Most people seem to quite like the Irish. This may because we never managed to invade other countries. Let’s face it – half the time we were too busy fighting amongst ourselves.
I’ve always been fascinated by history. You name it: Irish history, British history, Roman history, Renaissance history. As a 10-year-old, I used to read the great Latin authors. (They were a lot more interesting than Latin grammar.)
Can you imagine a wee fella in short pants peering through the keyhole, as it were? I was green as damp Irish grass. But I was also ‘listening’ to some of the most powerful men in history.
And history is all the stories of the world. It’s not just boring old names and dates. More than anything, it’s stories. We find ourselves reflected in these stories. Such reflections can be illuminating. And they can be painful.
For my sins, I’m also an Anglophile. Long ago, I fled Ireland for England. The English gave me nothing but kindness. So, I’m grateful to them, loyal to them. Hopefully, they’ll forgive me if my books contain alternative views of history, stories that don’t normally get told.
There have always been good people struggling to do the right thing. And there have always been savages. I view history as a ferocious tug of war between the good people and the savages.
It would be nice to think that the good people win. But, if you read my books, you’ll find that often they don’t.