Ken Bruen interviewed by Ray Banks

Home	Writers    Noir Zine 	Allan Guthrie	 Links    News

Books And Beatings

Ken Bruen in conversation with Ray Banks

"They say you're good because you've nothing else in your life."
The Guards

"Yo' be messin wit' dee man."
"No, no that's not correct. If I was messing, I'd have pissed on his shoes."
The Hackman Blues

Ken Bruen is a unique author. When I first read The Killing Of The Tinkers, I was blown away by the sheer balls of it. Like exposure to

Hicks

Waits

Bukowski

Thompson

It had the power to slap you sharply between the eyes and demand your attention. At times, it felt like being regaled by a softly-spoken, wryly self-depreciating drunk. But a drunk who could turn nasty at the drop of a hat.

Thank Christ the man Bruen isn't like that.

With sixteen novels, three collections and at least another two novels due out in the near future, he's showing no sign of slowing down. The first Jack Taylor novel The Guards has garnered countless award nominations and seems to have secured his position as a star on the ascendant. With standalones like Rilke On Black, The Hackman Blues and Dispatching Baudelaire, he has proven himself a writer who is at once vicious, uncompromising, lean, darkly humorous and savvy as a stray dog.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ken Bruen, the Robert Johnson of "white hot Irish blues".

Ray Banks: Seeing as you've done so many interviews recently, is there anything you don't want me to ask?

Ken Bruen: No holds barred, ask anything and I'll give it my best shot or as our man Waits said, "Shall I tell you the truth or just string you along?"

RB: Ach, either way's good for me. "But if you think you can tell a bigger
tale, I swear to God it'd have to be a lie." But first things first, how did it feel to be nominated for a Best Novel Edgar (for The Guards)?

KB: All the years of writing in the dark and to be there, it was a blast. That whole trip was one of the best. I got to hang out with Duane (Swiercynzski), Jason Starr, Reed Coleman, Charlie Stella and a new cop on the block James O' Born, endorsed by Dutch Leonard. One of the highlights of being a crime writer was last year. I got to drink bourbon with James Crumley, had an evening with Ed McBain - Brant would kill for that - and met some amazing writers, Tim McLoughlin, the excellent Eddie Muller - Noir specialist - and CJ Box - yer actual cowboy - not to mention Olen Steinhauer and Jonathan King... What a fucking year. Crime writers are the best. They never want to go home, suits me perfectly.

The Edgars was the best fun I had in a long time. I got to wear my one suit, got to meet legendary figures and that's always a blast. Mary Higgins Clark may be a shite writer, but she has the spirit of Bette Davis. Joseph Wambaugh... I love ex-cops anyway and the guy's lasted. The Choir Boys was superb - then and now - and The Onion Field made a superb movie with Jimmy Woods shining.

RB: And then what about when Rankin won it?

KB: I was delighted a Scot won, keep it Celtic. I knew it wasn't my time and Ian Rankin is a great guy. I was in Texas and first I thought, "I can't cut it here, they're too nice." I don't do nice. Then, after the reading, they took me to a bar with Ian Rankin's picture hanging, and I knew I was in biz.

I didn't get the Edgar, but I got a stalker and a groupie... Does that count?

RB: There's nowt the matter with stalking. In my day it was called "being shy".

KB: My wife Phyl comes from huge poverty and says they called anorexia... starvation.

RB: Love it. You had some grizzled crime dogs go all sniffly when you won the Shamus this year for The Guards. How did it feel when you had that sonofabitch in your hand? Did you expect to win?

KB: No, I truly never expected to win, especially with the names on the short list and I'd already lost the Barry and the McCavity, not to mention the Edgar. When they read out my name, I was stunned. Jason Starr said, "Bruen gave the shortest speech on record. When he loses, he never shuts it but when he wins... not a word out of him." That Reed, Jason and Donna were there was heaven - man, what a crew - and it felt mighty to win.

Ireland had just had their only gold medal from the Athens Olympics taken back because the horse failed the dope test - Phyl said to me, "Don't fail the dope test!" - and Toibin had lost the Booker. When I got home to Shannon, my little girl was waiting and she gave me the biggest hug, said, "Dad, you're nearly cool."

RB: That's some high praise. How have the respectable members of the Galway community taken it?

