Ben Barnes' first-hand account - in his diaries, published today - of turbulent times while artistic director of the Abbey, moves with a sense of overwhelming inevitability, writes Sara Keating

'GREAT HATRED little rooms" reads the first inscription to Ben Barnes' new book Plays and Controversies: Abbey Theatre Diaries 2000-2005, which is published by Carysfort Press today. The Yeats' citation is a fitting one, evoking the tenor of events that dominated Barnes' five year directorship at the National Theatre, where the Abbey's fortunes plummeted to the lowest depth of financial and artistic crisis in its 100-year existence. The diaries are a first-hand account of the remarkable events at the Abbey as they unfolded, and they undoubtedly give Barnes a chance to redress his much maligned public image.

To some extent, the revelations of Barnes' earliest experiences as artistic director at the Abbey illustrate how a series of inherited problems precipitated the centenary crisis in 2004, even if greater foresight and a stronger nerve might have limited the damage. Barnes' constant frustrations with the labyrinthine executive structures at the Abbey - the board of directors, the advisory council, the financial directorship, the sporadic government interventions - demonstrate the inevitability of some sort of decision-making disaster; with so many administrative hoops preceding the taking of any minor decision, crossed wires and crisis seem unavoidable. The fact that many of Barnes' attempts to reform both the internal workings and artistic policy at the theatre during his tenure - the executive reform at the heart of his "Act Two" policy document, the development of a studio theatre at the Peacock, the introduction of a 7.30 curtain-up and subscription packages for patrons - were since adopted by his successor Fiach MacConghail, makes a persuasive case that Barnes' public lynching was in many ways a case of Abbey stakeholders shooting the messenger.

However, Plays and Controversiesis not a defence, and Barnes' own role in the Abbey crisis is starkly evident, too. It is showcased time and again by his naivety in interpreting political will; by his over-ambitious artistic agenda, which, while forced to bow to conformist box office demands, still never manages to break even; by his continual embrace of extraneous international commitments when he was struggling to deal with the Abbey workload; by the absolute guilelessness of his dealings with the much-maligned media, that "dedicated band of assassins", who take as much of a battering in this book as he did in their voluminous contemporary reporting of the events. Barnes' directorship may have been doomed from his very first day on the job - and there is certainly compelling evidence here - but the scale of the damage might certainly have been abated had Barnes been more attuned to the warning signs, or more able to intervene.

A sense of overwhelming inevitability moves the narrative of Barnes' diaries along, historical hindsight and our knowledge of the eventual fall-out making for some uncomfortable reading. The invective following the staging of Barbaric Comediesin the first year of his directorship - a project dogged by difficulties from its' inception, we find out - gave Barnes his initial exposure to negative media attention, and his insistence on "respond[ing] to all media request for interviews and not hiding behind bland press releases" allows him to become a target for public attack during the fracas, a position which he finds himself repeatedly forced into.

It is a measure of gross rashness that gives him his second public scolding some three months later when he makes an ill-advised speech about the Abbey's future relocation to the Docklands during his announcement of the theatre's programme for 2001; he is publicly taken to task by both his board, and, with greater consequences, the then taoiseach Bertie Ahern. From the perspective of late 2008, Barnes' reminder that the uncertain future of the Abbey Street premises had been a subject of ongoing discussion since 1994 indeed seems laughable. However, his impetuous embrace of a proposal made by Grand Canal harbour - "In eight weeks the thinking of six years has been dislodged," he celebrates in his diary - seems extraordinary, and the future fate of the Abbey site remains a thorn in his side for the next five years.

At one stage, Barnes writes in 2001, "the OPW has completed a report for the government on options for enhancing the site at Abbey Street. Whether these take into account fully, or even partially, our stated needs and the consequent necessity to expand the footprint, we have no idea." He says he was never consulted. Not only do we discover that much of the political discussion around the Abbey relocation was unfolding without input from representatives of the theatre, but Barnes, in a contemporary interjection, reminds us that: "In 2006, a year after I left the Abbey, the government announced that it would build a new theatre on what I regard as a less well-appointed site on the North docks. It is a stone's throw from the site we were offered six years ago and if, or when, it finally does get built the new Abbey Theatre will end up costing the taxpayer significantly more than it might reasonably have expected to pay had the government grasped the opportunity we presented to it in 2000-2001." Like much of the other difficulties that beset the Abbey, it seems the ongoing saga about the theatre's relocation might have been avoided.

In fact, despite being the public figurehead for the organisation, Barnes' own power in such critical issues is limited, and this is a constant source of difficulty and misunderstanding, adding fuel to his campaign for "a clarification of the executive structure of primus inter pareswhich gives greater substance to that arcane notion of the artistic director as the primusof the inter pares". It seems remarkable, both to Barnes, as he realises the limitations of his influence, and to the reader, that the business and the art of the Abbey enterprise are treated as separate entities throughout. This separation of interest certainly seems to be the root of many of the difficulties that come to pass during the centenary year.

It is as early as November 2001 that Barnes becomes aware of the significant income deficit at the Abbey, a shortfall of more than €1 million in 2000/2001, and by the end of April 2003, with the centenary plans fully under way, there are already significant concerns about the feasibility of the ambitious celebrations, despite the fundraising initiatives spearheaded by John McColgan and Loretta Brennan-Glucksman in America. Barnes' notes from board meetings reflect widespread "disquiet about spending money on expensive 'trinkets' to, as one board member said to me, 'titillate the rich into parting with a little of their money'" - especially when it transpires that the fundraising initiatives bring in little or nothing in the way of cash sponsorship anyway.

