My experience in Red Books goes beyond the word ‘positive’. I can probably go on and on, spouting a wordy review, such as one you would find about a poncy gallery or restaurant, written by someone who speaks rather eloquently or posh or whatever, I’m guilty of the latter on occasion. But I won’t. Well, it might be wordy, but not poncy. Simply put, it’s a sanctuary for people like me, and anyone, really. I often feel self-conscious about being ‘nerdy’ or whatever, but I’ve met people like me, the same age, as well as older and younger. My general self-critical view of myself is a lot less negative now.
The average person you could expect to meet would be very welcoming. The vast majority of them would have one leaving the building in hysterics mostly, and this makes the events that are hosted all the better; the writer’s night and book club, just to name a couple. The spoken word night should not be missed. It would be a crime, equal to anything done by the Romans, to not attend. Red Books is the place where ‘mundane’ comes to die and arise as a batshit-crazy phoenix, where a Three-piece cage can be easily swapped for beads, patches and a Mohican haircut.
There are some mad characters to be met. Overall, a great place to go for some craic, a good old debate, decent coffee and fun events. Oh, and books too, and the odd antique. There’s also a publishing house and newsletter; Red Books Press and Wexford Bohemian, respectively. If you or anyone you know are bored of being boring, and want lessons in eccentricity, and want to find somewhere animal-friendly, pay Mr. O’Neill a visit.
- Josh Cosgrave Butler