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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.
157 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 17, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 37 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
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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.
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
July 28, 2025
I loved this so much. So viscerally emotive. I would be very excited to read anything else from this author.
August 4, 2025
that last story was mesmerising and haunting. chills.
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.
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.’
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.
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
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.
August 26, 2025
An impressive debut. This collection of short stories is effectively linked by common themes of family, community, and intergenerational trauma.
August 7, 2025
I remember a friend saying once that the least we can expect from what we might call revolutionary literature is the naming of names and the first and last stories in this collection do just that. This is the most important debut from an Irish author at least since Adrian Duncan but this feels much bigger. Something incredible is happening here; the days of Milkman are over when it comes to northern writing. Something new and something much closer to the truth has been born.
August 30, 2025
what a great collection!
May 10, 2025
What would we have had if you hadn’t needed more?
[Thank you Granta, for providing this advance reading copy for review consideration! All opinions are my own.]
A collection of six short stories, it awes me how much sense of purpose is packed unyieldingly within Every One Still Here.
It deals with the theme of family, of where we come from. How experience and trauma are passed down to generations. The tension of how much we are defined by that experience, and how much we can separate ourselves from it. It wrestles with guilt, shame, and anger, lost in direction, not knowing where it’s supposed to go.
The short stories here do not attempt to pack so much action in a few paragraphs. Rather the opposite, it feel like we were given a peek into people’s inner lives, an episode of their day, their innermost struggles, and had we hang on a little bit more, they would still be there, likely not one silver bullet would suddenly undone their struggles, no grand arc, and while we move on to the next stories, they would still be there.
In We All Go, a university student is dealing with a sense of disconnect, of questioning. Maybe, if we had known more, we would come to understand why we are the way we are?
My parents were hijacked before I was born. It was just before, two nights prior. I think it’s important. I don’t know why.
Who was he? Who does that make me?
In Amalur, one’s yearning for a whole, ideal family somewhat obscures the very fact that said ideal family had its own failings. Or not. If you were that lonely and alone in your home, wouldn’t you want to also have an escape of sorts?
I’m not saying my boyfriend or his family took it for granted, but I don’t think they knew how rare it was for families to be calming, to pass bread around.
Russia – probably my favourite - plays in two parallel narratives, of a man seeing a physics and a museum dealing with a sudden backlash and protest of their collection, which includes human remains. This one cleverly contrasts how one would deal with personal guilt, and how an institution would deal with it. It also contains an exchange of what I would imagine is critical and one of the collection’s central questions: how much of ourselves can we attribute to where we come from?
…Maybe you’d’ve always felt the need to squash yourself down, to do what you have to do to please. There could be a tendency, maybe, to attribute too much to your origins here. People come to me, O my god, legions come to me and they’ve lived their whole lives with biological families, they’ve had a weird time but they’ve no unbelievable traumas, the people come and they sit and they say: I need help. I don’t know who I am. There’s no reason for them not to know, you know?
The last one, Daisy Hill, is the closest to the first story in terms of how they explicitly discuss Northern Ireland and the pain and trauma inflicted during the Troubles. A 23-year-old Rowan visits his uncle John, who’s dealing with the death of his wife. Similar to Jackie in the first story, Rowan here is also questioning. TW: It contains a list of victims and how they were murdered by the British soldiers. It reminds me of an Indonesian band’s song called Jingga by Efek Rumah Kaca, which lists the victims of people’s disappearance between 1997-1998 one by one, and the date of their disappearances. To say, or perhaps scream, rejection to forget.
This is the truth: the man in charge of British soldiers in Belfast is called Frank Kitson. Two weeks after Bloody Sunday, Frank Kitson is knighted by Queen Elizabeth II for ‘gallant and distinguished services’ in Northern Ireland.
This is the truth: nobody is ever charged.
In 148 pages, Liadan Ní Chuinn’s debut is not one to miss.
[Thank you Granta, for providing this advance reading copy for review consideration! All opinions are my own.]
A collection of six short stories, it awes me how much sense of purpose is packed unyieldingly within Every One Still Here.
It deals with the theme of family, of where we come from. How experience and trauma are passed down to generations. The tension of how much we are defined by that experience, and how much we can separate ourselves from it. It wrestles with guilt, shame, and anger, lost in direction, not knowing where it’s supposed to go.
