Sebastian Barry is a writer-downer, not a writer. Echoing the sentiments of Michelangelo who said that his sculptures already existed within the stone, Barry feels his work exists already in a floating form. As he puts it, he has to dig them out of the sand. I met with one of our most prominent playwrights in the Abbey Theatre to discuss his new play, The Tales of Ballycumber, Irishness, and what makes a writer.
Could you tell me about your new play The Tales of Ballycumber?
It’s set in Wicklow. It’s entirely fictional but in some ways it’s what happens when you’re somewhere for ten years and you hear and experience a lot of things. The main character is called Nicholas Farquhar. And he has a very young friend Evans Stafford, and in a way it’s about their friendship, but also what happens one day when he comes to see Nicholas, and the consequences of that.
You say it’s entirely fictional, but is there any direct inspiration?
The inspiration is the enormous attachments I have to the place and the people and how overwhelmed I am by slowly becoming a part of the community. I mean we talk about the death of the community; you could be sitting next to someone on a bus and you could be going around the city for seven hours and you won’t talk to the person. That’s not how it is down in Wicklow. The word neighbour becomes infinitely important; what happens to your neighbour happens to you.
Is writing about Ireland and the subject of ‘Irishness’ a fascination for you?
You’re Irish right? There are probably fifteen adjectives that describe you, and fifteen that describe me. We might not share any, but we’re still Irish. When I was a little we went off to London; I went to a school there for a year or two. Anyway, I came back and I had to learn really quickly to be Irish again, even though I was Irish. It’s all about the challenge of Irishness really. So yes I am, because I don’t know what Ireland is. I really don’t know what we are, but it’s very exciting trying to find out.
It’s interesting what you said about learning to be Irish again, as I had the same experience; I grew up in the Middle East.
Yeah, it uproots you, but I do think it makes a writer out of you.
There seems to be quite a lazy perception of Irish writers, that they aren’t what they used to be, if you get me.
Really? I won’t answer that, to hell with that. If you go back to any period of time, it’s always said, you know Dickens is the death of English literature, he was told he was writing twaddle.
So what contemporary Irish writers would you look to?
I’m a bit other-writer-blind… in some ways I don’t even see what I do as writing. I’m very content with my generation. There are some very impressive souls. I mean Michael [Longley] is like Homer. When you get a letter from him, Homer has written to you.
Anything stirring at the moment?
Well Tales of Ballycumber’s not finished yet. I’m going to try and just do nothing next year. That is to say, do nothing but write! But I’m just back from New York and I’m really happy to be back, and just dying to get into rehearsals.
Tales of Ballycumber, starring Stephen Rea and Aaron Monaghan opens at the Abbey Theatre on the 7th October, and runs until the 7th of November
