This week’s story, “Box Sets,” opens in a pub as an argument rages about the relative merits of various television dramas—whether “Mad Men” is better than “House of Cards,” and so on. Is that the quintessential pub argument of 2014?
If it was all-male company, soccer would probably be above box sets on the agenda, especially at this time of year, the last few months of the season. In mixed company, “Mad Men” vs. “House of Cards” would be a safe bet, in any age group from twenty to sixty. There are points to be scored if you can come up with a miniseries that no one has seen, even heard of, and claim it’s better than something everyone else has seen. So people who have seen the French series “Les Revenants” can afford to feel a bit smug. I’m told there’s a Belgian crime series which is “way better than ‘The Killing.’ ” I’ll go to the barricades defending “Spiral”—all seven series. I’m meeting friends tonight, and I’ll be telling them all that I’ve found an Albanian political drama called “Hot Democracy.” I still have a few hours to work on the plot.
The assertion that TV is the new novel—that the episodic long-form drama is the twenty-first century equivalent of Dickens, say—is heard frequently these days. Do you think there’s any truth in that?
It’s a lovely thought—the freedom to lie back on the couch with a bottle of beer and the dog sitting on your chest and still be able to insist that you’re taking in high art. I think if Dickens was alive today, he’d have been working for the BBC, until HBO offered him much more money.
What would your characters have been debating ten or twenty or thirty years ago? Do you have any idea what they’ll be arguing over in ten years’ time?
Thirty years ago: Is “Dynasty” even dafter than “Dallas”? Are U2 finished? Twenty years ago: Will divorce ever be available in Ireland? Are U2 finished? Ten years ago: Is “The Sopranos” as good as it used to be? Are U2 finished? Ten years from now: Was bringing back “The Sopranos” with Anthony, Jr., a good idea? Are U2 finished?
The story’s protagonist, Sam, has recently been fired, giving him plenty of time to catch up on all the Danish crime dramas he’s missed. What makes his situation more painful is that he’s lost his job at a time when the Irish economy is finally looking up. You’ve often written about the way men can feel marginalized—can you imagine his wife, Emer, having the same response were she in this situation?
I’ve a feeling Emer would roll with it a bit better. She’d be furious, then she’d start phoning people. What’s the word? Networking. She wouldn’t let herself be defined by her job description. I think she’d drink a lot of wine, including one absurdly expensive one.
You’re currently working with Roy Keane, the former Manchester United midfielder, who was the captain of both Manchester United and Ireland’s national team for many years, helping him to write a new memoir. What’s that process like? Have you done anything like this before?
I wrote a book with my parents, staying as close as possible to their spoken voices. But I knew them; I’d grown up with those voices. Basically, myself and Roy are working the same way, trying to get his voice onto paper. It’s very enjoyable, a bit of a working holiday. Although listening to a Cork man for hours will never seem natural to a Dublin man. It’s not what God intended.
