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Irish Independent
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Eamon Carr: ‘Sinéad O'Connor took a handful of crisps and crunched them very loudly into the mic'
The journalist talks about his new book looking back on the cultural titans he interviewed, including a sad Rudolf Nureyev and the 'weird homoerotic charge' when they met Eamon Carr has lived the equivalent of 10 lifetimes, and he's got a multitude of stories for every one of them. That means that there's no such thing as a 'brief' catch-up with the Kells native, who is perhaps best-known as the founding member and drummer of Celtic rock icons Horslips. However, he is also known as a poet, having founded experimental spoken word beat group Tara Telephone in the 1960s; a playwright; an art historian; a sportswriter; a copywriter in an ad agency (where he first crossed paths with some of his future Horslips bandmates) and as an entertainment journalist. It is the latter profession that's the reason for our meeting today. Carr's new book Pure Gold charts both his journey from reluctant interviewer to seasoned journalist over 35 years, as well as the 'memorable conversations with extraordinary people' that are collected in the tome. It is a hugely entertaining read, packed with not only those aforementioned memorable conversations, but also with Carr's memories of them woven around each tale.
Irish Times
27-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
‘It's a very hard time to be young': author John Patrick McHugh on male adolescence
'It's a mad way of being, adolescence,' says Galway writer John Patrick McHugh. 'Sometimes I think I'd love to do it again and then I think of the stress of being a 14-year-old and how bad you can feel and I'm glad it's over.' McHugh has hit zeitgeist gold with his debut novel, Fun and Games. 'It's a really tough time,' says McHugh, now 33, of male adolescence, the subject of his novel. 'I can't imagine what it's like to do it now with internet and phones because curating your life for an outsider's perspective is an awful way to live.' We're in a coffee shop in Galway's west end, a suitably hip location for such a vaunted young writer as McHugh (The Observer anointed him one of their Best Debut Novelists of 2025). Fun and Games is freighted with the most treacherous of teenage landmines – sex-related public humiliation, loss of face, sporting competition and enough insecurity to sink a ship. The book begins with its protagonist, also called John, who has recently earned the nickname Tits thanks to a naked selfie of his mother that has been circulating the small island where he lives. It's the perfect entry point into the crucible of male adolescence. READ MORE McHugh wanted to be brutally honest about adolescence. 'I read coming-of-age novels and thought, That's not what I went through. I didn't drink red wine, you know, I drank Buckfast,' he says, laughing. 'I was interested in exploring that and I hadn't seen it for my generation. I wanted to get into it. I wanted to show masculinity, and youth, as raw as I could.' I didn't want [my characters] to be these macho silent boys. They do love each other — McHugh on Fun and Games McHugh has written about the subject of male adolescence before, both in personal essays and in his 2021 collection of short stories, Pure Gold . In fact, two of the characters, along with the island setting, already appeared in a short story in Pure Gold, although McHugh says they are different characters in the novel. He says he wanted to be honest about the kind of insecurities young men and boys struggle with. One striking aspect of the book is its exploration of negative male body image, something McHugh himself experienced as a teenager. 'I was always a big guy. I was overweight when I was eight, nine, 10 ... and that complex has always stayed with me. I'm sure weight issues were way more common than I thought. I'm sure I'm not the only one who never wanted to take off their shirt, but it was never talked about ... I remember being very frightened about being overweight, very worried about it. It affected me. It was tough. I played sports and I still had that fear of taking off your shirt, showing your body. I think it's natural and it's hard.' He sees teenagers now in the gym, and is conflicted about the focus on sculpting bodies. 'A part of me is like, fair play, but another part of me is like, you're 15 or 16, have fun, don't worry about this. It's a very hard time to be young, and I know this is a trite example, but Instagram is so fake. The things you see there are lies, and yet you see them as if they're truth, and your idea of what's good is messed up by these mirages.' [ John Patrick McHugh: Maeve Binchy, Lenin and me Opens in new window ] He wrote about his own teenage issues around body image for the Stinging Fly, in which he described going so far as to make himself sick after eating. 'Thankfully it wasn't destructive. It wasn't an everyday thing.' While the book is full of humour – much of it linked to the all-consuming goal of divesting oneself of one's virginity – it also offers a heart-rending insight into the fragility and insecurities of young Irish men. While sex is at the fore of the book, male friendship and love are at its heart. His description of how young men express their love for each other in the absence of the ability to express that love verbally is very skilfully done. Does he think not being able to talk about things is a problem among young men? 