Well it's good to return after an unplanned, unannounced sabbatical from the blog with something unusually positive. (BTW, I'm writing this after deleting about 1380 spam comments--has anyone else noticed that in the last year or so the concerns of spam have shifted from porn, viagra, and, erm, "member enhancements" to focus mainly on offers related to Texas Hold 'em? Or is this just the garbage I get?).

Anyway, it was good to see that my interview with John Banville in the virtual pages of Three Monkeys Online persuaded the Man Booker Prize judges to choose the Wexford-born writer. However, the televised presentations of the proceeding were rather lame, with a bunch of literary editors searching in vain for synonyms for "moving." As it appeared that this supposedly intimate lit-chat about the nominees was simultaneously booming across the hall (one could see pictures of the writers wincing slightly as their books were being politely handled), they were hardly going to say anything too harsh/honest. It almost made one long for the days when Tom Paulin used to be on the panel, occasions on which he used to dismiss almost every book as dreadful.

Apart from the Banville interview, the Three Monkeys site also features a recent interview I conducted with the Derry-born Sean O'Reilly. His "The Swing of Things" published in 2003/04 was extremely impressive, one of the first books that addressed contemporary Dublin without succumbing to the usual frappacino-and-Beemers clichés. His latest work "Watermark" is not a smooth read, but I think it's worth persevering with: there are shards of great prose glinting in the sometimes opaque text.

In addition, there's high hopes that the great Camille Paglia will be gracing the site as she talks about her latest fine work, "Break, Blow, Burn," in which she discusses in accessible, but never mundane language "43 of the world's best poems." Whether some of the poems she selected deserve the accolade "world's best" is one of the questions that she will, hopefully, address.

So I haven't been slacking off, OK? (And remember, I've got a family, job (kind of), and did I tell you my in-laws were visiting....)

OK, yesterday's sunny post was an anomaly. Today, I want to beat up on Fintan O'Toole--his review of the book by former Irish Times editor Conor Brady, "Up With The Times"* was largely a snow job, focusing on the positive (breaking the Bishop Eamonn Casey story, for example) while glancing on the not-so-shining moments (when Brady was editor of The Sunday Tribune, he choose to shelve a story highlighting the extent of Charles Haughey's financial shenanigans). However, what is glaringly absent from O'Toole's review is any discussion of the events surrounding Brady's departure from the paper, which, in my view, not only put the entire character of his service under a shadow but epitomize the direction of the paper during his tenure.

Under Brady's tenure, especially during the late 1990s, the paper, while espousing righteous liberal opinions in its editorial pages, became a shill for property and business interests. The Property section became particularly notorious, as supposed "journalists" kicked off what was basically a sales brochure with cloying descriptions of million-pound/euro properties in the kind of prose that would make an estate agent proud. Meanwhile, the business section grew fat on job adverts, and the surrounding pages served as fig leaf for an advertising section. Banal sidebars proliferated, in which executives were asked what time they ate breakfast and what their favourite television programs were. In a culture where coverage was led by press releases, scoops were rare (which was convenient for a light-weight publication beholden to corporate advertising).

This cosy situation came to an end when the global economy caught a nasty cold in the wake of 9/11. Although the crash in the property market never really occurred, a hiatus in the boom was enough to cause the property section to shrivel. The business section, too, suffered from a slump in advertising. Meanwhile, the Times had made a lavish (and perhaps unwise) investment in new printing facilities (at a cost, I think, of about £40 million).

Faced with economic challenges, The Irish Times--the soi-distant conscience of the nation--acted with the callousness of a U.S. multinational under fire from shareholders. About one-third of the staff were let go. Yet those at the top fell on gilded swords. Brady received an "extraordinary" severance deal: According to an article in The Sunday Business Post:

"He will receive index-linked payments of €100,000 a year from the Irish Times until 2014. The payments, which will be worth €1.2 million, were agreed with Brady to stop him competing against his former employer."

A non-compete agreement might make some sense if an employee worked in a financial institution and might be in a position to poach clients. But for a media company? As if Brady being appointed as editor for any other newspaper in the land would make a significant difference to that newspaper, which requires vast investment rather than simply a new editor to change its profile. (Also note that that 100,000 a year excludes redundancy payments and a pension).

Yet that was not the end of Brady's "support" from the paper. In a blurring of personal and institutional ownership reminiscent of the very gombeen politicians berated by the Times, it was revealed that:

"Brady's golden handshake is one of a number of substantial benefits the journalist received from the Irish Times. In 1988 the newspaper bought him a home in Monkstown, Co Dublin, and sold it to him for £130,000 (€165,000) in early 1990.

In 1999 he bought a mews building at the rear of his house from the company for £105,000 (€133,000).

One Dublin estate agent said that the property, which is at DeVesci Terrace, could now be worth over €2 million."

