"His first painful lesson was the discovery that for much of his life he'd lived outside himself, reacting to the multiplicity of events, be they mundane or harrowing. In the silence of the monastery, or out working in the fields, he gradually noticed - with a new kind of terror - that within himself he was quite hollow, and probably always had been. Without a jab from the outside, he was nothing. He had no depth ... none at least that he was aware of. Reluctantly, fearfully, Herbert began the journey inward, the voyage that cannot be put into words or explained but only lived. And he made another discovery; a richness of existence, intrinsic to his identity and true for all humanity, whose depth was beyond the reach of any calamity."

Extract from A Whispered Name, by William Broderick.

I love William Broderick's writing. There is the story, and there is the reflection around and within the story. I'm very much enjoying this novel, described as "An exquisite novel" by The Guardian, and as "A passionately human story about the most inhuman moment in history" by The Irish Times.