The short stories here do not attempt to pack so much action in a few paragraphs. Rather the opposite, it feel like we were given a peek into people’s inner lives, an episode of their day, their innermost struggles, and had we hang on a little bit more, they would still be there, likely not one silver bullet would suddenly undone their struggles, no grand arc, and while we move on to the next stories, they would still be there.
In We All Go, a university student is dealing with a sense of disconnect, of questioning. Maybe, if we had known more, we would come to understand why we are the way we are?
My parents were hijacked before I was born. It was just before, two nights prior. I think it’s important. I don’t know why.
Who was he? Who does that make me?
In Amalur, one’s yearning for a whole, ideal family somewhat obscures the very fact that said ideal family had its own failings. Or not. If you were that lonely and alone in your home, wouldn’t you want to also have an escape of sorts?
I’m not saying my boyfriend or his family took it for granted, but I don’t think they knew how rare it was for families to be calming, to pass bread around.
Russia – probably my favourite - plays in two parallel narratives, of a man seeing a physics and a museum dealing with a sudden backlash and protest of their collection, which includes human remains. This one cleverly contrasts how one would deal with personal guilt, and how an institution would deal with it. It also contains an exchange of what I would imagine is critical and one of the collection’s central questions: how much of ourselves can we attribute to where we come from?
…Maybe you’d’ve always felt the need to squash yourself down, to do what you have to do to please. There could be a tendency, maybe, to attribute too much to your origins here. People come to me, O my god, legions come to me and they’ve lived their whole lives with biological families, they’ve had a weird time but they’ve no unbelievable traumas, the people come and they sit and they say: I need help. I don’t know who I am. There’s no reason for them not to know, you know?
The last one, Daisy Hill, is the closest to the first story in terms of how they explicitly discuss Northern Ireland and the pain and trauma inflicted during the Troubles. A 23-year-old Rowan visits his uncle John, who’s dealing with the death of his wife. Similar to Jackie in the first story, Rowan here is also questioning. TW: It contains a list of victims and how they were murdered by the British soldiers. It reminds me of an Indonesian band’s song called Jingga by Efek Rumah Kaca, which lists the victims of people’s disappearance between 1997-1998 one by one, and the date of their disappearances. To say, or perhaps scream, rejection to forget.
This is the truth: the man in charge of British soldiers in Belfast is called Frank Kitson. Two weeks after Bloody Sunday, Frank Kitson is knighted by Queen Elizabeth II for ‘gallant and distinguished services’ in Northern Ireland.
This is the truth: nobody is ever charged.
In 148 pages, Liadan Ní Chuinn’s debut is not one to miss.
August 13, 2025
This really wasn't for me. I am not usually a big fan of short stories because they are very difficult to write and few authors can write them well. However, the buzz around this book, focused on the aftermath of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, made it sound worth reading. And, in a way, it is. Politically, it is a very important book, and people in Great Britain should be forced to read something like this once in a while in order to confront the horrors of what the British state did to its closest colony with our tacit approval. This did not happen in the 18th century or whatnot, the people who were tortured and disappeared are literally my parents' age, and I am a younger Millennial. The prose was at times poignant and precise. I also appreciated that in the one story mentioning Russia, the author started with the ethnic diversity of the country, which is ignored by 90+% of people writing about Russia, including so-called experts writing non-fiction. The stories were doing something interesting with gender, rarely specifying the gender of the first or second person protagonists and point of view characters, and allowing for multiple different readings. The stories explore issues of belonging, heritage language survival and lost identities.
Having said all of this, most of the stories did not manage to engage me. I found the prose, by and large, off-putting. I try not to be too snobbish about prose and I do appreciate shorter, more subdued sentences, but does every sentence have to only include 3-4 very plain words? I believe that the whole purpose of fiction is not to just get a point across, but to do it in a way that makes you both think and feel, and a large part of that is arranging unexpected combinations of words in an aesthetically pleasing way (and yes, short sentence prose can really do this well, just look at Toni Morrison). At the next 'XYZ she said. ZXY he said. YXZ she said' I was ready to fling the book across the room.