According to the Sunday Business Post, Brady defended this by saying "A lot of companies will do this for people when they go into a very difficult job."

Charles J. couldn't have put it better himself.

The paper that Brady left is apparently demoralized at the gap between the pampered executive class and the averagely paid hacks and even worse remunerated freelancers (freelance rates at the Times are notoriously stingy--as if writing for the country's paper of record is a privilege not a job). Brady's successor continues the institutional hypocrisy that undermines the paper's credability. According to this site, The Sunday Independent reported :

"Managing director Maeve Donovan and editor Geraldine Kennedy receive a basic salary of €323,000. Adding bonuses, executive pension funding of about 20%, motor vehicles, travel allowences, top of the range health and permanent health insurances, Employer's PRSI and Employers Liability insurance, the annual cost of each individual likely exceeds €500,000."

How can the paper talk about fat cats in the boardroom (which it does unashamedly) with a straight face? Or am I simply naive to expect more?

*This review appeared on Saturday. Thanks to the Irish Times' flailing attempts to cash in on their 'net presence, access to this review is through paid subscription.

From the deluge of stories about John Banville following his (conventional-wisdom alert!) surprising Booker Prize win, the most interesting nugget was offered up by John Boland, whose Saturday TV review in the Indo is always worth reading. According to Boland,

"[...]since the day we first met as young subs in the 'Irish Press' until he [Banville] stepped down as literary editor of the 'Irish Times' a few years ago, he was a full-time journalist as well as novelist.

He retains the connection, too, not just as a reviewer, but also socially - a couple of his closest friends remain former journalistic colleagues from the old days, while a couple of others are folkies he used to sing with."

As Boland rightly points out, such information jars with Banville's public persona, making it difficult to picture him bellowing "The Irish Rover" over a Guinness-laden table in the Cobblestone pub.

But rather than becoming too arty-farty, the Indo shows that it's still true to the memory of William Martin Murphy with a story that begins as follows:

"BOOKER prize winner John Banville is likely to bag less than a sixth of chick-lit queen Cecelia Ahern's millions, say publishing insiders.

Despite scooping the top prize in literature, his success does not necessarily translate into a bulging bundle of banknotes, they said."

Art's true reward--not just bundles of banknotes, but bulging bundles of banknotes.

BTW, the Nobel Prize for Literature is due to be announced tomorrow at around midday Irish time. Apparently, there's been a bit of a publicity-generating spat in the Swedish Academy over last year's winner.

According to the Swedish Academy, Pinter is a writer "who in his plays uncovers the precipice under everyday prattle and forces entry into oppression's closed rooms."

As with every Nobel Prize, one wonders at the political context--is the above comment a dig at the ongoing trial-free detentions at Gitmo?

All in all, I think most people (who care about such things) will believe that Pinter deserves it. Perhaps his political writing in recent years has been at best self-indulgent, at worst puerile. (See here for one of his most recent poems). But his plays--ranging from "The Birthday Party" in 1957 to arguably his last major work for the stage "Betrayal" (1978)--created a world, a mood, and a language that can only be described by the phrase "Pinteresque". And I think once you're responsible for an eponymous adjective entering the language, the Nobel should be yours.

On an incidental note, it's amusing that people like myself feel little compunction about commenting about writers' worthiness for gongs such as the Nobel or even the Booker Prize. For example, how many blogs discussed whether these guys really made that important a contribution to the quantum theory of optical coherence?

From the Washington Post:

"In what may turn out to be one of the biggest free-falls in the history of presidential polling, President Bush's job-approval rating among African Americans has dropped to 2 percent, according to a new NBC/Wall Street Journal poll."

The Swiss made a rare incursion into the Irish mindset last Wednesday, when their football team's stolid defense at Lansdowne Road denied the Irish team a place in the World Cup Finals, which will be staged next year in Germany. Given the woeful performance of the Irish team, some pundits have claimed that the Swiss have spared the Irish deeper blushes--for if they had somehow made it to Germany, the team's ineptitude would have been mercilessly exposed to a global audience.

But although it's easy to forgive the Swiss for denying us our place in the sun in Germany, a far greater reason emerged recently for grudging that prosperous Alpine nation. Apart from watches, cheese, chocolate, and money laundering, Switzerland is world renowned for its world-class pharmaceutical industry. And Roche, the largest Swiss drug company, just happens to have a monopoly on Tamiflu, the only antiviral drug that seems somewhat effective in treating the flu's symptoms. Unfortunately, given the recent news that bird fly has reached mainland Europe (an outbreak has been confirmed in Romania), the feverish (no pun intended) demand for the drug has far outstripped supply. Unfortunately, it doesn't look as though production will be ramped up fast enough if the situation worsens. According to the BBC:

... Roche has said the 10-step year-long production method of Tamiflu was too complex to be outsourced to other companies to boost supplies, and it would take other companies up to three years to be ready to produce the drug. It has so issued no direct comment on Cipla's announcement. But a Roche spokesman said: "We fully intend to remain the sole manufacturer of Tamiflu, together with our partners.

