Shortlisted for the T.S. Eliot Prize, The Radio is an outstanding book from a poet who is not only one of the best writers of her generation but who seems, more and more, to be the voice of that generation.

Leontia Flynn’s The Radio sees one of Northern Ireland’s most assured voices continue her engagement with the alchemy of form in an effortlessly contemporary manner, indeed driving the thought thrillingly through longer stanza forms, including a brilliant elegy for Heaney. Theexposure of family, and its intimate matrix of the generations, to the equal threats of history and human frailty is played out in work with an intense sense of place and moment.

Anybody with an interest in poetry should be reading Leontia Flynn. Those with no interest should be reading her too: she has what it takes to overcome resistance. All mothers – especially new mothers – should read her. Her understanding of what it is to be a woman is one of the things (by no means the only thing) that makes this collection so powerful. Her thinking is complicated but never arrogantly inaccessible. I was bowled over by this, her fourth collection. I kept returning to poems for the sheer pleasure of them – no slog involved.

The Radio sparkles with 21st-century chutzpah, sometimes offset by maternal angst.

Funny, touching, satirical, breathtaking and dazzling by turns, packed full of exceptional poems.

Flynn breathes the new life of an entirely contemporary voice into a seemingly traditional stanzaic structure.

There’s some wonderful writing about Tasmania and the wild kayaking exploits which the narrator and Ray enjoyed, at the risk of their lives, in their youth. There is some very fine descriptive writing and narrative passages that go with a swing. There’s the sadness of lives gone wrong or torn apart, the desolation that is the consequence of family break-up. Yet the strength of the novel rests in its mordant intelligence, in its recognition that the world today is essentially Ziggy’s, one of make-believe and denial… Absorbing

Richard Flanagan is an ardent voice

The real joy of [First Person] is the intensity of its honesty and its writing. This is a book of demonic possession, of obsession, and there’s a zinger of thought, of expression, in every paragraph.

Flanagan is scathingly funny about the world of publishing as seen from the point of view of an unpublished writer, but this is also a profound and thought-provoking novel that explores the nature of truth, lies and fiction

First Person is a work that crawls under the reader’s skin for its duration. Harrowing in how it lampoons the publishing industry, Flanagan unflinchingly reflects on how social predators within such circles prey on those with a shred of hope or joy until nothing is left of their original identity

The writing and structure are exceptionally good. Richard has fantastic finesse with the use of language and the enviable ability of describing a lot in concentrated amounts… It has a reflective after burn, which I always rate as a skill in its own right, and so it is definitely one, if tempted to, you ought to give it a go. The writing is impressive and most definitely unique

The book is convincing as an exploration of ourselves and the meaning of identity and truth in a "fake news" world.

Both poignant and funny, an astute exploration of the inevitable sea [of] change that comes with losing a parent.

This Too Shall Pass feel like the ideal beach book.

It drew me in and I quite enjoyed it in the end. Despite dealing with grief, it’s quite light-hearted but also shows some real insight into how the death of a parent can effect you.

A poignant, sometimes stark exploration of female grief.

Midwinter Break… has MacLaverty’s trademark clarity and some tremendous turns of phrase.

In this sympathetic, frequently witty portrait of ageing love… You won’t find a sharper, more intimate delineation of what marriage really adds up to.

Bernard MacLaverty’s first novel in 16 years is a heart-rending analysis of the weary affection and annoyances of a long marriage in its fragile twilight years.

A novel written with such subtlety and finesse you’re hardly aware of the artifice that enabled you to get inside the minds of this loving, unhappy couple.

Exquisitely written and profound.

It’s a very intimate portrait of a relationship between two older people… The best, and most moving, parts are flashbacks to their experiences during the Troubles.

Masterfully alternating the point of view of the book between them, he observes with his careful, forensic eye the habits of a long relationship, the shared memories, routines and irritations… Under MacLaverty’s careful, compassionate spotlight, we see the cracks beneath the surface, the way in which even those closest to us remain somehow unknowable… The best qualities of MacLaverty’s writing are present in Midwinter Break: the kind but unflinching eye, the unfussy description, which has a clarity which feels artless, but is not.

The writer’s generation will read it with wistful appreciation, and more than shudder at bad memories. Even before he shook loose the curse of Northern Ireland’s communal obligation for life in Islay and Glasgow, MacLaverty wrote beautifully. Across his wide later range his filmic gift of dialogue and scene-setting is constant.