'I didn't want [my characters] to be these macho silent boys. They do love each other and have affection for each other and they'd go to war for each other and yet they are also incredibly cruel to each other and to other people, and yet they're also self-conscious. Male friendship is very interesting to me because it's so dramatic. Boys don't talk to each other for months and then one small apology and they're back being best friends. Those hysterics of masculinity are so interesting to me – the love at the heart of it. Boys get really intimate and touchy-feely with each other when they're drunk, or even just having a good time, or in sports, that comes into it too. I did talk to my friends about heartache and stuff like that. They were stilted conversations but they were still conversations, and there was an arm around the shoulder.' As much as the book is about the male experience, it also has some intriguing female characters, including Amber, John's sort-of girlfriend, and his mother, Yvonne, of the selfie infamy. In her determined and unashamed pursuit of her own passions (among them a brilliantly specific passion for painting pictures of elves and gnomes) she acts as a foil to the boys' extreme anxieties about expressing their individuality. 'I wanted to get as close to the bone of what peer pressure and social order can do to a boy, how wobbly it can make him in terms of how he views women as a result of that.' In the book John worries a lot about what people think of him, to the extent that he is willing to sabotage his own happiness for peer approval. 'John is riddled with social fear, and what people think about him – what do people think of his mother, what does the manager think of him in GAA, what does Amber think, what do his friends think. One of the hardest things about being a teenager is being able to say I am who I am, which is a really powerful and brave thing to do, and sometimes it doesn't happen for people until their twenties, thirties or forties.' I loved the Beano and Captain Underpants. I wasn't reading Tolstoy when I was 12 He says his character is an insecure, frustrated guy. 'I'd like to think at heart he's a good guy but he is someone who lashes out and does things that hurt people because he fears the boys. That hierarchy of who's number one is so pronounced in secondary school and you don't want to be near the bottom.' Much of this ranking is sorted out through sporting prowess. When John and his friends aren't vying for dominance in the sexual arena, they are competing for a spot on the senior Gaelic football team (McHugh himself played the sport), and almost as much of the book's disappointment, passion and heartache takes place on the pitch as it does in teenage bedrooms. McHugh grew up in Cork, moving around a lot because of his father's work in the bank, before the family returned to Galway and settled there when he was 12. Unusually for a writer, he didn't harbour childhood dreams of literary greatness. 'I loved the Beano and Captain Underpants,' he says, laughing. 'I wasn't reading Tolstoy when I was 12. I was reading the things you're meant to read. Being a writer was never in my sphere. I never thought that was a path for me even though I loved English and writing essays.' When it came to choosing a degree, he opted for a then-new course in NUI Galway, BA Connect with Creative Writing. On his first day of class he felt out of his depth. When asked what his favourite novel was, he said The Witches by Roald Dahl. 'Shocking,' he says with a laugh, before adding, 'It is a great book.' He learned discipline from the mentorship of writers such as Mike McCormack and he has also taken an applied MA in creative writing at the University of East Anglia and an MFA in creative writing at UCD. [ Sally Rooney and John Patrick McHugh at Cúirt festival Opens in new window ] He hasn't started work on his next novel yet but says there will be one, and when it is ready he has a crack team of some of the best writers in Ireland to critique it. When McHugh was an aspiring writer in his twenties, Thomas Morris, then editor of the Stinging Fly, put him in touch with a few other young writers who were also trying to write in a serious way. That group included Sally Rooney, Nicole Flattery and Michael Magee, among others. 'Sally's a wonderful person so we just became really good friends,' he says. 'The same with Mickey and Nicole. I think Tom put us together because he knew we were serious. I didn't get published again for another three or four years. I'm thinking now: How did I get the confidence? I think it helped to have that group with whom I could exchange work. I look back at that time and think wow, fair play, we stuck at it, we did it, you know. Sally is still the person I share work with, and her success is unbelievable. Irish writing in general inspires me. I think we're so good.' Fun and Games is published by 4th Estate
Daily Mail
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
'In 20 years of reviewing, I'm not sure I've read a funnier book, or one I've enjoyed more': The best Literary Fiction out now - FUN AND GAMES by John Patrick McHugh, VANISHING WORLD by Sayaka Murata, OPEN, HEAVEN by Sean Hewitt
FUN AND GAMES by John Patrick McHugh (4th Estate £14.99, 400pp) I HAD a blast with this super-smart novel about a 17-year-old Gaelic footballer, John, navigating parental break-up after his mother is caught messaging a lover with a picture of her breasts. McHugh filters the story through the hormone-addled mind of his school-leaver protagonist, first seen as a younger boy in the story collection Pure Gold, also set on a remote island west of Ireland. Time and again, John scuppers his own burgeoning love life because of how often he lets his actions be dictated by neurotic fretting over what his pals think, rather than what he actually wants himself. As a mechanism for gripping tragicomedy, that's pretty much unbeatable, and in 20 years of reviewing, I'm not sure I've read a funnier book, or one I've enjoyed more. VANISHING WORLD by Sayaka Murata (Granta £16.99, 240pp) Japanese fiction leads a boom in translated novels and Murata is its queen, striking a chord around the world with her weird tales of urban alienation under patriarchy and capitalism (see Convenience Store Woman). It probably doesn't hurt that her books are short and easy to read as well as fit to burst with eye-popping twists and