KB: The City Council here gave a motion of congratulations and the Monsignor called the house to say the Bishop was delighted with the vignette of him in The Guards. How surreal is that? Wait till he reads Priest....

RB: To talk about The Guards for a moment, though. It's about the decay of Ireland's economic boom, right?

KB: Yes, The Celtic Tiger was our economic boom but the feckin tiger died. We let the whore starve.

RB: Not the most reader-friendly concept. And yet The Guards has been your most popular novel to date. Why do you think that is?

KB: I think The Guards struck a chord because Jack is such a fuck-up, and yet, he has moments when he lets his heart rule and the revenge/almost vigilante element of the ending is what a lot of people feel but daren't admit.

RB: Fuck-up's certainly the word. What is it with those characters that you find so endearing?

KB: Why do I write fucked up characters? Because I'm so fucked myself and understand them entirely. Which is why I love Bukowski, Waits, Hunter S. Give me your crazies, I feel on safe ground. It's the so-called sane ones who scare the shit outta me, especially if they say they're spiritual - watch out.

RB: Does it bother you that your characters are read as more sympathetic than they actually are?

KB: No, you put them out there, it's up to the readers what they think. I tried once to write like Elmore Leonard and they said Ellroy.

RB: Well, your protagonists seem to be incredibly literate.

KB: I'm fascinated by the literate thug - books and beatings - because I know both intimately.

RB: So why did it take so long for you to write about your native Galway?

KB: I didn't want to write about Ireland until we got mean streets. We sure got 'em now.

RB: So it's the mean streets rather than social commentary. I ask because it seems that some writers prefer to see themselves as social commentators rather than crime novelists.

KB: I'm political in so far as I write about the street and the low life. In reality, I believe there's more reality, integrity in there than all the fat fucks in suits.

RB: And your mean streets aren't the political type associated with Irish crime fiction. They're the kind of mean you get when an economy goes tits up and drugs become involved.

KB: Once the dope takes hold - bye city, bye country.

RB: But something like Dispatching Baudelaire is intensely political, surely.

KB: Yeah, I was still living in UK and raging at the Tories and the whole shite going on. It's nice to have a Thatcher rant on record. And I hate accountants. I wanted to shoot mine, so that was the next best thing.

RB: You have notoriously great taste in music (I'm a huge Waits fan myself, and you know I like a bit of Costello). Do you listen to music as you write? And what's been on the CD player recently?

KB: Music, can't ever get enough. With boy bands polluting the planet and Pop Idol adding to the fiasco, I thank God for Waits. Listening to The Cowboy Junkies today, "Misguided Angel", hell of a song. And I just heard Loretta Lynn - I'm in heaven - and Johnny Cash - "Hurt", the Nine Inch Nails song, awesome. Or "When The Man Comes Around" - I've met that man, the one who collects names, and he's a bollix. I used Patti Smith's Trampin' as a soundtrack to the short story on cocaine for Gary Phillips' collection.

I always listen to music when I write. Never smoke weed or drink as it dulls the rage. Caffeine and dementia do it for me.

RB: Do you have specific songs for certain books? I know it's popular to have a soundtrack for the book.

KB: Yes, I put aside albums for projected books, I'm never in any doubt as what they'll listen to. The albums I'm most influenced by are always The Clash, Johnny Cash, Springsteen, Tom Waits, of course, and Tammy Wynette.

RB: All of which inform American Skin, don't they? I mean the title has a touch of Springsteen's "41 Shots", yer man Dade is pure Johnny Cash psycho (he's named after a prison, for crying out loud), the first time we see him, he's listening to London Calling (as well as running a family off the road). But where does Tammy Wynette fit in with that? And can you tell us a little more about the book?

KB: American Skin is about identity and what happens when you try to literally take on the psyche of another nationality. All our young kids talk like The Simpsons, then the Americans come here and want to be Irish. Talk about fucked…So I have a guy on the run in the States, trying to pass for American - which of course is against current world opinion - and keeps getting it wrong till the one moment he truly needs to be Irish and guess what…?

It has my best psycho. He's an uber Tammy Wynette fan who is hijacking the damn book. The opening chapter is - according to my publishers - too dark, too raw for readers.

RB: It's certainly shocking as hell. But being dark and raw, does this mean we're unlikely to see a Ken Bruen cat mystery any time soon?

