Patrick McCabe / In Safe Hands: The two fit together like an old fashioned jigsaw. Oh but not this time.
Yes, Holy City has the regular seam of gold running right through it:
The Old Ireland and its regeneration to gleaming new towns.
Sumptuous character descriptions and knowing names.
The protagonist, an insane killer in denial.
It's all there but it isn't. The story jumps from old to new so often that you literally 'lose the plot' and regrettably begin to 'not care'.
In McCabe's greats (The Butcher Boy, The Dead School), however dreadful the deeds and however great their downfall, the reader is irrevocably drawn into the characters lives in the blackest of comedies and at the finality of their story, feels wonderfully contented.
However, in The Holy City (even after to much searching) I could find in myself, no sympathy or interest. I read to the end as fast as possible, just to finish the book.
If you need a fix of new Patrick McCabe, buy last year's superlative, Winterwood - that plunges to fantastic new depths of evil, handled so well, you wont even shrug a guilty shiver.