In Lucy Sweeney Byrne’s newest book, Let’s Dance, a compilation of 10 thoughtfully diverse short stories is presented, following her acclaimed 2019 collection, Paris Syndrome, both published by the commendable Banshee Press. The anthology revolves primarily around the phased account of the title story, in which five tech industry colleagues unwind at a modern Dublin flat, indulging in drugs as the toddler of the hosting couple peacefully sleeps in the neighbouring room.
The disembodied voice of Kate, our storyteller, vividly captures the pulsating feelings of elation, envy, desolation and intimidation that oscillate within her as she anticipates her turn with the stained table mat filled with what seems like infinite lines of cocaine. This occurs while the attendees engage in escalating nonsensical and pretentious discourse on a plethora of incoherent topics from the advantages of oat milk to the progression of cryptocurrency.
Allusions to a youthful Bret Easton Ellis provide a parallel to their vacant, narcotic-infused name-dropping of products, which in essence conceals their underlying loneliness and incapability to bond. The protagonists yearn to be elsewhere, engaged in other endeavours, but the lure of a substantial income, necessary to sustain their extravagant weekend habits of consuming copious quantities of drugs and alcohol, prevents them. Each week is marked by the same routine, earning money and using it to get through the following one, showcasing a grim yet authentic depiction of a social gathering that starts off within the confines of a home and eventually spills to the outside world.
Neither love, passion, sex, or even the bond of marriage provides solace from the existential crisis looming over them. The compilation begins and ends with two expertly executed tales, serving as cautionary narratives against commitment. The first story, Night Classes, introduces us to Emma, who is striving to appease her wealthy, peevish, monotonous lawyer husband who is based in Chicago. Conclusively, the gloom-filled narration by an ailing English woman trapped within an Irish bungalow with her decaying spouse rounds up the collection in Honey Valley.
This extensive narrative might seem despondent, but Byrne’s sharp and poignant writing, riddled with occasional doses of stinging wit, offers a respite from the storytelling’s intense darkness. Frank Shovlin, who holds the chair of Irish Literature in English at the University of Liverpool, penned the enthralling novel penned by Ursula Parrott, a writer deserving of a larger audience, offering staggering suspense throughout.