The Princes of Ireland- Edward Rutherfurd- Lit Crit III

Who isn't fascinated by Ireland? It's the land of romantics, lush greenery, leprechauns and booze, punctuated by the whole Protestant vs. Catholic saga, the sheer feyness of the land and of course, those happy go lucky Irish characters in many a novel.
So, when I chanced upon Edward Rutherfurd writing about Ireland,I pounced on it. The author himself, is a Michener-esque type- having written opuses on Sarum, London, Russia etc.
Each of these is a tome, a broad sweep of 3 families (usually) delineated thru the ages. Sarum was spectacular-it was based on the construction of the Salisbury Cathedral and of course Ken Follet liberally helped himself not only to the storyline but the plot process as well in his novel about the making of the Canterbury Cathedral, called The Pillars of The Earth.Burnt me up that did...
Any Hoo....
I started Princes Of Ireland knowing ( and the dust jacket helped) that this as in all others would also be about 3 main familes in Ireland thru the ages.
'twas thus and verily so...sorry 'bout the turn of phrase :)
I expected passages about the lay of the land, what makes it so, the sheer magicalness of it, verdant greenery , the tumultous history of a blood soaked country, and plenty of absolutely devilish and irrestible characters...the book, in its initial chapters delivered this beautifully but then tapered off to this rather soulless and dare I say, tepid fictional historicisation.
What happened? Where did the fey and absolutely charming character of Con become a spiritless retelling of his descendants and bloodlines? Why did Rutherfurd suddenly seem to care less about developing characters and more about retelling the passage of times?
If I wanted to read about that, I'd major in History.
Fiction, especially of the Rutherfurd kind, is characterized by skillfully weaving it with fact. Here, it is replaced by a pallid pen and an an increasingly casual use of words. It's almost like he lost his motivation or his muse midway.
London- the book- was vibrant- I can still recall passages and memories and emotions although I read it eons ago. Every book he has ever written is redolent with the sounds, sights and smells of the times he evokes. This is the one book that does not.
I dont want to read the sequel to this- its supposed to be a 3 book endeavor...hopefully, Rutherfurd will get his joy of storytelling and the skill with it back. I shall ( for the first time) check out the reviews before I read it.
If not, I shall just get back to his earlier books, failing which there's always Neal Stephenson and his novels!