Corkman Theo Dorgan’s latest book CAMARADE, which is published by Mercier Press, poses one of those eternal questions we all want answered: do our actions shape us, or are we already who we’re meant to be?

Dorgan’s second novel is a masterful, philosophical thriller, where one violent act by its protagonist, Joseph, when he was young, echoes across four decades of his life. However, as the story unfolds, another intriguing question arises: did the lauded poet and author reach any profound conclusions while writing the novel?

‘I want to say yes, but that might be misleading,’ he says. ‘I have no sense of a grand narrative in my life, of anything like an arc of destiny. The one shaping force I acknowledge is the imperative ‘you must remember this’, something that has been with me all my life.’

‘Of course, like anyone else with any sense at all, I interrogate my past constantly but always acknowledging that there is nothing at all I can do to change yhat has already happened,’ he adds.

So are we all destined to end up at a predetermined point, or do our acts shift our paths?’ I’ve always liked Beckett’s phrase about failing better,’ muses Dorgan, ‘but apart from trying to avoid repeating moral failings, I still tend to take things as they come.’

Dorgan grew up in Blackpool, like his protagonist, but is there any of himself in the story other than the familiar setting of Cork?  ’It’s too early for me to tell how much of myself is in the book, but certainly the boy I would recognise himself and his world, I know that. Probably better to avoid for now the question about how much is based on or inspired by real events!’ he smiles.

In his novel CAMARADE, Joseph is 70 when he is encouraged by a friend to start writing down his life story to examine that big question hanging over him. Did his shooting of a police officer in Blackpool all those years ago make him who he is now, or was he always going to be this person anyway? In writing his story, Joseph goes on a journey of self-exploration that might be described as therapeutic, but Dorgan is not so sure if doing so without purpose is a catch-all catharsis.

‘I wouldn’t presume to advise anyone to write or not to write,’ he cautions, ‘and I don’t really subscribe to the idea that writing is somehow therapeutic unless its direct purpose is exactly and only that. Writing a poem, a novel, a story, etc., is a different kind of thing entirely,’ he adds.

While Dorgan may be best known as a distinguished poet, CAMARADE is his second foray into the world of novel writing, and it’s a place he’s happy to be. ‘It’s actually quite a pleasure to write prose. I’ve written a lot of essays and two non-fiction books as well as two novels now, and I always enjoy the sense of spaciousness prose offers,’ he explains.

‘It’s a different kind of storytelling, for one thing, more leisurely, more explorative — a comparison that occurs to me is that it’s more like cross-country running than a 100-metre sprint,’ he says.

The change of pace seems to appeal to him, in more ways than one. ‘Pacing is everything,’ he explains. ‘Poetry is all about concentration, minding the echoes and ghosts of words, how they chime off each other, how all its history is gathered in every word you use. In prose, very often but not always of course, the larger compass means you can relax a little more about the words and phrases you use, as long as they serve the narrative, as long as they’re clear and decently managed.’

The award-winning writer and poet says he always knew he would be a writer. ‘Almost as soon as I learned to read, I saw what writing could do, how it could take me elsewhere, and I soon discovered that I could do that. It was a long time, especially in poetry, before I discovered how much work was involved, how long the true apprenticeship is.’

Reflecting on his own journey and advice for aspiring writers, he offers some sagely wise advice.  

‘What works for me might not work for anyone else,’ he explains. ‘I write it straight through, put it away for a while, read it when it’s cooled down enough for me to almost forget I’m the one who wrote it— then I take it apart and write it again,’ he adds. ‘But then, that’s useless advice unless that’s what works for you. Some people write a novel with immense difficulty, grinding it out sentence by sentence. Others have an elaborate schema worked out that they
go on to fill and flesh out.

Honestly? The best advice, I think, is start and see what happens.’