Have you heard of Flann O’Brien?
Until recently, neither had I. Browsing the bookshelves in Foyles’, my eye was caught by an improbable title: At Swim-Two-Birds. I opened it and read a line.
“A good book may have three openings — ” Then another “ — or for that matter one hundred times as many endings.”
I didn’t understand. The book had been published in 1939. And yet here in my hands was this post-modern novel mixing narrative and meta-narrative, tossing up characters recycled from Irish folklore and popular literature, slathered in an unhealthy dose of existential ennui, drowning in pints of stout in various pubs around Dublin.
The surprises begin from the first page where, as foretold, the narrator gives us three possible openings.
One
“The Pooka MacPhellimey, a member of the devil class, sat in his hut in the middle of a firwood meditating on the nature of numerals and segregating in his mind the odd ones from the even …”
Two
“There was nothing unusual in the appearance of Mr John McFurriskey but actually he had one distinction that is rarely encountered — he was born at the age of twenty-five and entered the world with memory but without a personal experience to account for it …”
Three
“Finn Mac Cool was a legendary hero of old Ireland. Though not mentally robust, he was a man of superb physique and development. Each of his thighs was as thick as a horse’s belly, narrowing to a calf as thick as the belly of a foal …”
And so we continue, as the separate narratives entwine, learning of the art of giving birth through purely aesthetic means, and about the dangers of being able to control your characters only when awake, and what unhappy characters might do to their originators.
At Swim was accepted by Longman’s in London, where the report by their reader, Graham Greene stated “We have had books inside books before but [this] takes Pirandello and Gide a long way further. The screw is turned until you have (a) a book about a man called Trellis who is (b) writing a book about certain characters who are (c) turning the tables on Trellis by writing a book about him.’’
As I read, I was reminded of Raymond Queneau’s Flight of Icarus where we have characters running away from the pages of the unfinished novels they are supposed to inhabit. Queneau’s book was published in 1968 and I am not sure he had access to O’Brien’s work — certainly not in French, as it wasn’t translated until 2002, yet the synergies are clear. Perhaps it is no coincidence O’Brien’s fans are referred to as “Flanneurs”, like the French flâneur — describing an ironic gentleman with a wandering curiosity, detached from his surroundings.
To the great chagrin of the author, At Swim did not sell. And the warehouse which housed its print-run was bombed during the Blitz. Even so, it became a legend in the Irish literary world, embarking on a trajectory that later saw it achieve cult status in some quarters, translations in several languages, a number of theatre adaptations and one on film (1997, in German).
Who exactly was Flann O’Brien?
From day-to-day, the author known as Flann O’Brien was living life as Mr. Brian O’Nolan, civil servant in the Irish Government.
When not dealing with the dry affairs of state, he was making a different name for himself as an Irish wit, racounteur and whiskey afficionado.
In addition to his work beloved by Flanneurs, O’Nolan wrote under the pen-names An Broc, Gopaleen and several other aliases. As Myles na gCopaleen, he became one of the most read Irish journalists, his column Cruiskeen Lawn appearing in the Irish Times from 1940 to 1966. The results are at times rambling, at times serious, at times anarchic — but, above all, imbued with a wry sense of humour which is apparent across his work.
Profoundly influenced by James Joyce, O’Nolan-Brien was instrumental in organising the first Bloomsday in 1954, celebrating the seminal Irish novel Ulysses. The event was captured on film, where O’Nolan’s appreciation for whiskey and other beverages came to the fore, and the man can be seen sauntering drunkenly around Dublin in a pilgrimage that would become a literary tradition for decades to come.
It is a sad truth that, despite his literary legacy, O’Brien’s novels failed to hit their mark in his lifetime. Like a true flâneur, the author allowed himself to become lost in the crowd.
In 1940, Flann completed his second novel The Third Policeman. The work was rejected by publishers, upon which, O’Brien claimed the manuscript had blown away, page by page, when the trunk of his car opened during a car trip in Donegal. He later re-appropriated some of Policeman’s characters, ideas and paragraphs for his 1964 novel, The Dalkey Archive, where we encounter a mad scientist bent on destroying the world, along with James Joyce in the guise of a retiring pub landlord. After O’Brien’s death in 1966, the Policeman manuscript was found in a drawer and finally published. Some regard it as O’Brien’s best work. Ironically, this “missing” work from the 1940s received a recent popularity boost when it found its way to the set of the 21st Century television drama Lost. Though stranger things have happened in O’Brien’s fiction.
The only other finished novel by O’Brien is The Hard Life, published in 1962, a comic realist story of contemporary Dublin, which he apparently hoped would be banned for its unflattering portrayal of clergy, the main character being called Father Fahrt (it wasn’t).
In more recent times, Irish film star Brendan Gleeson has acquired the rights and is planning an adaptation of At Swim-Two-Birds which is rumoured to have on board actors such as Colin Farrell, Michael Fassbender, Gabriel Byrne, Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Cillian Murphy. Sadly, no other news of this project have surfaced for a wee while now. It remains to be seen whether a full Flann revival will take place, or whether his works will continue their journey in relative obscurity. As Flann himself said, there are hundreds of possible endings to the O’Brien-O’Nolan story. This is one of them.
Flann O’Brien — a reading list
The Poor Mouth (An Béal Bocht) about seeking and finding true poverty, and what real Irishness really means.
The Third Policeman, a novel about finding your heart’s desire, an improbably expanding Irish countryside and bicycles.
Stories and Plays including the unfinished novel Slattery’s Sago Saga, James Joyce in the Dark, and a number of short stories, such as The Martyr’s Crown.
Rhapsody in Stephen’s Green / The Insect Play, a lost work by Flann / Myles na Gopaleen, adapted from a play by Czech writer Karel Capek. A humorous look at the human condition through episodes from the life of insects.
