I never heard about Aengus (aka Mac Óg), the Celtic god of love, youth and dreams, before I came across this book. (Neither did I hear the Scottish lullaby of the same name.) No, I bought it because I read a few novels by Alexander McCall Smith. Well, Dream Angus is nothing like them. The retelling of Celtic myths interspersed with contemporary short stories, all dealing with love and dreams and dreams about love.
If you are after a gift, look for the two-colour First Edition hardback: it is a beauty.
He is another person; he is not me. And there is a bit of him, of what makes him himself, which I shall never know, never touch. Something which I don’t know the word for. The soul? No. Well, maybe. That, whatever it is, will never be mine. What if I were to ask him to tell me some secret about himself; no secret in particular, just one that he would never tell anybody else, not ever. All of us have at least one of those. At least one secret. |  |
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