Born in Dublin, Anne Enright, 61, studied at Trinity College and for an MA in creative writing at the University of East Anglia. In 1991, her story collection The Portable Virgin won the Rooney prize for Irish literature. In 2007, her fourth novel, The Gathering, took the Man Booker. Her latest novel, The Wren, The Wren, won this year’s Writer’s prize for fiction and was shortlisted for the Women’s prize. On 28 September, she appears at the North Cornwall book festival. She is married with two children and lives in Dublin.
When were you happiest?
A few weeks ago, we spent a long weekend going around West Cork, and I was so happy it amazed me. My husband doesn’t always make me happy around the house, but add a road and some scenery and the combination can be very powerful.
Which living person do you most admire and why?
Catherine Corless, who spent her own money to secure birth certificates for the unrecorded dead children of the Tuam mother and baby home.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
I find it really interesting the way people are drawn to power, usually male power, sometimes in its dark mode. I wonder what they get from it. My experience of bastards is that there is very little material benefit gained from being in their company, though you feel there might be, any minute. Or you get something for a while and then the polarity switches. It’s a huge con. Trump made the mechanism clear – in this, I think he is a timely figure.
What do you most dislike about your appearance?
The way it comes back at me from photographs.
What scares you about getting older?
Frailty, immobility, incontinence, loneliness.
Which book are you ashamed not to have read?
You meet a lot of writers on the road and it is always truly embarrassing when you have not read their recent book.
What did you want to be when you were growing up?
When I was seven I wanted to be a nun. When I was eight, I wanted to be a boy so that I could be anything I wanted. Also, of course, I wanted to be Samantha in Bewitched.
Would you choose fame or anonymity?
There is no such thing as anonymity in Ireland. People know you.
To whom would you most like to say sorry, and why?
I was not great with my mother-in-law, who was a very gentle woman. I thought she would be an uninvited part of my life for ever, but she died early and I wished I had been more open and patient.
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Have you ever said ‘I love you’ and not meant it?
Sometimes when I say “I love you” to my children, I mean, “Please go away now” – but I do also love them. People rarely mean exactly what they say.
What is the worst job you’ve done?
When I was 17 I took on a class of six-year-olds for a week. When the Angelus rang at noon, they stood up in silence and I realised I was supposed to recite the prayer, which I did not know. I said: “There will be no Angelus today because of that child fidgeting at the back.”
When did you last cry, and why?
When Kellie Harrington won gold for Ireland in the boxing at the Paris Olympics I pumped out the briny.
How often do you have sex?
As often as I want.
What has been your closest brush with the law?
A few years ago, I made a rude sign at this boy racer in a pair of aviator sunglasses; the next day he turned up at my door in a cop’s uniform and warned me about inciting road rage. My husband is still laughing.
Would you rather have more sex, money or fame?
I’m good, thanks.