I dunno.
Some might insist that appreciation of art is not in the province of the common man. Or woman.
But it doesn't require a higher degree in Visual Art to be moved to tears by the beauty of Monet or Michaelangelo, and it doesn't require a degree in Literature to be aware that Niall Williams creates works of art with his words.
And as with art, his writing rewards contemplation. It is to be savoured like a fine wine, rolled about on the palate of our brain. It's pleasure is not the ephemeral pleasure of a quickie up against the wall, but the deeper gratification of tantric sex.
We are willingly committed to the well-being of his protagonists at the same time as we are carried along on the gentle flow of his stories.
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