Ordinary decent writer still up for a scrap

As Gerry Stembridge publishes his new novel, which looks back at a time before even ‘Scrap Saturday’, he says he still gets into a rage about Irish politicians

GERRY STEMBRIDGE is dozing in an armchair when I come across him at our appointed meeting place. Am I late? No, I look at my watch and realise I’m early. Stembridge, I am guessing, must regularly arrive early for meetings. This is because he does not possess a mobile phone, and thus the now-default method of letting someone know you’ll be running late – via text, tweet or an actual phone call – is not one he avails of.

It takes a confident personality not to have a mobile phone these days, especially if you are a public figure, which Stembridge is.

“I really feel better without it,” he confesses simply. “It’s not an affectation. And I still manage to see people all the time. I don’t need a mobile. I don’t want a mobile.”

Stembridge has just published his third novel. Set in the 1950s and 1960s, Unspokenis a cheerfully rambling tale, with an old-fashioned tone that focuses on five Limerick children – born on the same day in 1959 – and their families. Reading it is a little like watching Reeling in the Years.

In Unspoken, Stembridge reminds us of things we once took for granted and have now half or wholly forgotten; a litany of a way of life now gone, most of it filtered through the television schedules of the era. He writes of RTV Rentals, from whom people rented their TV sets, Charles Mitchell reading the news, and programmes his characters watch, such as I Love Lucy.

Unlike his first two novels, According to Luke, and Counting Down, which were both published by Penguin, Unspokenis published by Old Street Publishing, which has a more modest profile. Why did he switch publishers?

“Penguin didn’t want to do any more books of mine. They didn’t sell enough,” he replies briskly, after only the slightest pause. Then he laughs ruefully. “I think part of the problem was that Penguin thought they could put my name on a book and the book would sell.”

For a variety of reasons, Gerry Stembridge's name is indeed a well-known one. Talented at many things, he has been variously a co-writer of satirical comedy ( Scrap Saturday), a screenwriter ( Ordinary Decent Criminals), and a director ( Guiltrip). And now he's written his third novel.

Crime writer John Connolly has frequently spoken about losing readers – and thus buyers of his books – whenever he deviates from his original “brand”. In recent years, Connolly has also written children’s books alongside his crime novels, something he says confuses readers. It also makes it harder to market a writer, when their books are shelved in different parts of a bookshop. So what happens when, as with Stembridge, he has many talents across different genres?

To him it’s simple. “I just love writing,” Stembridge explains. He doesn’t think about brands or genres. To him, everything he does is writing, albeit different kinds of writing.

The piece of work he is proudest of is a play called Love Child, which was produced by the Project in 1992. His work as a novelist has come later in his career. Whether he likes it or not, however, the work most people are likely to associate him with is Scrap Saturday, which he co-created with the late Dermot Morgan. Scrap Saturdayaired at the cusp of Ireland's last recession, from 1989 to 1991. Now that we are in another recession, what's his view on the way the arts is responding to it?

“I noticed during the boom that most stand-up comedians eschewed social and political commentary,” he says. “When I was at the Cat Laughs in Kilkenny recently, I noticed that commentary had come back. Audiences for comedy often tend to be young. To me that seems like young audiences are now politicised.”

Stembridge himself is certainly politicised. He speaks of his anger at “the manner in which the last government attempted to stretch out the time before they called an election. The mornings I wasted listening to the radio, partly because I could not understand the government’s determination to hang on. I was in a daily state of rage.”

In terms of contemporary satire, Stembridge says he was "very impressed" by David McSavage's series The Savage Eye. "The problem during the past 10 years for satirists is that what was going on in the country was beyond satire. I mean, those word-for-word re-enactments on Vincent Browne from the Tribunals – it's very difficult for a satirist to go beyond that."

HE'S COY ABOUT BEINGdrawn on his opinions of the domestic arts scene. "Ireland is too small. For instance, I've been on The View, but I'll only appear when Irish writers aren't under discussion. I don't mind talking about art, because I don't know anything about art," he admits. "But I think it's the same thing in London too; the literary scene, for instance, is ferociously small there also."

He talks about how the arts “became glossy” during the boom. “So much was associated with pricing. Unless artists were getting financial rewards, they maybe weren’t seen by a wider society as being of any value.”

Does he think the Arts Council should play a public role in advocating for artists, particularly at a time when money is so short? Stembridge looks genuinely astonished at the mention of the Arts Council. “You’re asking me about the Arts Council?” He makes it sound like the inquiry is about small green men from Mars. “The Arts Council?” He gives a big, spontaneous belly laugh. “What do I have to do with the Arts Council?” Well, he is a practising artist, I point out.

“Everyone is always going on about the Arts Council, I suppose,” he agrees. “Officialdom in the arts is always complex and difficult. And artists are innately selfish people. We have to be selfish. It’s a necessary selfishness. It’s about placing the work at the centre, your work. All the other elements in your life have to fit around it. I don’t see the Arts Council as having anything to do with me, though.”

Stembridge has repeatedly said he would like to make another film, but writing fiction is the direction he now appears to see himself going in.

"With this book," he explains, gesturing to Unspoken, "I feel I've done my novelist's apprenticeship. I'm very pleased with this book. I have a feeling that in 20 years time, I'll be happier with this book that anything else I've done."

Unspoken

, by Gerry Stembridge, is published by Old Street Publishing