Katy Hayes's first novel, Curtains, was heavily promoted in the W. H. Smith "fresh talent" award, but her commercial edge, combined with a style of sharp social comedy, set her apart from some of her more established contemporaries writing for the thirtysomething reader. Curtains laid bare the way in which theatre professionals thrive on gossip as both smug social glue and a personal bargaining chip.
Hayes introduced herself as a ruthless observer with a sure hand for soured pasts and nasty sex. The life of a Dublin gossip columnist thus seems perfect material for her second novel, Gossip, allowing her to draw again upon her experiences of the media world. The blurb reveals that "accustomed to being the spider spinning webs of gossip, Colm eventually finds himself the fly " which leaves the reader anticipating a hothouse of slander and media intrigues.
Colm Cantwell writes the weekly gossip column "Mary Jane on the Tiles". He retains his predecessor's name partly by accident, partly because of a vain wish to preserve his more literary aspirations, but mostly to indulge his alter ego's girlishly tongue-in-cheek approach to the weekly chore, telling readers about his kitten heels, diets and love life. This spirited and slightly kinky charade attests to the belief that gossip is sexy.
We meet Colm, however, in his doctor's surgery where he is receiving a horribly frank account of his dilapidated general health, and orders to stop abusing his liver and lungs. Much of his time is subsequently spent in the pub, contemplating his shocking state: his fastidious wife has not made love with him in six years; his stepdaughter regards him only as "slob thing"; he earns a pittance and his writing career is permanently stalled.
Colm is, needless to say, unhappy with this state of affairs; he secretly sees himself as "mouse man", a loathsome failure. He is plagued by dreams of waking up without a penis and at 38, his only remaining ambition is "to have sex just once before I die". The gap between the expected vitality of gossip and Colm's isolated decline is both the novel's wittiest device, and its most frustrating for the reader. For despite the apparent surfeit of parties, launches and fashion shows over which his column presides, Colm gets most of his info from PR agents and bar staff. He himself offers scant communication to those around him, and - tellingly - his most entertaining lines are unspoken quips.
Hayes's concern seems to be true and false connections, a kind of low-key existentialism in which Colm's problem turns out to be that he is institutionalised by marriage: like many a girlish wit before him, this hero is living the wrong life. Gossip is, in the end, a device that brings him some illicit thrills; but Hayes's theme is less gossip than the decline of the male ego, for Colm is impotent and irresolute in all but his sudden illicit affair. Only when everything is already lost is he able to make any movement in his life, and move from gossip to storyteller.
This is a more subdued novel than Curtains, but Hayes shows a fine ear for the beat of everyday conversation as - too often - a struggle not to say what is utmost in a character's mind. She once again meticulously observes the frailties of her bruised characters - without losing a fondness for them.
Kathy Cremin lectures in English at York University.