There is also an anxiety about the "enthusiasms" of John McColgan, who, as chair of the centenary committee, continues to "bring to the table additional projects which I think we could do without . . . I think that the programme which we are now committed to will stretch us to the limits in terms of our financial resources and our manpower, and diverting energies into projects like recordings of Abbey plays for broadcast, and helping out John Lynch's RTÉ documentary on the Abbey may be bridges too far for an already over-stretched organisation".

And yet the over-spending continues: paintings are commissioned, flashy marketing brochures are designed and re-designed, gala receptions are hosted in New York. By September 17th, 2003, it is impossible "to be sure that the €3 million budget figure (not all of which has yet been raised) for the centenary programme is an accurate estimate of what we will finally need . . . it is not hard to see how all this might get out of control". By the time the centenary year is in swing, we discover that "selling the family silver" - the impressive array of portraits that hang in the Abbey foyer - "has become a real option". Needless to say, the fact that the budget for McColgan's production of The Shaughrauncomes in at "four times the normal cost of production" and still no one - neither Barnes, nor the board - do anything to rein in the situation seems incredible. As Barnes goes off to Australia on tour with The Gigli Concertthat summer, the Abbey centenary - and Barnes himself - comes close to collapse.

The stark financial facts of the ensuing crisis are well-known - an operating loss of €1.85 million, eventual bail-out by the government - but what makes for the most uncomfortable reading in Plays and Controversiesis how absolutely devastated Barnes is, both on a personal and a professional level, throughout and in the aftermath of the crisis. Both he and his family were personally damaged by his forced resignation, and by attempted smear campaigns in the US and Canada, where Barnes has largely worked since leaving the Abbey.

Barnes' was also deeply hurt by the refusal of the Abbey or the media to recognise any of his artistic achievements at the National Theatre - neither the work he directed himself nor the work of international directors like Katie Mitchell, Wilson Milam, and Deborah Warner which he brought to the Abbey. In fact, by the early part of 2005, when the diaries end, Barnes resolves not to work in Ireland for some years, and he even questions his vocation in theatre altogether.

Re-reading the early entries must make hindsight doubly painful to Barnes. "Julia [his wife] says that if I am successful at this job," he writes at the end of his first year in office, "that I will be remembered more for my attempts to transform the Abbey into a confident national and international theatre and not for the occasional play that I will direct in the years ahead." If only history were so kind.

• Plays and Controversies: Abbey Theatre Diaries 2000-2005, is published by Carysfort Press, €25.

DATES WITH DESTINY...SOME RED LETTER DAYS IN BEN BARNES' DIARY

May 21st 2000, on director Deborah Warner and Medea

Yesterday was the most bruising day so far of my directorship. I met Alison (McArdle) and Deborah (Warner) on Thursday evening to be confronted with a request to cancel the first preview and delay the opening of Medea. With opening night invites ready to go and tickets sold for the first preview this presented us with a not inconsiderable problem. My initial reaction was to rule the request out as an option, but when I realised the depth of Deborah's despair and the atrophying gloom that had settled over the entire project, I decided that it would be short-sighted not to accede . . . The final result is what counts and now is not the time for inflexibility and principled stands. I still hold to my belief that despite all the highly-strung behaviour there is a guiding integrity to the way Deborah Warner works and if, on occasion, it appears to be inconsiderate or unreasonable then we will, within reason, just have to live with that . . . it was never as difficult again as it was in those first few months and with those high-maintenance ladies.

June 26th, 2000, on casting Barbaric Comedies

Marie (Kelly) popped her head around the door to say "Frank (McGuinness) is holding. I thought you might want to take it?" which decoded meant: "Frank is on the warpath. You've no choice but to take it." Frank was indeed on the warpath: "How could it have come to such a pass? We started casting this show months ago." There was no point in my rehearsing the plausible sequence of events that had brought us to the point so I just tossed in the new (old) names into the ring. Frank went ballistic: Actor A had already been asked and turned us down; Actor B was not up to it; and Actor C - "Jesus Ben are you out of your f****** mind?" No, just out of ideas.

February 24th, 2002, after the Hinterlandcontroversy

This points to a broader problem which I have with various sections of the Irish media who are implacably opposed to what I am trying to do at the Abbey and use every opportunity to tell me so. To these forces I will always be the "safe pair of hands"; I will always be

inadequate to the task and the theatre will always be seen as underperforming under my direction. But the fact is that the very taking of this job is seen in this country as an act of hubris in its own right and the fire flames of a hostile media are just another hurdle to get over. It's not about fairness,

responsibility or balanced journalism. It's bill baiting, it's sport and in that mean-spirited way characterised by Yeats's phrase "great hatred, little room"; it's about cutting down to size anyone who dares set himself up as temporary arbiter of what goes on the national stage."

December 21st, 2003, on Steven Berkoff

Attended the annual patrons' night performance of The Plough and the Stars. Had a drink after the performance with Stephen Berkoff who was in town and had come to the show. I hadn't seen him since we presented his show at the Gaiety six or more years ago. I remember on that evening bringing back the rock singer Paul Hewson, aka Bono, to Berkoff's dressing room after the performance and Berkoff affecting not to know who the very recognisable frontman of U2 was. There is ego and then there is ego.