Over the years, critical reaction to Sebastian Barry's impressive amount of work has been hugely positive. His play The Steward of Christendom has been acclaimed worldwide. He is a respected novelist and poet as well as a playwright of note. By any standards he is a very successful writer, and he is still only 47, writes Brendan Glacken
What then were we to make of the headline on a recent front page of The Irish Times: Dramatist Unhappy? After a moment's thought, we should have felt a deep sense of relief. We would have reminded ourselves that no art of any consequence has ever been produced by a happy person.
We would recall it as a condition of their being that all genuine artists exist in a constant flux of emotional and psychical turmoil, and that without such angst no art could ever emerge.
We would remember the words of Yeats, that nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent. And we would conclude: good - there will be more excellent work on the way from Sebastian Barry.
Say you were to pick up your paper and read: Artist Happy. Nervously, you read on. It appears that Joxer Kirby, the well-known alcoholic installation artist (he is not an alcoholic: he specialises in drink-related creations) has entered a state of bliss. Everything is now going "swimmingly" for him. The work is selling, the reputation is soaring, the wife is delighted with him and the fourth babby is on the way. He is as happy as any man could possibly be.
Are you happy for him? No, not if you are a thinking man. You are distraught. You hope he is drunk, for if he was sober when he made this announcement, you know his artistic talent is on the wane, if not entirely petered out. And the more you read, the worse things sound.
Anyway, it seems that our Unhappy Playwright, Sebastian Barry, considered leaving the country because of harsh criticism of his play, Hinterland: "I felt that I didn't know my own country. I felt like I had suddenly been disproved, that I no longer understood the place . . . Something happened in my heart, whatever was left of my spirit changed." Most of the criticism, he told the Guardian, came from The Irish Times.
Dear oh dear. It is true that The Irish Times was rather dismissive, to say the least, of Hinterland, a play inspired by the antics of Charlie Haughey.
My colleague Eileen Battersby wrote of the "moronic obviousness of the play's satire" and said it had "the savagery of a Restoration comedy but none of the wit". Not only was it poor theatre, she said, "but far worse than that, it is bad manners".
What are we to say now? As a newspaper we are notoriously unrepentant in such matters. Once we have pronounced on artistic questions, we do not retract our remarks. Like the artist, we stand aloof, paring our fingernails, gazing into the middle distance.
Further, it is of a matter of complete unconcern to us whether our criticism causes upset or joy.
If an artist, playwright or poet puts his work into the public arena, we make our judgments, be they kind or cruel, and that is the end of it. We did once run a column called Second Opinion but wiser counsel soon prevailed, and it ended.
At the same time, we are not at all averse to th'oul bit of controversy. Barry's views on why his play attracted such an onslaught of criticism certainly ought to be controversial. According to the Guardian (June 8th), "Barry held a red rag to a bull by suggesting corrupt politicians were just the symptom of a deeper malaise in Irish society."
Indeed, just before the play opened in the Abbey last February, Barry himself said: "My horrible thesis is that these people [corrupt politicians\] are part of us."
The implication is that as a nation, we cannot accept Barry's thesis and our anger and frustration have taken expression in a highly negative reaction to his play, with The Irish Times in the most severe denial or anal retention or whatever the most acute popular psychological condition is these days. The Guardian saw even more sinister aspects, pointing to the play's "worrying implications" for the Abbey itself.
The paper reminded us that the Taoiseach Bertie Ahern is "Haughey's former protégé" (in other words he would not take kindly to a play critical of his political mentor) and it clearly implied that the ongoing financial crisis at the theatre was linked to Fianna Fáil disapproval of its activities (and/or some of its productions).
It noted finally, in nudge-nudge manner, that regarding the proposed new Abbey site, "the board has been unable to get a response to its plans from the Arts Minister, Síle de Valera [this was pre-election\], grand-daughter of Fianna Fáil's founder, Éamon de Valera".
It's all a dastardly Fianna Fáil plot then.