conceits. The latest is no exception, set in a parallel Japan where marital sex is taboo and it's a mark of shame for the heroine to learn that she was conceived not via IVF but through 'primitive copulation'. We follow her into middle age as she learns to manage her own outlawed lust in a society favouring 'clean love' with cartoon characters (really). A typically wild ride, even if you sense satire standing in for the pleasures of a good story. OPEN, HEAVEN by Sean Hewitt (Jonathan Cape £18.99, 240pp) Hewitt, an acclaimed poet, makes his fiction debut with this hushed slow-burner about a gay man drawn back in time to a devastating teenage crush now that his marriage is on the rocks. Returning to the village where he grew up, the narrator recalls a summer during his shy adolescence in the early 2000s, when he lusted after Luke, a more streetwise teen who turned up at a local farm in flight from his chaotic upbringing. A novel built on watching, lingering, hoping, it's rich and intense as well as ever so slightly solemn, with lush descriptions of the rural setting relied on for mood music. As a tale of thwarted yearning, it feels curiously out of time, as if it might have been written at any point over the past half-century, which perhaps tells its own story.
The Guardian
16-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Fun and Games by John Patrick McHugh review
I wouldn't wish the pains of being a 17-year-old boy on my worst enemy. The awkward longing, the spots, the insecurity: it's enough to cringe yourself into oblivion. For John Patrick McHugh, however, it is a rich seam to squeeze – not only for humour, but for a nuanced examination of burgeoning masculinity. John Masterson, the main character of McHugh's debut novel, is in the limboland of a post-exams summer, playing football and hooking up with a slightly older colleague at the hotel where he has a part-time job. In this way, Fun and Games stalks the same emotional and geographical territory as McHugh's 2021 short-story collection, Pure Gold, also set on an island off the Irish mainland in County Mayo, and also knee-deep in the turmoil of young lads, painted with tenderness and menace in equal measure. Here, though, we are pinned specifically in time, in the summer of 2009. It's an age of pre-smartphone texts, with low-res images pinging from pocket to pocket. One image in particular has caused John no small share of distress. Prior to the events of the novel, his mother's breasts 'floated around the Island' – a wonderfully lyrical image to describe a sext gone wrong. John's dad has moved out as a result, and John has acquired the nickname 'Tits' from his male friends. I say friends, but the borders between amity and enmity are at the heart of the novel, particularly in the relationship between John and his supposed best friend, Studzy. Studzy, John and a couple of other boys in his year have been accepted on to the island's senior Gaelic football team. They find themselves among adult men, and their jostling to place themselves within the group as they move towards the championship forms one of two main threads to Fun and Games. The other is John's relationship with his 19-year-old colleague, Amber. The pair have already begun a tentative sexual relationship, although the prospect of full intercourse is what motivates John to keep it going through the summer. 'Sex was a league table,' the narrator tells us, and achieving victory is a toxic little engine that powers John's motivations in a way that's all the more shocking for being understated. John's shifting feelings for Amber, and how they play into wider power dynamics in his life, form the emotional and dramatic core of the book. There are some deliciously agonising scenes of laboured texting and tension at the hotel as the lovers navigate the uncertainties of their relationship. But it's the male relationships that are most vivid: the complex bullying and reliance on each other, nuanced and knotty. John's mixed feelings for Studzy, who is more athletic, more outgoing, but less academic and, it is implied, poorer, raise questions of class. How does dominance in one kind of game stack up against the opportunities provided by wealth in the broader social arena? John feels protective of Studzy at the same time as being pushed around by him, a capricious balance of masculine forces that changes as their wider group teeter on a world beyond Leaving Cert results. When these elements come together, the novel excels. A particularly tense scene between John, Amber and a manipulative Studzy is a standout. It's a shame, then, that the final third somewhat loses its nerve in challenging that central triangle, in favour of letting other narrative threads play out more or less as expected. Amber also at times comes across more as a vehicle for testing John's desires and prejudices than as a rounded character in her own right. But McHugh layers John's mind with care. For example, during a practice match in the July sun, we're told that 'the ball was rimmed violently, then blurred to a mauve colour, then hoary, and then it was that familiar white once more'. Later we learn of John's interest in art history, his feeling for colour and light; a meeting of perspective and character that McHugh handles deftly. John's way of seeing the world is shown to be sensitive, impressionable to others, challenged as our teenage protagonist faces the consequences of his actions. 'Until someone gets hurt' may be the implied response to the novel's title, and indeed there are pains aplenty in the agonies of John's late adolescence. But in McHugh's hands there is also warmth and sensitivity, and a skilful humour that sends up the rituals of a schoolboy's final summer while shining light on the cruelty and vulnerability of young men. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion Fun and Games by John Patrick McHugh is published by 4th Estate (£16.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.