I also found some of the story premises overtly literary, but not in a particularly interesting way (eg Mary). Instead of engaging, they just confused me (not helped by the ebook formatting which did not indicate when a story ended and a new one started). Although just over 140 pages long, this book dragged on and on to the point that I DNFed it halfway through a story at just over 50%. Allegedly, the last story is the best one, but the previous ones need to be engaging enough for the reader to make it that far.
Having said all of this, most of the stories did not manage to engage me. I found the prose, by and large, off-putting. I try not to be too snobbish about prose and I do appreciate shorter, more subdued sentences, but does every sentence have to only include 3-4 very plain words? I believe that the whole purpose of fiction is not to just get a point across, but to do it in a way that makes you both think and feel, and a large part of that is arranging unexpected combinations of words in an aesthetically pleasing way (and yes, short sentence prose can really do this well, just look at Toni Morrison). At the next 'XYZ she said. ZXY he said. YXZ she said' I was ready to fling the book across the room.
I also found some of the story premises overtly literary, but not in a particularly interesting way (eg Mary). Instead of engaging, they just confused me (not helped by the ebook formatting which did not indicate when a story ended and a new one started). Although just over 140 pages long, this book dragged on and on to the point that I DNFed it halfway through a story at just over 50%. Allegedly, the last story is the best one, but the previous ones need to be engaging enough for the reader to make it that far.
June 25, 2025
‘Every One Still Here’, by Liadan Ni Chuinn, is a hard hitting debut collection of six stories.
Among the tales told there is commonly a recognition of the complex feelings of loss for family members,the struggle of sharing grief,and the lasting sense of injustice felt by those in the communities affected by some military actions in Northern Ireland,that have been ignored,rebuffed, or justified by those in positions of power.
Repeatedly in these stories there are descriptions of the dynamic within relationships that exist with other family members or friendships ,as the present is affected by sometimes unspoken elements of the past.There are frequently secrets and issues it is easier to ignore,as they are too painful to contemplate without significantly suffering of the psyche re-emerging.
This is a remarkable book that in places deals poignantly with the aftermath of immense hurt and addresses the residual pain left where those deemed responsible by some who have never had to answer for their actions.At times this is definitely not an easy read but ultimately well worth the effort,due to its impact.
Thank you to NetGalley and Granta Publications ,for an Advance Readers Copy.
Among the tales told there is commonly a recognition of the complex feelings of loss for family members,the struggle of sharing grief,and the lasting sense of injustice felt by those in the communities affected by some military actions in Northern Ireland,that have been ignored,rebuffed, or justified by those in positions of power.
Repeatedly in these stories there are descriptions of the dynamic within relationships that exist with other family members or friendships ,as the present is affected by sometimes unspoken elements of the past.There are frequently secrets and issues it is easier to ignore,as they are too painful to contemplate without significantly suffering of the psyche re-emerging.
This is a remarkable book that in places deals poignantly with the aftermath of immense hurt and addresses the residual pain left where those deemed responsible by some who have never had to answer for their actions.At times this is definitely not an easy read but ultimately well worth the effort,due to its impact.
Thank you to NetGalley and Granta Publications ,for an Advance Readers Copy.
July 10, 2025
Liadan Ní Chuinn's 'Every One Still Here' is a collection of short stories that detail the emotional, social, and physical trauma the Northern Irish faced and continue to face as a result of British force and occupation. This time is often politely termed the "troubles." We have somehow made it more palatable because it makes the death and annihilation of a people more acceptable if we minimise the violence and destruction by referring to it as 'the troubles'. Within these stories, Liadan Ní Chuinn reclaims the Irish perspective from this thirty-year period so that it can't be prettied up and easily digested for people who do not want to accept the eager brutality many of the British soldiers and government exhibited.
The stories are about how silence and erasure begin to take their toll on the body because the mind cannot process the terrors it has witnessed. The book ends with true-life reports of Irish men and women murdered by British soldiers--many of whom took great pride in murdering these unarmed Irish. The courts and military higher-ups then praise these men for their bravery in handling difficult situations. 'Every One Still Here' is rough but important reading.
The stories are about how silence and erasure begin to take their toll on the body because the mind cannot process the terrors it has witnessed. The book ends with true-life reports of Irish men and women murdered by British soldiers--many of whom took great pride in murdering these unarmed Irish. The courts and military higher-ups then praise these men for their bravery in handling difficult situations. 'Every One Still Here' is rough but important reading.
