“The Dead City marks the ninth episode in your popular series focused on Stefan Gillespie. Could you share more details about the story and its protagonist? Set in 1944, the story unfolds at a time when the Nazi regime was crumbling. Stefan Gillespie, a detective from Garda, finds himself in Berlin with a mission for the Irish ambassador who is managing to stay amidst the ensuing chaos. While Stefan prides himself on his righteousness, he reflects on whether or not it is meaningful to rescue a single Irish man caught up in Germany amidst such widespread devastation.
Your narrative takes your readers back to Berlin in 1944, four years subsequent to the time depicted in The City of Lies (2017). Share with us your personal reminiscences of the city. I became acquainted with Berlin in the 1980s when the Cold War was at its peak. Soviet soldiers navigated through West Berlin while the British and American MPs controlled the East. Trains from the Western U-Bahn crisscrossed under the Eastern part through deserted stations that had ceased operations since the 1950s. The wall was inescapable, no matter where you went in the city. When I took my children for a tour of Berlin recently, I found it challenging to convey the singular intensity of the dual-faceted city. I was present when the wall was dismantled in 1989, an event that seemed like a final curtain call for the second World War.
The Stefan Gillespie series has also cast the spotlight on other cities such as Danzig, New York, Lisbon, London, Rome, and Dublin. Which has been the most enjoyable city for you to portray? New York as it stood in the 1930s was uniquely riveting; unlike any other city in the world.
You have your roots in England, but you proudly belong to an Irish lineage. Have any stories from Irish history, shared by your family members, fueled your interest in the subject? In looking retrospectively, I see that The City of Strangers carries a significant imprint of my grandmother’s influence. Born in Inishowen in 1898, she was an entrancing storyteller, recounting tales about IRA gunmen and the London Blitz, supplementing reality with her imaginative spins. One of her anecdotes involved a priest who managed to ferry the Host to a dying man, evading machine-gun fire without a scratch. Her stories, whether authentic or fictitious, furnished an intrinsic quality to my writing, even serving as a potential inspiration.
Through your novels, we’ve been introduced to a quaint former farmhouse, nestled at the brink of Wicklow Mountains, that Stefan calls his family abode. Can you give a descriptive snapshot of this residence and its significance?”
Looking at the structure from an overhead view, the residence retains its alignment with the terrain it inhabits, resembling traces seen in the Ordnance Survey map from the 1840s. Clad by the same stone, it contrasts with the farm that occupied the same spot two and a half decades prior. From its vantage point, it gazes upon the neighbouring hill forts in Kilranelagh and Baltinglass. The age old Kilranelagh Graveyard, perhaps Ireland’s most ancient active burial ground in use today, whispers in the unpopulated quietude nearby. The region exudes a subdued yet substantial beauty, where echoes of the past emanate from the earth itself. As we also align ourselves with the currents of the present, a measured gaze prevents us from losing ourselves completely. I hope my storytelling reflects a bit of this sentiment.
The televised brutality enacted on women during the Yorkshire Ripper’s wave of terror did not sit well with me.
I have worked on a gamut of television projects, including Emmerdale, Eastenders, All Creatures Great and Small, The Bill, Heartbeat, Between the Lines, Midsomer Murders and A Touch of Frost. I take immense pride in my work, but the question as to whether my work for television has informed my novels remains. A Touch of Frost’s episode featuring two teenagers with Down syndrome is of notable importance, and I campaigned for Timmy Lang, a young man with the condition, to be cast instead of an actor mimicking it. Timmy’s portrayal was exceptional. Crime TV doesn’t considerably contribute to my novels, though All Creatures Great and Small inspired me to appreciate that even minuscule elements can construct a story.
While living in Leeds during the unsettling period of the Yorkshire Ripper’s reign of terror, my thoughts veered towards the realm of crime writing. The graphic viciousness, especially against women, presented on television unsettled me. I chose to relinquish the opportunity of a Ripper-inspired commission due to differing perspectives; I wanted an exposition of the flawed investigation by police, while the producer wanted a repetitive depiction of the ‘hammer falling’.