His finest to date… Good fiction sheds light too, illuminating the peculiar facets that make up the human condition. MacLaverty’s novel casts such a glow, and creates effects that prove to be both compassionate and compelling.

In his first novel for 16 years, he provides thrilling proof that he’s lost none of his ability to tackle big issues in a way that’s unfailingly quiet and unfussy, but that ends up being completely piercing… The result is a pin-sharp but ultimately compassionate portrait of the frustrations and pleasures of a long marriage – and of how closely the two things are linked.

MacLaverty has always been his own man and his quietly penetrating insights yield many moments of recognition.

Compellingly spot on.

It is paced flawlessly, is lapidary of structure, and is delivered with a purpose and clarity and control that can shut out the noise of the world, of your own heartbeat, even: one of those precious books that, when at last you look up from its pages, you need a moment of re-adjustment, of decompression, so immersive is it… This is an achingly sad book, and essential in its sadness. It is illuminated with skill and application and labour and something very like love.

Over the four days of sightseeing, the reader is treated to a deep dive into a long marriage with all its quirks and foibles, and unique language… Midwinter Break may be bleak at times but, like the sun on a snowy day, is suffused with warmth, light and a lingering hope. It is further proof of MacLaverty’s talent.

This receptively low-key, unsettling novel is a portrait of what is perhaps the most difficult of alliances and affinities to sustain: a long marriage… It is a narrative of quiet, telling minutiae. MacLaverty brilliantly captures the couple’s sleeping patterns; the way non-sexual territory in bed is proportioned… And he captures superbly the unspoken nuances underscoring marital banter, the silent spaces that hover above decades of conjugality.

Sure-handed and captivating… MacLaverty’s novel is relatively short...but it feels like a more expansive work because of its unhurried pace and careful attention to each moment… It is an intimate book that makes wonderful use of the close third person… A restrained simplicity is also the stylistic hallmark of this novel… Contemplating the mysteries that lie at the heart of every marriage, Stella thinks, “Nobody could peer into a relationship – even for a day or two – and come away with the truth.” It’s a measure of MacLaverty’s achievement here that he has done exactly that.

Beautifully observed and emotionally resonant, this is a novel to linger over.

I love the clarity and sparseness of MacLaverty’s prose and his way of creating flawed, utterly believable characters.

A delicate, compassionate masterpiece.

It is hard to believe that writer Bernard MacLaverty left Northern Ireland in 1975 to take up a job and raise his family in Scotland. His is a voice that is so distinctively from here. His stories stretching back down the years can be poignant and heart breaking but are also at times distinctive of a time and place and often funny. He has not lost the true sense of who he is; his accent; his warmth; his sincerity.

MacLaverty is at his best when he exposes the minutiae of the Gilmore’s uneasy mix of affectionate rituals and barely disguised friction… The deceptively simple narrative style is subdued but compelling… The unhurried pace and intimate details magnify the distance between the couple. It would have been easy for MacLaverty to have made both characters unlikeable. Instead, they are subtly drawn, sharing many good qualities as well as flaws… Midwinter Break also explores love, loss and faith, and it at times achingly sad.

It's profoundly moving and sad – not the most uplifting read, especially when one's own parents are of a similar age – but exquisitely written and worth it for that alone.

A quietly powerful meditation on love in all its ragged glory. Subtly constructed and deceptively delivered, this neat novel chronicles a brief interlude, a midwinter city break in Amsterdam, in the lives of retired couple Stella and Gerry… The narrative power builds slowly, steadily and surely (including, towards the end, a brilliant summation of a life). Midwinter Break is a minor miracle of a book.

Why is Bernard MacLaverty not celebrated as one of the wonders of the world?

A heart-rending analysis of the weary affections and annoyances of a long marriage.

A quietly powerful meditation on love in all its ragged glory… Subtly constructed and deceptively delivered… The narrative power builds slowly, steadily and surely in what is a minor miracle of a novel.

Understated, unhurried and emotionally devastating.

By far the best novel I’ve read this year.

A tragicomic gem with rare emotional power.

With great tenderness and insight, MacLaverty peeled back a marriage creaking under the weight of longevity, drink and violence. Brilliantly crafted.

A beautifully written, perfectly poised novel... Exquisite.

Arguably [Bernard MacLaverty's] masterpiece.

From the first sentences of Midwinter Break you know you're in the hands of a master… [A] gentle, life-affirming novel, MacLaverty reminds us of the quiet poetry that surfaces when we stop and simply look