Maybe I am biased, predisposed by the forces of Canonized Culture, to find such great beauty in the stream-of-conscious depiction of a man (two? or just the one?) on an odyssey of his own making in Ireland - but this was really good. Rereading Waiting for Godot made me think that huh, Beckett is pretty good. Reading this makes me think that Beckett, for all his worldwide fame, is under-appreciated? A potentially backhanded compliment: I think this should be on high-school curricula. Gotta love a miserable misanthrope, gotta love a confused bumbler, gotta love these slices of humanity.