I went into this book with the wrong expectations. I was expecting quick Irish humour and a village 'whodunnit' mystery, funny, tense, a nice break from my usual depressing reads. What I got was more a historical insight into the lives of rural Irish in the 1950s (poor, depressing, a sizable amount of time dedicated to discussing various animal and human dung) coloured by the bleak humour of the residents. The murders, despite being the driving force of the winding narrative of the plot, is definitely the 'B story', only really being discussed in the last 20% of the book. And even then there is little mystery or satisfaction in the stories around the murders. The book came to an odd conclusion by

focussing the blame (or more charitably, accountability) of the covered up murders onto the old solicitor

and I think the message trying to be conveyed was the benefits and dangers of small-town talk and 'perseverance of the peace'. 'The lies the mushroom pickers told' refers not just to the mushroom pickers themselves, but all of the characters mentioned in the book. But honestly, I'm not sure. I enjoyed a few bits, but overall, not for me.