Enright has chosen to use reverse chronology for the order of her stories, which seems peculiar until you reach the earlier stories. They are, in effect, much slighter, much more rickety - a touch of devilment here, a wild assertion there - Enright used to be both more adventurous and less effective. She was a wild-child at heart, full of bravado and sometimes almost wilfully odd.
The later stories are different - much more assured, much easier in their own skins. There is the same voice in all of them and it is a triumphant one, bold and clever and full of itself, but so bright and funny that you can't help but love it. In the story Caravan there are moments of helpless loss of face and joyous moments of family solidarity both, as some well-behaved children interact with the less well-behaved children of another family. A holiday that turns into both a farce and a series of stifled domestic crises that are both ludicrous and pitiable, as well as achingly funny. Her ear for dialogue is unerringly good and sharp as a nail.
With beautiful implacability, Enright gives you a whole world with a few words. It is very Irish, it is very smart in a know-your-own-business way, and it often sings off the page like a kind of music. Not always a jig, for Enright can do all kinds of music.