1972- ; b. Park, Co. Derry, raised in Brussels; ed. TCD; and lives in Castletownsend, West
Cork; freelance journalist in Ireland and UK; author of Shadow-box
(1999), Winner of Irish Times Prize for Irish Fiction; from Bloomsbury
on first six pages; based on story of Mina Loy and the pugilist poet Arthur
Craven, spanning three continents and the first half of the 20th century,
and inspired by lines from Paul Muldoons poem Yarrow
her agent is A. P. Watt.
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Roisin Ingle [interview-article], Irish Times (, 30 Oct. 1999); also Drawing Dead [extract from Work in Progress], in IASIL-Japan
Journal of Irish Studies, XVII (2002), pp.7-13.
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Drawing Dead : He decided there was enough to all this.
If he had things to say, he needed to say them, not scrawl pathetically
on bar accessories as if they were things he would never get off his tightening
chest. He was here. He had established a goal, he had pulled it off She
needed to know this. She needed to know that in leaving him she was wrong,
that it had pushed him into doing something for himself and that having
done it, he had pushed himself beyond any point where she was necessary
to him. / He had recently almost completely stopped hoarding parts of
his day to tell her, jokes and observations they would have been complicit
in, a strain of music she loved but which never hit the radio, a new book
by a writer she liked, a kind of mushroom lie had found in a little greengrocers
in Donegal Town, one that had often appeared it] the recipes they had
tried together but was far too sophisticated for Longs .Supermarket on
the Waterside. Things. Things kept for later. Later not just not coming,
but pissed away with an alacrity and certainty that overwhelmed him sometimes,
mostly at night, in the dark, even lying next to someone else, but mostly
kvlien he lay alone. Even at its most acute it echoed in him guilelessly
but in his paranoia, in his conviction that a man lives as he lives and
never regrets anything, he regretted his stoicism, his armours effectiveness,
the manner in which he had had so on completely shut down the side of
him that yearned. / He needed something; not her, not them, not a replacement,
not even a Great Love that could wipe this miserable matrix of despondency
and betrayal out of his synapses and render him ready to go once again.
He lacked want. [...] (In IASIL-Japan Journal of Irish Studies,
XVII (2002, pp.7-13).
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