I grew up in Malahide and I still live in the same place where I grew up. I have this thing where I’m passing different versions of myself at different ages. I went to school locally and my kids go to the same school now, so I’m still living in my past in a way. Some of the teachers that taught me are still there.
When I travel the world, people ask: why have you never left? I don’t know what it is about Malahide, but people who grew up here move away, spend years away, but then come back. It’s such a lovely place to grow up. I would have played tennis in the tennis club in the village. Everything was just very local and small. I have very happy memories of living right by the sea. I took it for granted that the sea was always there. Whenever I’m not near the sea, I feel lost without it.
I always tell people if they haven’t been in Ireland for about 20 years to come back and see it now. It’s quite different. It’s developed more and [Dublin] is this kind of vibrant, modern, cool city. I think we’re a very progressive country – we’re this cool little island leading the way in a lot of ways. But it has changed, and it hasn’t. The last book I wrote, Into the Storm, was very much about pagan Ireland. Delving into that, I was like, god, that’s who we are as a people.
We’re native storytellers, we’re native thinkers, but for me it’s a lot about the landscape. I love nature, it’s how I look to connect with myself. Cities don’t inspire me in the way they do other people. My mum and dad are both from Drumcondra, but my grandparents [on my father’s side] are Cork. My grandfather was a farmer in All Hallows College. Farming is kind of in the background. Kerry is the place that we’ve visited since the year I was born. We used to go to Dingle and Sneem. My sister and I would buy our diaries for the year [in Kerry]. It’s just my favourite place. I arrive and I bring a notebook and pen because I know something’s going to happen in my mind that makes me think.
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My dad (former taoiseach Bertie Ahern) was in politics all my life. My very early memories are as a five-year-old, answering the house phone, and it would be journalists looking for him. He was always high profile. People would stop us when we were out, and talk to him. It was always about problems people wanted fixed – local constituency stuff. To me, this is the reality of what a politician is. My dad was someone who, it felt like, everyone knew. Everyone called him Bertie. I was obviously a bit more aware, on the other side, that there are more eyes on you, and that people could treat you differently depending on who they supported. I would get those vibes as well.
I’m interested in politics, but I had no personal desire to get into it. I’m all about fiction and the “what if”. Politics couldn’t be further from that. It’s all real stuff all the time. If I talk to my dad about what’s on my mind versus what’s on his, it’s very different stuff.
All my books are based in Ireland. I like to take risks with my stories, but I feel that I know the people, I know who we are, I know our history, I know our humour, I know why we are the way we are. When I travel the world, people say they love the books because of that Irishness.
My new book, Paper Heart, is set in the boglands, in a town that was turf rich. Now, they can’t [sell turf] any more, so there’s a lot of change coming. I wanted to write about the different ways in which we dig – we dig into our hearts, we dig into the surface of the earth. But it’s also near Birr Castle where there’s the [I-Lofar telescope]. So, they’re digging up into the sky, too.
In scripts [adapted from my books], when I read them, the one note I have is: why is the character so rude? I think that comes down to our manners and our politeness. I’m not saying all Irish people are perfect, but we have a certain level of respect for each other, maybe because there are fewer of us in the country, and we know someone that knows someone, that knows someone.
Even though the world is getting faster and there are other stresses, at our heart Irish people still have this connection to nature and to land. It’s in our blood. It’s part of us to notice the seasons changing and have discussions about the longer days, or the shorter days – to always be looking for more light. Maybe we’re not [all] farming any more, but it still matters.
In conversation with Niamh Donnelly. This interview is part of a series about well-known people’s lives and relationship with Ireland, and was edited for clarity and length. Paper Heart by Cecelia Ahern is published by HarperCollins.
