Something of a Hero: An Interview with Roddy Doyle - Interview

Literary Review, Summer, 1999 by Karen Sbrockey

Roddy Doyle, born in 1958, is one of the new breed of young Irish artists who came of age in the 1960s and 70s. He was raised in Kilbarrack, North Dublin, in a middle-class family quite different from the gritty, working-class characters of his books, plays, and films. While teaching in 1987, he self-published his first novel, The Commitments, which was made into a film in 1991. This work forms the Barrytown (a fictitious model of Doyle's own Kilbarrack) Trilogy with The Snapper (1992) and The Van (1993), both of which also were made into films. The novels realistically reflect the language and culture of Doyle's students in this part of Dublin, unseen by most tourists. Sparsely written in a North Dublin dialect and laced with obscenities, Doyle's books were first criticized as commercial, "with an eye toward movies and the American market."

In 1993, however, Doyle was awarded the Booker Prize for his fourth novel, Paddy Clarke, Ha Ha Ha; the novel was described by the judges as a "funny, humane, and sad book" that established his literary reputation worldwide. That same year, Doyle quit teaching to pursue writing and assisted with the film productions of The Snapper and The Van. He wrote the script for the highly-acclaimed BBC series, "Family," which depicted domestic violence, brought protests and praise alike, from the Catholic Church, on one hand, and feminists, on the other. Doyle's latest novel about alcoholism, abuse, and violence--The Woman Who Walked Into Doors--was inspired by the series.

This interview began with Doyle's U. S. tour for Paddy Clarke, Ha Ha Ha, in January, 1995, and was updated in May, 1996, soon after publication of The Woman Who Walked Into Doors.

KS: Do you see yourself as a political writer?

RD: Yeah, I do. I don't actually force the issue because I write about Irish, urban characters and they drag the politics behind them, not the other way around. Celebrating pregnancy outside marriage, in the case of The Commitments [working class life], and The Snapper, is a political thing.

Paddy Clarke, I suppose, is the least political of my books. But even in the Irish context, marital breakdown is often considered a modern problem. And I wanted to force the reality that it's always been a problem. I wanted to make a rosy period [the '60s] in Irish history clash with what's considered to be a modern reality.

The television series "Family" was probably the most political thing I've done. One of the things it did was to insist that domestic violence takes place. What was quite extraordinary was the shrill reaction from some quarters: people denying that it happens. It was quite amazing. In the year before "Family" was broadcast in Ireland, I had become, without wanting to become, something of a hero. There wasn't a day went by when there wasn't an invitation for me to take part in a pro-celebrity golf tournament, or some half-baked cause. I've never played a game of golf in my life and I never will. And then, "Family" came along. It's a very bleak, bleak story, and it's quite violent. The violence is not shown so much as suggested. A lot of people were outraged by it when they saw it on ITV. The television station was inundated with protest immediately after the credits went up. I turned on the radio the following morning. I didn't sleep a wink all that night, waiting, actually, for stones to come through the window. I was wondering, `What have I done?'

I got a lot of hostile mail--abusive letters with death threats. I was never actually treated with anything but utter courtesy and friendliness when I was outside of my house, but several priests wrote to me, for example. One of them said, `In your own language, Mr. Doyle, fuck off.' Another told me that I should emigrate because `we'--He's speaking on behalf of everybody in Ireland, of course--`we don't want you here.'

By the end of the second episode and the third episode, a lot of the hysteria had died down. People began to accept that this is the dark side of life, but it's there. Half the adult population staved home on Tuesday night and watched "Family." It brought domestic violence to the top of the political agenda for the month of May. Women's Aid, a group of what would have been regarded as a small bunch of hysterical feminists, became a major organization because [the television station] had very wisely put their number at the end of the episode. I got hundreds of letters, particularly from women, from all over Ireland, all over Britain, saying that, in fact, it was a liberation. They felt vindicated. I don't feel pride when I've finished a piece of work, as such. When I won the Booker Prize I felt very happy. It didn't make it any better a book in my eyes. But I actually do feel very proud of "Family."

You were the first Irish person to get the Booker. That's amazing. Isn't that strange?

No, it's not strange as such. It is, to an extent, surprising, but while I'm the first Irish person to win it, I was by no means the first person outside Britain to win it. For example, I was shortlisted in 1991 and Ben Okri, the Nigerian writer, won it. And Salman Rushdie won it years before that and Nadine Gordimer won it and J. M. Coetzee won it. So plenty of writers from outside the three countries of Britain have won it. It was just pure luck that I won it.