However, despite the claim that the production of Tamiflu is a fiendishly complex process, spokespeople in Taiwan claim that their scientific teams would be capable of producing a generic version of the drug with two weeks. However, Roche has halted the Taiwanese efforts, prompting one Taipei City councilman to argue that "In the face of a world pandemic threat, Roche cares more about profit than human lives."

But surely that accusation is going too far. Hasn't history taught us that Swiss businesses have always been reluctant to enrich themselves during global crises?

(By the way, I'm being sarcastic...WWII and all that.)

Blog entries are often little more than squibs, textual equivalents of a nudge in the ribs and a confidential aside asking "Have you seen this?" However, the occasional blog post has substance and even the vapid ones have the saving grace that they're free. However, no such excuses can be offered in defence of "professional journalism" that misses the benchmark of quality by a mile. I came across one such example of sub-standard Irish journalism this morning in The Irish Independent. A column that goes by the misleadingly Sweet-Smell-of Success-style title of I Spy is, to be blunt, an embarassment. A clippings job threaded together by the juvenile witticisms of its compiler, Ian O'Doherty, the flavour of the column can be picked up by the following comments about entertainer David Copperfield:

Even when he made the Statue of Liberty disappear, people mocked his sexuality and he must be the only bloke alive who could marry Teutonic totty Claudia Schiffer and still be called a bender.

"Teutonic totty" is pushing it, but "bender"? C'mon--a playground taunt such as this is out of place in a national newspaper that claims to offer something higher than the usual comic-strip lingo of The Sun or The Star.

After a (partially successful) 35-year effort to take the gun out of Irish politics, Bertie Ahern wants to remilitarize Irish public life. At the annual conference (Ardfheis) of his political party, Fianna Fáil, Taoiseach Ahern announced that a military parade would be reintroduced to mark the anniversary of the Easter 1916 rising. According to the Irish Times report:

A large-scale Easter military parade used to take place each year to commemorate 1916, but has not taken place since the year after the eruption of the Northern conflict in 1969. There was a small parade outside the GPO in 1991 to mark the Rising's 75th anniversary.

Mr Ahern emphasised Fianna Fáil's particular claim to be the true inheritors of the spirit of 1916.

While the Irish public is irate with an administration that seems incapable of spending state revenues responsibly and appalled that it is possible to die in an Irish hospital from an ulcer, the decision to focus on a diversion such as a military parade might seem bizarre. But it is always a good indicator of a flailing administration that challenging core issues are ignored in favour of superficialities. Unfortunately, Bertie's decision to play De Gaulle and watch the nation's armed forces trundle past the GPO (how long will that take? less than 10 minutes?) is far from being merely ludicrous. It's widely reported that the decision to associate FF with the military legacy of 1916 is to keep Sinn Féin--which is encroaching on Ahern's party's fiefdoms in working-class Dublin and elsewhere--in its place by hammering home the point that Fianna Fáil is the true inheritor of the mantle of Irish Republicanism, and owns the monopoly on armed force in the land.

Aside from the profoundly disturbing aspect of a political party drawing on state resources to help it gain the upper hand in a electoral dogfight, the timing of such a move couldn't be worse. Just as the IRA decides not only to lay down its arms but to agree to their destruction, along comes the Irish government--or rather a political faction pretending to represent the interests of the Irish state--to rub the IRA's noses in its demilitarized status. Not that I care overly about the sensitivities of Sinn Féin political hacks, but is it the mark of a mature state that it needs to lord it over a paramilitary organization that has supposedly walked away from the gun?

But aside from its emetic cynicism, this stunt totally fails to reflect the contemporary Irish psyche. A critic of the modern situation might suggest that a cavalcade of 05 Mercs and SUVs rather than a few armoured cars filling past the reviewing stands might be a more suitable demonstration. But thankfully this modern state, having abandoned the crabbed vision of ethnic purity and economic autarky famously espoused by Ahern's predecessor, has little time for martial playacting.

Let's mark 1916, for sure, but let's do it in a way that accurately reflects the ethos of this Republic. We don't "do" marches--let's leave that to the increasingly bewildered Orange Lodges. Instead--and this would really make people remember the men and women of 1916 with gratitude--what about sending every household in the country a commemorative gift voucher--featuring suitably stirring patriotic imagery--worth, say, 10 euro? A token gesture, in every sense of the word, but most people will surely prefer to shop than attend a vacuous military display. And it would undoubtedly cost less than, say, an abandoned hospital payroll system, or an electronic voting system that doesn't work, or a national aquatic centre that leaks, or a...

My interview with the unparalleled Camille Paglia is now available here.