She liked the paintings: radical Dublin landscapes, translated as line, shadow, color. Lara had published an art book and managed to sell some in the outdoor art shows in Merrion Square, but she had lost, she said, her American touch.
There was something of the beautiful failure about her.
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“Your daydreaming,” Corrigan says to me.
“Am I?”
My head against his shoulder, he laughs as if the laughter wants to travel a good distance, down through my body also.
Excerpts from Let the Great World Spin, by Colum McCann
Lights in the Hand 