst of vandalism at the museum in which he works, looking for the answer to one very specific question; and the final story, Daisy Hill, which brings together all of the collection’s themes of grief, trauma, violence, and relationships and finishes with a powerful recounting of history that will undoubtably remain with you long after you close the book.
Whoever they are, I will be anticipating Liadan Ní Chuinn’s future work.
Thank you to the author, Farrar Straus and Giroux, and NetGalley for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
The biographical information available on Ní Chuinn is limited and sometimes vague — they are variously referred to by “she” and “they” pronouns depending on the interview, they are born in 1998 (although it has been pointed out that this is also the year of the Good Friday Agreement so there’s a chance that this could have been chosen rather than factual), and they are from Northern Ireland.
This last, at least, is surely true, and key to their writing, which is evident in the six excellent stories that make up Every One Still Here. Although the volume is slender, this is not a light and easy read. I wasn’t even sure I liked it at first, although I was impressed by the writing. But it got its hooks in me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it even when I wasn’t reading it.
For me, the strongest stories are Mary, about a recently unemployed woman who joins a creative writing class and finds herself fixated on one image in the story she’s attempting to write; Russia, the story of a man who visits a psychic in the midst of vandalism at the museum in which he works, looking for the answer to one very specific question; and the final story, Daisy Hill, which brings together all of the collection’s themes of grief, trauma, violence, and relationships and finishes with a powerful recounting of history that will undoubtably remain with you long after you close the book.
Whoever they are, I will be anticipating Liadan Ní Chuinn’s future work.
Thank you to the author, Farrar Straus and Giroux, and NetGalley for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
September 1, 2025
4.5 stars- I don’t live at home in Ireland any more but saw this book on a featured stand in a Waterstones whilst visiting the UK and I won’t ever pass up an Irish author especially a debut novel. I probably should have done some background research before diving in, I could tell early on that there was an undercurrent of conflict and did assume it might be related to the Troubles but it wasn’t until further along that this was confirmed in particular during “Daisy Hill”. As I was going along I thought if this is the debut I’m keeping tabs on this author for future work. Some of the stories didn’t really appeal to me (Russia in particular) but We All Go and Daisy Hill nail the haunting fragility of life and made me think this is someone who has lived through years upon years of political and religious conflict in the North. Needless to say I was shocked when I read the bio on the inside of the cover stating the author was born in 1998. Right during the Good Friday Agreement and when one might falsely think “the beginning of the end of the Troubles”. But what the author highlights here (aside from an astounding talent at such a young age) is that the fallout from the years of British force that still permeates through our society today and has such a profound impact on those born and raised in the North of Ireland. I’m going to do something I don’t normally do and sit with this book for a while and reread in a few months time as I think with new eyes and the additional context it might change my opinion on some of the short stories, when I do I’ll be sure to update this review
October 31, 2025
Thank you to NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux | FSG Originals for providing me with the ARC.
Pub Date 20 Jan 2026
In order for me to write a review, I have to first stop crying but alas, I still am.
This is not what I was expected. As a person drawn to the Irish folklore, nature and culture, this was really hard on me – “I would care if this were done to you”. This is very political and violent, masked under prose so vivid and candid that it holds you in its grip and won’t let go. “Things hurt and they cannot be explained. What would you know of it, anyway? You weren’t there.”
I find absolutely fascinating how someone can write something so beautiful and yet so gut punching tragic. I am flooded by quotes I will remember for the rest of my life. “…the point of Mercy is that it is not Deserved. If Forgiveness is given and it is Deserved, then that is not Mercy but Justice. This is why Mercy is so powerful. This is why we beg for it.”
This is a visceral and raw collection, filled with grief and generational trauma. “He comes from repeated nightmares that he is animal, not living but held hostage in a body, an animal like a pet rabbit, held somewhere cold and lonely for years until death; repeated nightmares that he is one of those animals impregnated, birthed, only to be chopped up and fed to those other animals that are preferred.”
The British occupation and the terror it inflicted to the Irish citizens is a thing from nightmares, with no justice to be found by the end.
Pub Date 20 Jan 2026
In order for me to write a review, I have to first stop crying but alas, I still am.
This is not what I was expected. As a person drawn to the Irish folklore, nature and culture, this was really hard on me – “I would care if this were done to you”. This is very political and violent, masked under prose so vivid and candid that it holds you in its grip and won’t let go. “Things hurt and they cannot be explained. What would you know of it, anyway? You weren’t there.”
I find absolutely fascinating how someone can write something so beautiful and yet so gut punching tragic. I am flooded by quotes I will remember for the rest of my life. “…the point of Mercy is that it is not Deserved. If Forgiveness is given and it is Deserved, then that is not Mercy but Justice. This is why Mercy is so powerful. This is why we beg for it.”
This is a visceral and raw collection, filled with grief and generational trauma. “He comes from repeated nightmares that he is animal, not living but held hostage in a body, an animal like a pet rabbit, held somewhere cold and lonely for years until death; repeated nightmares that he is one of those animals impregnated, birthed, only to be chopped up and fed to those other animals that are preferred.”
The British occupation and the terror it inflicted to the Irish citizens is a thing from nightmares, with no justice to be found by the end.
September 29, 2025
A masterful collection! I can’t remember to have read stories so unique in itself and yet so tied to each other. The many forms trauma can have, how trauma works itself in the thinking, emotions , histories, lives and in the marrow of bones of the generations to come was brilliantly, devastatingly haunting crafted in these stories. Even the not fully rounded stories seem to be perfect as they are an expression of the lives shattered and the knowledge that as life goes on it will go on flawed with the memory, the unspeakable, the inability to find words for comprehension, lest healing.
The question of identity, heritage and cultural context which were at the core of some of the stories was one of the most powerful demonstrations in literature I’ve come across in a long time.
The question of identity, heritage and cultural context which were at the core of some of the stories was one of the most powerful demonstrations in literature I’ve come across in a long time.
December 14, 2025
Not always an easy read, not least because this ARC let the stories run into each other without even a line break, hopefully they'll fix that for the kindle version. It is however an essential read, an important reminder of the legacy that still lingers in Northern Ireland today. Best read one at a time, with time to think and possibly something lighter to read in-between the stories. Impressive writing for a debut (non binary) author.
With thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
With thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
September 11, 2025
so angry and moving and formally experimental - best book I have read in a long time. It makes the abstract concrete and the concrete abstract. It draws a line from politics to family in a way that never feels obvious. Feels like the tip of a wave of fiction and thinking from my generation of Irish people who can see the impact of the county’s history playing out in the people they love.
August 28, 2025
4.5, searingly good
September 8, 2025
One of those books that makes you mad just because of how well it's written. How is this a debut. How dare someone write so well.
September 25, 2025
Exceptional. Wow.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 83 reviews