This is an involving and very creepy tale from one of Ireland's most original writers. I'm not going to go to great lengths to divulge the plot (other reviewers have already done that!); all you need to know is that it is an intimate first person narrative of a very damaged mind, and it's very difficult to pull back from. Frankly, I'm not going to bother my head over whether or not it's a parable of modern Ireland; it's a compelling read. I would agree with the comment made by an earlier reviewer, to the effect that if you emphatically don't like Patrick McCabe, don't read his books. Whether or not McCabe is a literary genius is something you could argue over for hours, but it's a fact that he's one of the best at what he does out there at the moment. Interestingly, the negative reviewer didn't give any examples of the 'weightier' gothic literature that he claims to prefer. Might that be because he fears exposing his own taste to citicism? Or is it that he simply can't honestly think of any genuine examples?
I'm not sure if 'enjoy' is the right word to use for the reading of 'Winterwood', but it certainly makes an impression.