KB: No, no, never a fuckin' cat book. Not for a million bucks and Emmylou Harris.

Sorry, Emmylou.

RB: Well, thank fuck for that. We wouldn't want to lose you to the Arran sweater brigade.

KB: Oh God, the Real Ale merchants, don't get me started. The herbal tea wankers, the non-caffeinated fucks. They wipe a hand in front of their noses if there's a cig within 100 miles. And yes, they are spiritual. I know because they keep telling me.

RB: Yours is a signature style. How did it evolve?

KB: I like to strip everything to the bone, see if it stands up by itself. The doorstop books - 500 pages and up - Jesus wept, who has that amount of time to piss away. Ninety percent of what I read is padding and I roar, "Get the fuck on with it!"

Will I ever write a long book? Only if there's a cat in it.

RB: So you're not bothered about this rubbish of "anything less that such-and-such isn't a novel"?

KB: I'm a word counter. My early books were real short and I kept being asked, "When are you going to write a fat one?"

Not "When are you going to write a good one?"

No, quantity equals quality. What a crock. But I find my books are getting longer - I'm droning on in dotage. The fifth Jack Taylor came in near 80,000 words and I was going, "How'd that happen?"

RB: The fifth Jack Taylor? When's that due?

KB: Priest is due in April and is ferocious. Just began the sixth Jack, Cross - blistering dark to darkest opening and a whole family of psychos. Those who prey together, stay together.

RB: The poetry aspect of your novels fascinates me. Especially as there are a number of unattributed poems in some of your earlier novels. Are they yours? And any chance we'll see a volume of poetry by yourself?

KB: Yes, the unnattributed poems are my own, and I've been asked to publish a volume - ain't going to happen. However, when I was 21, living in Athens, I wrote a 30-page prose poem for stage about smack titled Literary Heroin-e. A very famous poet read it and said, "It's either pure genius or pure psychosis." I think it's the latter.

RB: "Very famous poet" doesn't cut it - who was it?

KB: William Burroughs.

RB: Well, he would know. I take it Literary Heroin-e was autobiographical? Something that personal can't be made up, surely.

KB: Yes, when I went to New York at 18, I did smack. And it wasn't until I was 21 that I finally went cold turkey. I was also on speed for a year, and other sundries. All that's left now are cigs and beer, with Jameson for the late close mates nights.

Literary Heroin-e was eerie in that it foretold so much. Yet to come down the pike was the AIDS plague, my own prison time, and the deaths of so many I loved. I was stone mad when I lived there. I go back every year, to Santorini, see that sunset, like Ronda, my first teaching job in Sierra Nevada. No tourists, just smugglers and bandits.

RB: Back to the "pure psychosis". You've said rage fuels your work, breeds creativity and used the example of Billy Connolly, which I have to say, I agree with entirely (Connolly used to be funny when he was a wreck, now he's psycho-analysed every step of the way by his wife, he's been screwed out of his talent).

KB: Man, here's a thing. You got me back to (Elvis) Costello. Like Connolly, he got happy with his marriage to yer wan and the new album sucks (sorry, you probably adore it), and I said, "Fuck him and his contentment. Where's the fuckin' rage, buddy?" Thing is, way back, he wrote one of the best love songs like ever. Hear Linda Ronstadt sing "Alison"...

RB: If you're talking about North, I hated it. Lost a lot of respect for Costello the day I heard that album.

KB: Phew. I thought, "It's probably Ray's favourite album and he'll never forgive me." I burned the fucker. No kiddin'.

RB: Probably the best example of a rage-fuelled novel is The Hackman Blues. It's my favourite of your standalones. A wounded animal roar of a book, but you had real trouble getting it published, didn't you?

KB: My agent dropped me because I went ahead with publication, said it would kill my career. I had a letter from her last year saying she was retiring and I wrote back, "Who's going to notice?"

I have a great agent now. She's a Rottweiler with the publishers and lovely to me, the way you always hope it will be.

RB: Ruth Rendell wanted to ban it, didn't she? Something about Brady having no redeeming qualities?

KB: I wish they had banned it. They called me the pup from south of the river (i.e. Brixton).

RB: I noticed with The Hackman Blues, kidnapping plays a part, just as it does in Rilke In Black.

