The misrepresentation of her article in the London Review of Books, in which she gave a brutally honest account of her evolving, natural and wholly understandable prejudices regarding the Madeleine McCann case, hasn't helped.

Enright the person has become the focus rather than her novel, and this deflecting of attention has sent some more charitable critics into a tailspin.

Enright has always been an accomplished writer and initial reactions to her Booker nomination cited her as a gifted "stylist". But behind this reference was the sense something was being left unsaid. Referring to a writer merely as a stylist tends to suggest they are lacking in the other facilities that make a truly great novelist, and a truly great novel, just that.

Early reviews of the novel itself were mixed and yet when Enright's win was announced there was a metaphorical circling of the wagons, as some commentators felt a strange compulsion to protect her from evil "begrudging" critics. Eileen Battersby, in particular, has been unfairly criticised for an objective critique in the Irish Times the day after the winner was announced, which some cited as coming "too soon". This raises the absurd question as to when exactly is it okay for a critic to do the job they're paid to do?

The novel is technically accomplished, replete with lyrical examples of Enright's gift for the telling phrase, yet it is also strangely unsatisfying and cold.

Its language and sense of control also lends it a certain preciousness which is slightly off-putting. As a winner of a literary prize this should be a work that feels rounded and complete.

Unfortunately it falls short of that sense of completeness. Now all we're left to deal with is a typical Booker winner, and the aftermath of a competition which novelist Robert Harris has pointed out seeks out worthy books which "do not connect with their readers" and are just "deadening to read".

What has also been revealed by the whole affair is that terrible inverted sense of Irishness. A misguided attempt by some to rush to the aid of "one of our own", which also reveals an underlying lack of backbone on the part of some critics. A writer's job is to write the best work they can, a critic's job is to deliver an objective assessment of whether that has been achieved. To do otherwise is simply dishonest. Instead what we have is a chummy complicity between writer and critic which does neither any favours, all of which is the unfortunate by-product of a culture in which even writers now review writers they know personally.

Unfortunately a win like this also brings out the worst in some who tend towards that shared cultural delusion that this win is "good for Ireland". In what way Enright's win is good for Ireland is unclear. But then this is just another Bord Failte-esque cackhanded Bertie Ahernism which doesn't really mean anything. It's a win that's certainly good for Enright and her career, and good luck to her. In essence she has only tried to do her job. It's just a pity certain people in the print media are afraid to do theirs.