Irish writing is so strong that it can feel like the country has all been covered, but in fact, there are so many gaps. The small west of Ireland cities and the working classes there have almost never appeared in Irish literature, simply because those communities were never in the way of producing books.

I don't quite operate within the realist mode. I kind of push the stories out towards the cusp of believability - that's the area of interest for me.

In the early nineties, I was a cub reporter on a city newspaper in Limerick, and assigned to the courthouse there. One day, an old detective sergeant came and whispered to me in the press pit. He pointed out a young offender, a teenager who was up for stealing a car or something relatively minor, and said, 'See this kid? He'll kill.'

What greatly annoys me is sometimes you see the short story being described as a training ground for the novel. Kind of like an apprenticeship. And in lots of ways, it's a far harder form.

On 'Phoenix,' I talk about thoughts of suicide and my whole life. It's called 'Phoenix' because it's talking about dying - but when a phoenix dies, it's reborn from its own ashes. I related to that.

When people talk about the death of the novel, they are speaking of the need for the birth of something different.

They were afraid, never having learned what I taught myself: Defeat the fear of death and welcome the death of fear.

Divorce is probably as painful as death.