Kate reading her poem, Spring Invasion, at Boyne Berries (photo Michael Farry)

I went to hear Kevin Barry at a writers’ workshop, organised by Stinging Fly, a few weeks ago in the Writer’s Centre. I love Kevin Barry, his voice, his books and his looks. He described himself as slug bouncing a rubber ball against a wall when he spoke to my MA group in 2012 and somehow the image works for me. I also like his recommendations. This time round he suggested we read VS Pritchett so I downloaded ‘A Careless Widow and Other Stories.’ I can, in turn, recommend them myself.

They are beautifully written with perfect detail. I loved his description of the ocean, “the sky was like another country hanging over it”, or his character who has “a high sandy voice, with grit in it.” I learned from VS Pritchett that I need to give my characters more detailed descriptions. But I was able to draw some solace from him because he vindicated my voice.

All his characters are strong, vigorously drawn and slightly odd but I felt immediately at home with them. In some strange fashion, each story is detached in a very English sort of way but also very familiar. I can’t say what it is exactly, I just felt reassured by his stories. I like the slightly wacky, off kilter style. It reminds me of my own work. I am in no way describing my own writing as being anything like VS Pritchett’s, not at all, but maybe our shared nationality does reflect something in common. I do not have his stretch of imagination or pithy style. His work comes from a pool which is clear blue, rippling, breathtakingly sharp and exhilarating. Sadly, I am still lurking in the mud at the bottom of that pool, clearing sludge. I can only learn! But there is a voice there I understand or maybe, to keep in metaphor, a ripple I recognise.

My next read was riveting rather than rippling. After reading John Banville’s review of The Blue Room by Georges Simenon (Irish Times, Sat 21^st March) I downloaded the book (the joys of the Kindle). I like John Banville’s books. I like his prose which I find is shadowy, opaque and complex and I like his focus in recent books on time and memory. In contrast, I found The Blue Room a beautifully sparse book but also, at the same time,  incredibly intricate. It is very clever. It is the story of love, life, a murder and a court case. It is told backwards by a voice on trial  which reels in all the detail and complexity of everyday life,  love, marriage, family, work but has the detachment of the court approach. It is a clever technique. Each event and explanation takes place in a room and each room has it its own individual interpretation. The voice and the place are key. The finale is arrived at slowly and has the feel of a climax. It is a beautiful book. It has passion, depth, and detachment. Banville praised it highly. I wonder if a writer admires another’s work because they recognise the voice and or if they like a book because it’s not their voice at all.

Now, I have just started Papillon by Henri Charriere, and it’s very different altogether. It seems very Twentieth Century. Imagine being old enough to be able to say that! And what do I actually mean. Is there a 20^th century voice? Is there a 21^st century voice? And presumably it changes according to nationality. Hum, I’ll have to ponder on that and get back to you.. Better stop, before I go off on a different track altogether.

It was the array of colour, energy and the spectacle of Peter Pan on Ice at the Bord Gais Theatre performed by the Russians that I loved best. At first, I felt a little teary eyed at the ability of these Russian Ice Skating Stars. I was in awe of their magnificent skills and daring. How I have wasted my life, I thought, working in local government. I too wanted to twirl, slide, jump, twist and fly, my limbs and heart soaring! However, I completely forgot about such disappointment in the second half, and got sucked in – me and the six year old with the loud voice in the row behind (I think he may have a future in radio commentary), whooping and clapping Captain Hook and First Mate, Smee. I loved the crocodile. Mind you, the little boy behind was disappointed that he didn’t gobble up more of Capt. Hook. Captain Hook was sublime, a real pantomime pirate on ice, but Russian, exotic and handsome. The choreography and set were amazing. The trapeze work (the sails of the ship) was incredible. I loved the pirate ship scenes. Despite there being no talking, I always knew exactly what was going on…Indian squaws being kidnapped, lost boys being burned at the stake, mesmerising mermaids (wonderful costumes), battles. It was only brilliant, as they say here.

So, I am in Dublin, dog sitting for a friend who is cycling around South Africa. I have the joys of Emma, a bulky thirteen year old golden lab with the heart of a puppy. She gets so enthusiastic about walks and tickles, she jumps up and down on her four paws, two at a time, back then front. She can only jump a few inches so she looks hilarious, a sort of giant mechanical puppet.  Her two inch enthusiasm is particularly amusing because Poppins, my puppy dog who is with me, can literally toss herself four feet in the air, rather like the Russian Ice Stars. While I am tugging with both hands at Emma (who does not go off lead) trying to distract her from the apparently delicious delights of dried up poop (the pooper scooper skills of Killiney need serious dog warden attention), Poppins (who does not do leads) is leaping along the narrow ledges of the precipices and ravines of Dalkey gorge, frightening the life out of me and every other walker.

After the theatre, the daughter and I went to a great Moroccan restaurant where we discussed the office politics at her work place. Office politics! When I first worked, I thought it was only in my work place that the people were rather unhinged. But as life went on, I discovered that ‘office politics’ were a natural phenomenon, everywhere. People are extraordinary. They have so many talents, skills, abilities (whatever the arena, be it religion, law, acting, medicine) so much passion for their work, yet their every day energy is focused on jealousies, competition, and aggravation  that serves only to undermine what they do. There’s nowt like folk! While listening to daughter, I tried to imagine how the office politics of the Russian skating stars might pan out (ha ha, Pan….sorry)!

