Thomas Lynch is at pains to seem the guileless author of poems which simply end up in remarkable proximity to their subjects. In fact he is an artist of great gifts, musically elevating and directing the speaking voice towards a startling power, moving through the accumulation of detail to give a visionary account of ordinary life, doing justice to its error and comedy. If it remains the poet's task to say thigns on behalf of everybody, Lynch shows us how it shoud be done
Sean O'Brien Thomas Lynch looks into the eyes of corpses and sees their lives and their difficult loves that remind him of his own. And he manages to do this with humour and grace
Matthew Sweeney He can fashion long, singing lines unafraid of the old elemental resonances of stars, roses, angels, the Latin mysteries of his Catholic childhood
Observer
His stately ruminations... mediate between the poles of innocent joy and ultimate disaster without tipping over in either direction
Guardian
This thoughtful volume is neither too sentimental nor too clinical about death's role (and the author's) in our lives
Kirkus Reviews