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August 1, 2025Thank you to NetGalley and Granta Publications for an eARC in exchange for an honest review
This was a curious collection of short stories, I couldn't decide whether I was enjoying the stories themselves or just the exploration of themes that linked them all together. It explored themes of fractured family relationships, particularly between parents and children or aunt/uncles and nephew/nieces.
I think my favourite story was the one about the museum workers and the fight against whoever was leaving funerary bouquets in front of skeletal exhibitions.
Many parts of this book cover aspects of the Troubles in Northern Ireland and the role that the British Government played in the devastation that took place. It was very interesting to read the interpretation here of how within one generation it moved from being a lived experience to something that's taboo to speak about. The closing chapter lists (only some I'm sure) the atrocities committed by the Armed Forces, to sit with and (in my case, at least) wonder how we can know so little of what took place. How justice was never served and how it's still not taught in schools. Lots to think about.
This was a curious collection of short stories, I couldn't decide whether I was enjoying the stories themselves or just the exploration of themes that linked them all together. It explored themes of fractured family relationships, particularly between parents and children or aunt/uncles and nephew/nieces.
I think my favourite story was the one about the museum workers and the fight against whoever was leaving funerary bouquets in front of skeletal exhibitions.
Many parts of this book cover aspects of the Troubles in Northern Ireland and the role that the British Government played in the devastation that took place. It was very interesting to read the interpretation here of how within one generation it moved from being a lived experience to something that's taboo to speak about. The closing chapter lists (only some I'm sure) the atrocities committed by the Armed Forces, to sit with and (in my case, at least) wonder how we can know so little of what took place. How justice was never served and how it's still not taught in schools. Lots to think about.
August 1, 2025
I'm still not sure about this. It's a prickly awkward read. Sally Rooney it's not. Jagged prose that sometimes catches and sometimes slides off the topic narrates the problems of a raft of marginal characters struggling to cope with the second generation effects of the trauma Northern Ireland suffered in the decades leading up to the Good Friday Agreement. This culminates in an excoriating final section commemorating the civilians who lost their lives at the hands of the security forces. While I don't quite go along with the paeans that decorate front and back of this book, this is a confident voice reminding us that although we might like to think the Troubles are in the past, its consequences will continue to echo down the years and must be properly addressed.
July 29, 2025
"I would care if this was done to you"
An incredibly visceral short story collection that provides us with immense storytelling in a small amount of pages, and draws connections across stories.
Patterns of history and the brutality of British occupation of Ireland is subtly interlaced throughout leading us all the way to The Truth.
Ní Chuinn has an incredible writing style that feels like they are raving at you to listen, and you must listen.
An incredibly visceral short story collection that provides us with immense storytelling in a small amount of pages, and draws connections across stories.
Patterns of history and the brutality of British occupation of Ireland is subtly interlaced throughout leading us all the way to The Truth.
Ní Chuinn has an incredible writing style that feels like they are raving at you to listen, and you must listen.
May 15, 2025
This debut collection by Liadan Ní Chuinn contains six stories, all quietly intense, political, and through-and-through Irish. I liked the stories, though it wasn't my exact preference; this collection felt much lengthier than its 160 pages, and I didn't find myself picking it up as often compared to my other reads.
Thank you to NetGalley and Granta Publications for the ARC.
Thank you to NetGalley and Granta Publications for the ARC.
September 10, 2025
Arguably the best collection of short stories that I have ever read. The author writes with dignity and emotion, and I was crying by the end of the last story. This took me much longer to read than anticipated, despite not being a very long book I found that I needed to sit and think about each story before moving on.
August 17, 2025
How is anyone supposed to move on after reading the final story in this collection? Very few books can leave you in a state of shock. What a brilliant collection of stories. I loved them all except maybe the second last one which I found confusing. The third one has stuck with me the most. This book is inspiring and distressing and strange all at the same time.
May 31, 2025
A bold new voice in literature, turning everyday events into something poetic and mysterious. Definitely an author to keep your eye on!
July 21, 2025
The final story, Daisy Hill, is one of the toughest and one of the most beautiful (in the sublime register of beautiful) short stories I've read.
August 3, 2025
Can’t rate this highly enough. The font is identical to Claire Keegan’s, but I think these stories are better?
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