An Irishman's Diary

LITERARY prize juries could learn something from the Institute of Architects’ Gold Medal, which, as reported yesterday, is awarded trienially for a building completed several years earlier, “so that it can be judged in a mature state”.

Rather than honouring a book hot off the presses, its reputation inflated by publishers’ hype or this year’s literary fashion, the Impac or Man Booker prize juries could benefit from adopting a similar time-lock mechanism. That way, they would know whether a novel had “weathered beautifully” – like the council offices in Tullamore, one of the nominees for the RIAI’s 2009 medal – before rewarding it.

Critics of the Booker might say it already does something like this, since the judges often recognise a lifetime’s achievement rather than the excellence of one work. If a writer weathers beautifully, or at any rate stays alive long enough, juries can succumb to the moral pressure to award him or her for previous work, however mediocre the latest effort is.

But a five-year delay on judging novels would be a better guarantor of literary excellence – always assuming the writer didn’t die of starvation in the interim.

THE relationship between architecture and literature is made explicit by the RIAI director in a bullish assessment of the buildings shortlisted from the years 2001 to 2003. “How many great plays or great works of art were produced in the same period?” he asks rhetorically, with all the confidence of a football fan taunting opposition supporters with the chant, “You’re not singing any more.” Alas, yes. The respective fortunes of architecture and literature have changed greatly since, in his planning application for Ulysses, a cocky James Joyce claimed that if Dublin were ever demolished in some catastrophe, it could be rebuilt brick by brick from his pages.

It appears that Dublin has indeed been rebuilt brick by brick in the past few years. And while this in itself was a bit of a catastrophe – the RIAI jury concedes there was a “paucity of submissions in the housing category,” despite the vast number of homes erected – the new confidence of Irish architects marks a change in the traditional balance of power.

Clearly, buildings have taken over from books in Ireland as a reflection of what we are. Croke Park – the largest structure on the 2009 shortlist – is the new Ulysses. Dunshaughlin Civic Offices are The Wild Swans at Coole. And – for its taut, minimalist structure, rather than any onomatopoeic qualities – the Dublin City Council Pumphouse at Clontarf is Krapp’s Last Tape.

For Croke Park, the delay in judgment is particularly fortuitous. Not that the jury will be influenced by the stadium’s part in the first Irish rugby grand slam for 61 years. But, even aside from the structure itself, there was a definite architectural quality to Ireland’s latest performances there, especially against France: the clean lines, the lovely sense of space behind the full-back, etc.

I’m not trying to influence the jury. But surely the mature Croker’s supporting role in the team’s success confirms the venue as a triumphant marriage of form and function. For it to be judged the outstanding building of its time would be fitting as rugby and soccer take their leave, heading back to Dublin 4 and the new Vauxhall Viva stadium – the verdict on which will have to wait a few years yet.

SPEAKING of things mature, I was walking down Grafton Street during the week. And being somewhat downcast, what with the state of the economy and everything, I found myself paying more than usual attention to the conditions underfoot. That’s when I noticed the state of the street’s brickwork – which, to put it mildly, is in bits.

It’s not just just that it looks tired. As Frank McDonald points out, it looked tired when they laid it, back in 1988. Nor is it just that, due to running repairs over the years, it now has more shades of red than the Fourth International. No: the most striking thing about it is that so many of the bricks are loose.

This might not be significant at other times. In a period of potential political upheaval, however, such a street is a riot waiting to happen. Remember Paris 1968, when the cobblestones of the Latin Quarter were so potent a weapon that, for decades afterwards, city planners preferred to tarmac the boulevards instead? Well, by way of urgent warning to the Government, I would paraphrase Yeats: “Things fall apart: the city centre cannot hold!” Of course, if the money to repave Grafton Street was not available before this, it will hardly be found now. But given that it presents a threat to the security of the State, maybe the Government should make the street the focus of a Famine-style road building scheme. Otherwise, if the rioters don’t get there first, a rogue construction firm will.

If Joyce was trying to rebuild Dublin, brick-by-brick, I know where he could find some free materials.