"The Zebra That Slept In A Fishtank" by NIAMH LYNCH - A Review of her Debut Book/Memoir - Published 29 January 2026 by Pegasus Publishers/Vanguard Press in Paperback...

The Zebra That Slept In A Fishtank by NIAMH LYNCH

Published 29 Jan 2026 by Pegasus Publishers/Vanguard Press

Review of Niamh Lynch's Debut Paperback Book - £9.99 (UK)/$14.99 (USA)

The Zebra That Slept In A Fishtank - the debut paperback from Irish writer Niamh Lynch (published 29 Jan 2026 by Pegasus Publishers/Vanguard Press) - is a brave biographical tale and at times (especially for any parent coping with children in real mental and physical difficulty) - a harrowing read. But its pages of nerve-touching is shot through with grit and determination - and that power-source that even oceans dare not try to fathom let alone tame – a mother's love for her child.

I will readily confess that I was drawn to ZEBRA by our own family history - our first-born Dean has had severe autism since birth 35-years ago and we in turn (my wife and I and our other two now grown-up healthy kids) – have been through the proverbial wringer every day since his beautiful face made its way into our hearts. Niamh – who has two daughters – one with Down Syndrome (the least of her worries strangely enough) – documents her oldest girl (now a young lady) and her struggles with weight, abandonment, isolation, self-image and physical exhaustion that manifested itself in almost day-long sleeps (hence the reference to shuteye in the title). There are two types of horses in the world (cart-horses and racing-types) someone once explained to Niamh as a young mum trying to get to an answer – only to realise that her troubled daughter is a Zebra. In other words, this is a story of the different, the difficult stripy ones that need space and time and love and a dug-in Mum who won't stop until she gets to the bottom of that lingering pong that's hit the fan where the clean laundry is supposed to be.

There's a danger of self-indulgence with books like this – the endless poor me poured over us like treacle to elicit sympathy – but I'm glad to say that her admirable honesty stretches out in all directions. The style of writing and the telling of this tale also reflects the sheer years she's put in - the graft it takes to rise above the inescapable crippling self doubt that rides roughshod alongside any decision you make (or don't make) when you're on a life-journey like this. Personal soul-searching comes on heavy and thick as Niamh struggles to deal with a school-age teen losing weight, hair, self-confidence, friends, a social life, peer acceptance and even the ability to mingle or talk to kids of her own age. In other words – the essential building blocks of a life and a functioning human being. Misinterpretation is everywhere even amongst family and those supposedly support-adjacent. Don't get me wrong - her daughter is not slow nor precocious, but fiercely intelligent and witty, and yet, her questioning of everything that moves or slithers is perceived by some as combative. Of course, this incurs the wrath of those who want conformity and will avoid confrontation of any kind at all costs. A series of early school rejections and hate campaigns from other bullies does its insidious damage – impossible to get her out of bed – absences becoming frequent – referrals to the school boards and social welfare bodies and the inevitable intervention of authority.

Lingering throughout the pages of details and facts and painful milestones is that feeling that despite a writer's objectivity, Mummy is tearing herself apart inside with recrimination – the kind of mind-fuck that coping with Special Needs inflicts on all of us in the thick of such an ongoing battle. But there's also hope, the odd laugh and tentative bud of progress – angels and villains amidst the struggle to pay the London bills and stay afloat. We meet the Irish grandmother mucking in and shoring up, friends visiting or babysitting to give the principal carer a well-earned break, the estranged divorced father away in a foreign country living the life of film-Reilly, and the ever-helpful/not-really-helpful authorities trying to be a sympathetic ear as they run on resource and personnel shortages that make your blood boil. England is a great country, but like my own native Ireland, has had a woeful Governmental boots-on-the-ground contribution track record (for decades now) when it comes to the needs of those who are broken and will therefore cost money. At least here in the UK, the NHS model of care-for-all has that backbone no political party can screw with – a duty of care - an obligation to those who need it most written into the law - instead of just relying all the time on the Christian decency that's hardwired into every parent's DNA.

Chapter after chapter passes as the CAMHS system (Child And Adolescent Mental Health Services) tries to get to the bottom of the mental struggles manifesting itself in insular behaviour and an alarming physical deterioration. With the weight issues, there is also the inevitable suggestion of the big 'A' word (and I don't mean Autism) and worries from their point of view that something untoward is going on (it isn't, but if it looks that way). And whether we like it or not (as parents), from their point of view, authorities must rule that out, pronto and definitively. The struggle for societal acceptance has plagued every generation since Eve explained to Adam about apples and ribs and future trips to IKEA, but in our present-day swirl of social media and instant lambasting should you get anything wrong – the pressure on the young in the 2020s is suffocating. And yet as setbacks in 'teen concerts not attended' and alcohol-induced behaviour at other people's celebratory weddings pile up - all the time you are touched by a Mum who looks for the positive that will transform – believes there is a higher source watching over us even if the crafty git is unavailable for comment much of the time. You root for them both as a three-to-four-day sleeping week becomes progress over the six-day-variant – the small mercies that bolster up the soul. And on the overseeing steership goes - parents with their hurt shovels, digging down and digging deep…

I won't lie nor reveal outcomes but this was a tough read for me. But – and this as they say in Sumo Wrestler shower rooms - is the big butt – I put The Zebra That Slept In The Fishtank in the category of 'difficult watches worth the difficulty'. And that right there is uplifting and heroic.

Seek this book out and marvel at parents of children who look at muddy water and see clear blue skies…