Why were you questioned by the British police?

For the British, I was Irish with a funny name and had an attitude and I was going through Heathrow Airport minding my own business. It was 1983 and they were doing what they liked. I was questioned by the Irish police because they followed me in an unmarked car as I was walking home at night by the canal in Dublin and I didn’t like the look of them so I ran up to the bridge. I was carrying a volume of Keats. They ran at me and brought me to the station and held me. It was in 1974 when they were doing what they liked. I was completely hysterical. When they realised that I was not an IRA man, they let me go. They were not known for their intelligence. (One of them kept opening the volume of Keats and reading it as though it contained a code.) Nor were their British counterparts very intelligent for that matter. I remember they called me Paddy and asked me what I had against the English. I love the English and had even – in 1975 – considered joining the British Civil Service who took me on a two-week training course, which was my first time out of Ireland.

Do bad reviews bother you?

Yes there are two fuckers whose reviews I was foolish enough to read and they have had no luck, none at all, since they wrote the pieces. But I never read the Adam Mars Jones stuff – he didn’t like a few of my books - so I don’t mind him and even invited him to a launch party and I have recently forgiven someone called Hari Kunzru because not doing so would have taken too much energy. And he made me laugh in Toronto. And I thought he was sort of good-looking.

What did Hari Kunzru say?

I don’t actually know. I just know that he joined Adam Mars Jones in saying rude things about my book of essays Love in a Dark Time on the Late Review. But I didn’t watch it.

Have you ever been surprised by anything in a review?

John Lanchester in a review of my second novel said that it made a diptych with the first. I was very surprised and pleased.

Are there things you haven’t yet done as a writer; things you’d still like to do?

Yes. Yes.

Could you give me an example?

I am working on a new play. I would like to write some good poems. I have two novels in my head that I would like to write. I have some short stories half done and some more half imagined.

What kinds of things do you think you could never write (but wish you could)?

I can’t write comedy, although people laughed at bits of my play. But I can’t write comedy. I’m not sure I want to, but I don’t like not being able to.

When you have a bad writing day, what kinds of things might be the cause? When you are in a grim mood about your work and the limitations of your talent, what is the theme or quality of the thoughts you have?

I don’t really have bad writing days. I just get on with it. I don’t have grim moods unless underlying everything - the work and the day – there is a basic grimness. I can do nothing about that. I have never put a single thought into the limitation of my talent. But now that you have mentioned it, maybe I should start thinking about it. Thank you for raising the subject.

You’re welcome.

M.J.Hyland

End

 
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