KB: Kidnapping fascinates me because it's such a despicable crime. Barely above child molesters, it uses fear and intimidation. Fuckers.

RB: And I believe there's a recurring story about a guy who goes to live under a bridge with his ten suits. Then, when the final suit is dirty, he throws himself under a train. Where did that come from? Something as bizarre and poignant as that, it has to be based in truth.

KB: The suits story is true but changed slightly to prevent the identity being known. A man I knew in my Brixton days - a real gentle guy with a bitch of a wife, yer real mouth harpie - he did much like I describe except he went under a bus. The story haunted me, still does.

RB: And there is a sense that you've a strong bond with your characters. I admit, I've got a soft spot for WPC Falls, but who are your favourites so far?

KB: My favourite character is Falls. And Dex in Rilke.

RB: I'd forgotten about Dex. He's one of your recurring character types - the dangerously sociopathic best mate. But with the Brant/Roberts books and in the later Taylor books, you're messing around with the serial killer motif. Are there any killers who've really gotten under your skin?

KB: The best serial killers for me have been Brian Cox in Manhunter and the superb novel Blackburn by Bradley Denton.

Yes, Denton even has a dead dog, so Banks need I say more?

RB: Ach, we're all dog-killers at heart. And Jimmy Blackburn shares some traits with the nutters in Blitz, Calibre and especially American Skin in that he's no whiner. What's your take on serial killers?

KB: I think the best serial killers are like Dade in Skin: a force of nature. I'm not a great believer in nurture causing evil. I think it's nature, that there are some bastards just born evil and they love it.

RB: You've a fine eye for describing characters with actors or personalities we know. I'm thinking primarily of the David Letterman lookalike in Her Last Call To Louis Macneice, Jack Dunphy's obsession with Gene Hackman in The Hackman Blues and Harry Benton's Richard Burton impression in Dispatching Baudelaire. Do you write with these actors in mind? And, with recent talk of movie deals, who do you see in the movie adaptations?

KB: I see the characters in movie terms, not so must with an eye to selling them, but because I love movies so much. And Letterman was in there because I hate the prick.

Brant I always thought would be perfect for Brendan Gleeson. There's a good chance David Soul might do the first Taylor movie. He has that lived-in look, he sure has been through the mill and he seems to get Jack. I'll teach him the accent.

The weirdest thing, the Greeks bought Hackman and can you imagine Brixton in The Plaka? Anyway, they fucked off with the money. Beware of Greeks etc…

RB: You're no stranger to cinema yourself, are you? What if I said Dangerous Curves?

KB: Whoops, caught. Damn that web. Yes, I did five Roger Corman movies. I had always wanted to be an actor and discovered I was the world's worst. It was truly brutal and boring. Jeez, all that hanging around, a dire life.

RB: Not as dire as parts of your own. You ever get sick of being asked about South America? I'm thinking in particular of your recent profile in the Galway Independent that focused not on your work, but on your past.

KB: It's like I died in South America and did nowt since. Message waiting on the big profile and focus on - you guessed it… So I said, "Shite off."

RB: I suppose it's the old confusion of character and author. Block's done nothing to stop that with his Matt Scudder "revelation".

KB: Yeah, when Block quit drinking, and thus Scudder, the books lost their edge.

RB: But there's a memoir (Bronach) in the works, is there not?

KB: The memoir has been bouncing for ages and I'm in no hurry with it.

RB: I'm not up on my Celtic. What does Bronach mean?

KB: It's a soul sadness/sickness. I am covered in the stuff.

RB: How did it come about?

KB: I did five pieces of non-fiction for radio and it went so well, they wanted more. The next thing, it's book size. The book of radio pieces will be in new collected stories from the station. I also wanted to write a memoir that was so different: no long meandering childhood shit, just straight into being a junkie in New York and a busboy in Central Park while getting my M.A. The publisher laughed out loud reading it.

RB: The laugh-or-you'll-cry thing is very Celtic.

KB: It's all the fuckin' rain.

RB: What was the first book of yours you saw in a bookstore (but not at a signing) and how did it feel?

KB: Foyles' in the Charing Cross Road had my second novel in the window. I walked by, like a 100 times, took a snap, no kidding.

RB: When did you feel like you were a real author?

KB: Never did. Still don't, honest.

