I read the book when it first came out and as an exile of 60 years plus was prompted to write the following doggerel, which is awful but I suggest makes a point:
The fat Tim Pat came and took a quick look,
Then went back and wrote a big fat book.
A work of fiction, a mere surmise,
Sure that didn't matter 'cos it pleased the Bhoys.
The moral is simple, if you want to make a quick buck,
Chat up a few exiles and chance your luck.
You can invent and distort with Irish flair,
Or the felicitous grace of Tony Blair.
Fact is irrelevant, reality may be shed,
Style is all that matters as Oscar said.
I took poetic license since it is absolutely devoid of style. Yourself and Franz have said it all, the writing is simply awful.