Firstly, how is there ever a Russian who does not like Ireland – even if we wonder from where exactly this fascination comes.

Secondly, this is a book written in our beloved genre of a travelogue: it is made up of 18 short stories dedicated to individual counties and cities in Ireland, all of which have their own peculiar atmosphere.

Thirdly, its author happens to be a native of our partner-city Cologne – and also a recipient of the Nobel Prize in Literature.

By the way, "The Irish Journal" is held in a special esteem by literary critics as one of the first examples of literary documentarism – that is, a style that looks like a retelling of facts, events and dialogues... But their value lie not in these facts by themselves, but in that magical canvas of perception, which the author weaves from hiso.

What sinister aura dominates Mayo so that it each mention of it is ever accompanied by the plea of "God help us"?

Who is _really_ this crying girl on the ship? Is she a regular Caitlin, whom the poverty forced to leave her home country, or is she Ireland itself mourning the thousands of sons and daughters who left its shores in search of a better life?

Should we come across Swift's grave – will we be met by a beautiful woman with black hair, too, - and will she have aged a day since Böll met her?

In a word, "this Ireland exists: but whoever goes there and fails to find it has no claim to the author."