RB: What do you find the hardest about writing?

KB: Some 20-year-old new editor telling me how to plot.

Nick Tosches says it best: "Fuck off."

RB: And what do you find hardest about being an author?

KB: Self doubt.

RB: What's the worst fiction you can envisage? And what's the worst book you ever read?

KB: Chick lit, noir light (an increasingly popular trend). The worst book would be in the 100s but off the top of my head - anything by Ben Elton.

RB: Ah, that puffed up little prick. Anyone who writes musicals based on Queen songs is deeply fucking suspect in my opinion. But I'm stumped. What's noir light?

KB: Noir light is all these books masquerading as noir. Happy endings, loaded with sentimentality and bad fuckin' writing.

RB: So what would be your definition of noir?

KB: Bleak, black, no compromise, no let up and dark as the blues. The ending of The Dramatist was my best definition.

RB: You're known for your series work. Is it something you always wanted to do?

KB: Series writing, I fell into really, Brant and Co wouldn't go away and I enjoyed it so much, I hung in there with them. Jack Taylor is sorta different. I wanted to trace the dark side of the Celtic Tiger and get up the literary mafia's noses.

RB: Ah, how is the literary mafia these days?

KB: Alas, they are inviting me to all sorts of festivals and stuff but they still hope I'll do the right thing and write a piece of shit recalling Joyce and crap.

RB: Talking of festivals, you share my antipathy towards certain events.

KB: A friend wrote to me saying she'd asked why - if I was nominated for four awards in the States - I didn't even get on a panel. And she was told - and I quote -

"Bruen doesn't count."

Just finished the Crime Spree interview for Jason Starr and took a direct hit at Horrorgate. Fuck 'em. What are they gonna do? Not invite me with intent?

RB: How do you feel about British crime fiction?

KB: I abandoned British crime years ago except for Bill James, who I love. His 1988 novel Protection just won the European Crime Novel of 2004 in France. His Illes and Harpur series is magnificent. Then along comes Deadfolk and you get excited - the Mo Hayders and the like are piss in the wind.

I laughed out loud at the first scene in the pub when he nutted his mate - class. And the kebabs after. It's so fuckin' real and a-snarlin'. Waits in the Midlands.

RB: Do you see the series novels going on and on?

KB: John Williams reckons five is the limit of any series. I believe that as soon as it gets stale or the characters get preachy, feel-good… kill the fuckers.

RB: What would be your advice to new writers?

KB: Never thought I'd quote Paul Theroux but his advice to writers is: Leave home. I'm with him there - you gotta move. The best advice to new writers is write every day and read like a bastard. Imitate freely.

RB: You've already mentioned that the "ten-suit" story is based on someone. How do you pick up characters? Is it faces you see, traits you notice in others? Or are they extensions of your own personality? Or a mixture?

KB: A mix. I'm cursed or blessed in that there's a neon sign over my head going: "Weirdos and psychos gather here" and they do.

RB: What was the worst review you ever had?

KB: Crimetime, a few years back. It was on a personal level and the very worst. Unsigned, the cowardly fuck. I just heard from Charlie Williams that one review called Deadfolk "sub Irvine Welsh", the stupid dumb motherfuckers. Fuck on a bike, he is going to be massive.

RB: Couldn't agree more. But for the most part your reviews have been solid, haven't they? And do you pay much attention to them? The self-doubt must be an issue.

KB: Have to say, I've gotten some great reviews and that's been fuckin A. I love that. Who wouldn't? A writer who says he never reads his reviews - Hello? Yeah, right, sure, I believe you. I'm not going to get pious and say, "Gee, I've learnt so much from criticism". Some people are just not going to get you and you say fuck it, move on, be delighted for the ones who do.

Like authors who tell me, they don't care if nobody reads them. So what the hell are they writing for, posterity? Fuck, man, I want it now.

RB: You've toured quite a bit recently. How do you reconcile the work with your home life? Do you bring Phyl and Grace along with you if you're going to be away for long?

KB: We spent last November and December in Arizona. Loved it but truth be told, they prefer to stay in Ireland. Book tours bore the shit outta them. I love them, the chance to be out late. Hang with crime writers like Duane, Jason, and Charlie Stella. Unwind big time and be away from the usual. It's terrific, but then I'm glad to get home, surrounded by books, and write.