Telegraph
13-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
You must read this novel about the messiness of young men
Fun and Games, the debut novel from John Patrick McHugh, charts a single summer on an island in Co Mayo, as lived by a 17-year-old called John. He's waiting for his final school results, and working shifts in the restaurant of the local hotel. The opening pages place us in the middle of a thrilling encounter between him and his older co-worker Amber – 'probably a mosher in school' – in the woods. His finger is deep inside her, which seems a good symbol for the exploration we're about to make of his fragile interior life. Welcome to the psyche of a teenage boy in all its humorous and hormonal glory. Fun and Games follows McHugh's short-story collection, Pure Gold (2021), also set on an island on the Irish west coast. Though the literary form is longer, McHugh's lens is more focused: across John's long and usually overcast Irish summer, McHugh's motifs of power and sexuality acquire greater coherence and depth. Not that they feel coherent to John. Along with the business with Amber, he has to juggle the prospect of college in Galway, ambitions for glory on the local Gaelic football pitch, and the ghastly aftermath of an intimate photo his mother has accidentally leaked (earning John the nickname 'T-ts'). Although the action unfolds in Mayo, it's not the vast Atlantic seascapes that serve up the opera. Great moments of disclosure occur instead in the mundane contexts of adolescence, inching through the weekly shop in Sweeney's alongside his ostracised 'Mammy', or reaching for Amber's hand in the multiplex cinema in front of the latest Harry Potter film. McHugh has said he set Fun and Games in 2009 because there was no major football tournament to bring John and his buddies out of their personal psychodramas and into communion with the wider world. Instead, they prefix their sentences with 'no malice', then launch into some cloaked attack on either each other or the girls nearby. It's like a zoological lens being trained onto the world of competitive boyhood jostling. But it does extend further, into the open antipathy one feels at the point you have outgrown your parents. Standing up to his father, who doesn't want his son to accept a lift from Amber, John feels no guilt. His parents' splintering marriage seems an embarrassing sexual failure when his own career is just beginning. The 'almighty' question, John concludes cynically, is this: 'What do you truly owe your parents. Money, okay. Fair: pukes of money.' McHugh's linguistic rendering of John's interior world rings clear and true. Along with the masterfully choreographed football games and house-party scenes, I tore through these psychological pages under the spell of a writer at the top of his technical game. The emotional punches land with force, as well: John's tearful conversations in the car with his dad, or with his mates in the smoking area; his confused rejection of Amber in the woods. Funny novels can often become frustrating when their humour inhibits the potential for poignancy. But Fun and Games avoids that trap, and catches its saddest moments by the throat. A scene where John's father delays entering his caravan, in order to wave off his estranged wife and son – 'shirt collar askew and flattened under the weight of his blazer, grimacing against the light' – was so tender and painfully rendered that I paused and briefly closed the book. McHugh's writing has the full range: it can be funny, and deeply sad, and at times horribly apt. There should be a word, I think, for that summer between receiving your exam results and leaving for college or university. (A word such as 'Twixmas', but less awful.) So often, we use the phrase 'coming-of-age', though to a large extent that neglects the dizzy, grasping euphoria of that phase – so well conjured by McHugh – in which you're completely 'over' your environment and the people who raised you, yet you're nowhere near becoming an adult yourself. Fun and Games is all 'coming', but it doesn't fake the point of arrival. By the end of the summer, much of John's future remains unwritten; his football is booted high, and still up in the air.