Anyway, it’s great to be in Dublin for a while. On Saturday, I went to the Stinging Fly workshop in the Writers Centre with writer, Kevin Barry, which I really enjoyed. I do like Kevin Barry. He has a practical, unpretentious bent to him and the most expressive face that moves or morphs into a range of characters when he is reading. He described himself (when he spoke to my MA group in Galway two years ago) as a slug bouncing a rubber ball again the wall of his office, an image that stays with me. On Saturday, I particularly liked what he had to say  about people and places, how the physical environment moulds and manipulates its people. I think that’s true. People grow out of the grime of the city, or root down in the country. It is ‘place’ that forms our culture and therefore our characters (fictional or real). Yes, ‘place’ does influence and mould. Every place has its charm, horrors, dark corners, vistas and every place sporns its people. Cerebrally, I knew this already (I am always contrasting my country life in Cavan with my city life in London and Suburban life in Dublin) but it hadn’t occurred to the writer in me.God, it’s a challenge living so many lives. I can never keep up with which bit of me knows what!

Oddly enough, my poetry assignment this week was also about place. So I will end this blog (as it is time to embark up the hill with Poppins and Emma) with the first draft of a poem.

Avalon in Suburbia

This is the place where pebbledash inclines to pine palace interiors
with white sofas, orchids, muesli and vast, glass swathes of light
softly lit.

This is the place of mock Tudor, port holes, red brick chimney stacks
secured by green laurel, heather, hawthorn, precise pampas grass,
shaped.

This is the place of prim gated estates, pristine porches with bays, pancake
mix faces, golden labs, shih tzus, petite poodles, range rovers, BMWs
on leads.

This is the place of vistas of sea, castles of dreams, piers, bandstands, proms,
pavilions, regency railings, gardens of ice cream, fountains, Georgian front doors, green
caterpillars.

This is the place of delicious, out of date fridges, air travel, suitcases on four wheels,
locks, security alarms, timers, deserted front gardens. This is the mythical place where no body
lives.

Last weekend was food for thought. I tried a new recipe: pork with a delicious creamy mustard sauce that put fire in our bellies…and fire in our thinking! We had a great family discussion which ranged around immigration, UKIP, housing. The next night we watched Hannah Arendt, a film about a Jewish philosopher who covered the trial of Eichmann, a Nazi kidnapped from South American by Israel and put on trial in 1962. In court Eichmann claimed to be not guilty because he was doing his job and following orders. According to the film, Hannah Arendt found him to be a mundane figure, and after listening and watching him, began to wonder whether ‘evil’ was not about selfishness and power but rather came from thoughtlessness, and the tendency of ordinary people to obey orders and conform to mass opinion without critically evaluating the consequences of their actions and inaction.

So is that the case, I wondered. Is it the Fine Gael Government that is ‘evil’ in relation to the water charges or is it the people installing the water meters (one cannot equate the actions of the Nazis to water charges, it is the principle I am discussing). The holocaust was abhorrent and carried out by many ‘doing their jobs’, following the rules, not taking responsibility for their actions. Is that where evil stems from? Or does evil orginate in the leaders, (Hitler, Maggie Thatcher, Charlie Haughey,  Enda Kenny) who make the laws? Sadly, either way, it means that ‘evil’ stalks our society for that is how the world operates and always has done.

I am not sure it is helpful to label our society evil.  Maybe the word ‘mad’ is better. I do think it is mad to allow 1% of us to own the majority of our wealth and allow our behaviour to destroy our natural habitat. So why are we mad? Does it stem from selfishness? Or does it stem from our inability to engage and critically think about the future that will result from our actions?  None of us want to spend hard earned money by changing our heating and transport habits unless we have to (or are told to by the Government). And how do we stop the inevitable destructive character of capitalism (because that 1% won’t be able sustain the purchase power needed) when today we need to focus on work to put food on the table for our families (and enjoy a few bottles of wine). Do we think critically about the future? Yes, we all love to criticise! It’s our acting on it on as an individual to change it that is the challenge, and that is about individualism and selfishness.

So I am back to thinking that ‘evil’ or ‘madness’ must be sowed in our individual selfishness, greed or laziness. Is it selfish to stop people coming into Ireland or the UK seeking work, refuge and life when there is high unemployment and poverty already in our society? I think so. Is it selfish to look after our own first when others are worse off? Yes. But then others may think it is only sensible. We can’t take responsibility for the world. But I believe turning people in need away is a slippery slope to the disintegration of our civilisation and a slide towards evil, if not madness. It is certainly similar to Eichmann’s argument. Immigration barriers (first to non EU citizens, then to non Western EU citizens, then to our neighbours), suggests to me one person is more valuable than another and who is to decide who is most valuable? I think you will decide your family is more important than mine.

I am reminded of words my mother in law spoke at another (extended) family occasion a few years ago (I think lasagne was then on the menu). We were discussing which was the most valuable virtue:  charity, grace, mercy, kindness or compassion. I was struck by the discussion as it seemed that none of these behaviours were particularly prevalent in our society today. However, my ninety five year old mother in law was emphatic that it was kindness. I bow to her experience. I think she is right. Kindness is something every single one of us can do. It is relevant to each of us. It is a part of our everyday world. An act of kindness makes both the recipient and the giver feel happy.  So, that’s another new year resolution: to try and be kind.

So to end my meanderings about the origins and meaning of evil…my suggestion is that, wherever it comes from, whatever it is, we must kill it with kindness! That may seem a little glib, and not address the many issues raised. But it does come down to principles in the end, and in this complicated world, it is helpful to have guiding principles by which to live one’s life. I ended the weekend watching Silk, a UK legal series. The only way the barrister survives in her chosen profession (which operates in a pretty ruthless, immoral world) is according to her guiding principle, ‘innocent until proven guilty.’