RB: You're a big fan of the States. Do you see yourself moving over there for a while? And where feels like home?

KB: New York. I feel at ease there. And Vegas. I love Vegas. Phyl and I got married there. I'm a serious poker player. My old man taught me the hard way. It meant I'd always be able to survive, at least cash-wise.

And Greece.

RB: I heard you only gave up your day job a couple of years ago. What prompted that? And, no matter how much money you might make writing, isn't it a bit frightening to take that step?

KB: My wife said, "You don't have to teach anymore."

She does the books and it was heady day. The day had arrived you'd only dream about and you go, "Oh shit…" Now it's like serious but I got over it and think it's just amazing.

RB: What are you trying to say with your books?

KB: That even though we're fucked and we are, there's moments of humour and that in the darkness, you may find a separate peace.

RB: Easy, Ken. That was almost spiritual.

KB: Whoops, can't be having any of that spiritual gig… Ruins a decent pint.

RB: Why do you write?

KB: To avoid suicide. Writing is the best therapy. It saved what sanity I can claim and is my .45… literally.

RB: And why crime fiction?

KB: It's the only honest form, and the bullshit factor is very low, plus, only crime novels are grappling with the taboo areas realistically.

Crime fiction rocks.

RB: Where do you see yourself in five years' time?

KB: Living in New York, trying to get blurbs from the PointBlankers.

RB: I really don't think you'll have any problems there. What would you like to see happen to the publishing industry?

KB: See the big firms have to bow to the Independents, see PointBlank be La Serie Noire.

RB: Let's get personal. You ever break a guy's nose?

KB: No, I never broke a nose but I did break a guy's arm. Wanna know why?

RB: Go on, then - spill it, Bruen.

KB: Okay. In Brixton, I was with a lady and a guy snatched her bag and I caught up with him… There's only one sure way to break an arm and that's fast and over your knee.

She never spoke to me since.

RB: Would you say you won more fights than you've lost?

KB: I've lost all but one fight.

RB: I take it the winning fight was the arm-breaking one.

KB: Sort of. I believe in dirty fighting.

RB: What do you imagine happens to someone after the body dies?

KB: After death, we check into Duane's Brain Hotel. Jeez, at least I hope so.

RB: What was your favourite expression growing up?

KB: Favourite expression growing up was: "large chips with lashings of vinegar." Still is.

RB: You mentioned Gary Phillips before. He's supposedly a hell of a poker player. How did you come to meet him?

KB: Two years ago at Crime Scene in London. Richard Widmark was the guest of honour; they had to plug him in.

Gary and I did some brews and decided to re-write Mannix. He's one of the funniest guys I ever met. He'd wrap me in one hand. Told me that for a slightly built guy, I was one of the meanest mothers he ever met. I took it as a compliment, though.

RB: I know some readers are surprised that you're not built like a brick shithouse.

KB: People are always disappointed when they meet me. They expect a thug/biker… Tattoos... Ferocity… I give 'em the ferocity later when they know me better and like me anyway.

RB: A couple of quickies. Your favorite book?

KB: The Friends Of Eddie Coyle by George V. Higgins, because it's perfect.

RB: And of your own work?

KB: American Skin and The Time Of Serena May.

RB: And what's in the pipeline? What can we expect to see from you in the future?

KB: My agent is bringing Skin and Calibre to Frankfurt, and a projected new series about a black Irish kid in London.

A whole slew of short stories: one with the maestro, Mr. Banks; one in November in Ellery Queen; the Gary Philips collection in spring; one from a Texas bookstore in December; and three new ones due to be placed.

RB: And finally, how would you like to be remembered?

KB: For making crime writing cool.

RAY BANKS has been a double-glazing salesman, croupier, student and varying degrees of disgruntled office monkey. All of which, mixed with a heady cocktail of booze and hatred, brought The Big Blind to the page. He is also the creator of Manchester PI Callum Innes, who has appeared in Handheld Crime, Hardluck Stories, Plots With Guns and Thrilling Detective. At the moment, Ray is wrestling with the final draft of the first Innes book, Dead Man's Hand and eagerly awaiting the imminent publication of The Big Blind by PointBlank Press. And sometimes, just sometimes, he's been known to write third-person past tense.
Contact Ray