At the tender age of seven, I came down with polio. My months of solitude in an isolation ward offered me primarily two pastimes – reading and writing. I can’t recount exactly what I read, aside from the popular British comics Dandy and Beano.
Finally, I had written a radio play revolving around a religious scholar tied to the Nazis which the head of the BBC Script Unit regarded as the most affronting piece he had ever come across. Why, you may ask?
The original text illustrates a critique of a Nazi project focused on euthanising the disabled. It highlighted the defiance of nuns, aiming to safeguard children, and proposed a theological discourse on the Church’s role in intervention. The Catholic Information Office dismissed it as false, strangely critical of the author’s research, failing to recognise the narrative underscores selfless acts by the nuns.
This British individual relocated to Ireland when their first wife, Joy, took a job as a producer on Ballykissangel. After her passing, they unexpectedly didn’t return to England, instead making Wicklow their new home. This wasn’t influenced by a belief in destiny, but an insightful incident; while studying Old Irish at Oxford and reading Fingál Rónáin, their tutor had detailed the physical environment of the story’s setting. Decades later, these descriptions would re-emerge upon encountering these locations that serve as national monuments.
Currently, they are focused on developing the next Stefan Gillespie project. Recollections of trips in Dorset during their childhood reflect thoughts on literary pilgrimages, particularly around Hardy’s Wessex. Another significant visit was to Boscastle, the location where Hardy encountered his first spouse and, after her passing, his set of poems mourning lost love.
When it comes to writing, they recognise Stephen King’s tip that without allocating time to read, one can’t write. Their most admired individual is Socrates whereas a trip to Kalahari’s Tsodilo Hills to view the rock paintings left a vivid impression. During that visit, they witnessed a San storyteller under the flickering light of a fire. It was in these shared moments over beer and stories, that a bond formed, with the storyteller gifting them his hunting bow, earmarked for story-hunting.
The 1538 William Tyndale Newe Testament, quite worn yet deeply adored, was the inaugural translation from Greek to English. Tyndale was primarily responsible for the development of English prose. As a striking fact, 80% of the King James Bible originates from his translations. Unfortunately, for being charged with heresy, he met his demise through strangulation and being burned at the stake. It remains my most cherished book, particularly for its eloquent linguistic style.
Which authors, alive or deceased, do I dream of hosting for a dinner party? The list includes Catullus, Chaucer, John Donne, Ezra Pound, and Samuel Beckett.
What aspect of my living location brings me joy or displeasure? The most delightful feature has to be the view, while the most vexing factor is undoubtedly the weather.
A quote I hold dear is Cicero’s words: If one possesses a garden and a collection of books, there is nothing else that he needs.
Who is my top pick in the realm of fictitious characters? Huckleberry Finn.
Which book induces hearty laughter? Undoubtedly, it is Richmal Crompton’s narrative series about William. As a kid, these stories cracked me up, and I experienced the same unbridled joy when my offspring unearthed them.
A literary piece that could stir a teary reaction? Josef Bór’s Terezin Requiem is a harrowing account of a rendition of Verdi’s Requiem taking place within Prague’s Theresienstadt/Terezin concentration camp. It bore witness to the loss of 33,000 lives and was used as an entry point for 88,000 others who were handed over to extermination camps. Despite the grim odds, it offered “better” conditions compared to the rest of the camps. To dupe the Red Cross, the Nazis went to the extent of making it appear akin to a “community” that Hitler had “provided” to the Jews. The camp, hosting musicians of tremendous talent, saw the creation of ample music. The camp’s rendition of the Requiem garnered applause from the SS for the conductor, Raphael Schächter. He requested to maintain his choir, and tragically, days later they stepped into the gas chamber at Auschwitz. Together.
The Dead City by Michael Russell has been made available by Constable.