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Ellen Ryan: ‘I want this book to be empowering for boys. We can’t leave them out’

‘I hope boys see themselves in at least one of the characters and see that they are heroic in their own way’

Ellen Ryan was fascinated by the fact that in Ireland these mythical gods and warriors were the subject of “cultural erasure” for hundreds of years. Photograph: Bryan Meade/The Irish Times

Róisín Ingle's face
Róisín Ingle
Thu Nov 2 2023 - 05:00

Ellen Ryan’s first book, the award-winning Girls Who Slay Monsters, was as zeitgeisty as they come. For that project, Ryan delved into the largely forgotten or disregarded female goddesses and warriors from Irish mythology, bringing them out from behind the shadows of more prominent mythical behemoths such as Fionn mac Cumhaill and Cú Chulainn.

For that book Ryan, a former PR executive turned journalist who was first inspired to delve into Irish myths by her grandmother Carmel, was pushing an already open door. In the last decade there has been a noticeable clamour, from publishers and parents, for children’s reading material that forefronted arse-kicking female role models who laughed in the face of gender stereotypes. From Ryan’s first book we were introduced to the likes of Fand, a shape-shifting eco-warrior, Bé Binn, a giantess who gets her own back on bullies and Eithne, a supernatural scholar.

The book sold well, was shortlisted for several prizes and won two national book awards. We might reasonably have expected more of the same from the Wicklow author but Gods Don’t Cry, her follow-up children’s book, very deliberately features a cast of male gods and immortals with connections all over Ireland and beyond. It’s telling that her decision to write a book about superhuman boys has been described by some as “brave”.

“I did have resistance from people,” she says. “Some said to me, do we need another book on male heroes? Do boys need more stories? Would I not consider writing another book about the goddesses? Or would I not consider writing another one specifically aimed at girls? But for me, it had kind of gone beyond what would be popular. I really felt these stories needed to be told and that boys deserve a fuller expression of male heroism and what that can look like. We cannot leave the boys out, even if it’s not as trendy.”

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We’re talking in a quayside coffee shop in Dublin with Conor Merriman, the artist responsible for the vibrant and lush illustrations in the book. The ancient gods have a lot in common with superheroes, so Merriman, who has worked on the Marvel universe, was an obvious choice of illustrator. He was clearly delighted to be asked. “Ellen has cracked open the door to Irish mythology in a really approachable, digestible way,” he enthuses.

Ryan, who has a young daughter, says it was while researching Girls Who Slay Monsters that she began to be more interested in the male gods. “It made me realise how underserved boys were in terms of representation.” She was intrigued by quotes from mythological heroes she discovered in ancient texts: “I was not raised for valour, I desire storytelling above all else” being one. It made her realise something: “These gods were not one-dimensional and offered a more nuanced version of masculinity.”

She was fascinated by the fact that in Ireland these mythical gods and warriors were the subject of “cultural erasure” for hundreds of years. “And then during the late 1800s, early 1900s, during the Celtic revival, you had WB Yeats but also a lot of the revolutionaries, bringing the likes of Fionn mac Cumhaill and Cú Chulainn back into cultural awareness. The reason they chose them is because they represented the kind of hero that they felt that was needed… they were mascots for those revolutionary times.”

Since then Ryan reckons the heroes, both male and female, were long overdue a re-examination. Most of the goddesses she featured in her first book had been disregarded when the stories came to be retold but there was erasure on both sides. Boys were denied more nuanced heroes because of the focus on those gods that were seen as defenders and aggressors. “They lost out by being put into boxes and being constrained by that culture of machismo as much as the girls. What I found in my research was that in fact a lot of the gods supported a vision of gender equality. When they are fighting against demons, for example, the first person they look to is [warrior queen goddess] Mórrigan. There is so much more mutual respect and leaning on each other, than we were told.”

Accordingly, Gods Don’t Cry is full of surprises. We meet warriors and gods who are interested in academia and storytelling, boys who are uplifted and in some cases trained by strong warrior women. They include Manannán who uses his neurodiversity to discover the Otherworld, “a portal hopper long before we had Marvel”. There are gods with disabilities such as Nuada, “warrior king and disability activist”. We meet immigrant demigods of colour, Dub, Ag and Illar from Arabia, who came to live with their father in Galway and struggled to be accepted in Ireland. Óengus is variously described as a “stay-at-home dad” and “Ireland’s most hopeless romantic”. Fire monster Aillén is depicted as a “women’s rights activist”. Fer Maisse, which translates to “man of beauty”, is a “mental health healer”.

Reading the book it appears as though every contemporary issue is represented in the stories of these ancient immortals – I wouldn’t have been surprised to meet one who had ADHD. Interestingly, Cú Chulainn, “heroic warrior and murderous monster”, is depicted as having a bit of a crush on his bitter male rival Ferdia. “Many believe that the myths describe a romantic love between Cú Chulainn and Ferdia. Not everyone agrees, but each of us has the right to decide for ourselves,” Ryan writes. Cynics might suggest these topics are shoehorned in for diversity’s sake, but Ryan and Merriman insist it’s incumbent on anyone retelling these stories to imbue them with added meaning and make them relevant to the lives of today’s young readers.

“Childhood can be quite an insular experience,” says Merriman, who has spoken publicly about severe homophobic bullying he received as a teenager. “You are small, and your world is small, and yet everything feels huge. Representation matters, it really does. It’s important for a child to see even the smallest glimmer of themselves, on the page, in a story, being celebrated. It’s so incredibly important to feel seen”.

He believes Ryan’s latest book, featuring flawed and multifaceted gods who are in touch with their feelings and do in fact cry, serve as an antidote to previous retellings of the myths, where male gods had “no gentleness, no kindness, no complexity.” One of Merriman’s favourite characters in the book is storyteller and reluctant monster slayer Cas Corach, who unapologetically celebrates his femininity with silk tunics and shiny jewellery.

When I ask Ryan what academic scholars make of her creative reinterpretation of the myths, she points to a supportive quote for the previous book from Harvard-educated Dr John Carey, head of Early and Medieval Irish at UCC. “It is amazing what Ryan has done with the old stories,” he said. “I’m happy with that,” she laughs.

Ryan is not the only person writing about Irish mythology in a new way. Manchán Magan has also hit a chord with his books on the subject. Why does she think there is such an appetite for these stories now? “I think people are searching for other ways to celebrate or investigate their Irishness,” she says, citing the increased interest in Gaelscoileanna and her own recent decision to connect more with the Irish language.

“We’re also seeing other postcolonial, historically downtrodden cultures reclaiming their mythology or their traditional dress or food culture and we’ve been inspired by that. Also, eco culture is becoming more important than it has been in centuries because we’re much more tapped into environmental awareness.” She also links the increased interest to a wider awareness of mindfulness and meditation. “Nature and the myths are a fantastic portal into that. My stories tap into feminism, they tap into more nuanced expressions of masculinity, they tap into eco culture, and the Irish language. So it’s bringing all of that together.”

But back to the boys. Bearing in mind the wider societal narrative of toxic masculinity from Andrew Tate to incel culture, what does she hope the target market, boys aged nine to 13, will get from the book? “I’m deliberately not using the language of toxic masculinity,” she counters. “I’ve not gone into this trying to lecture boys, each of these stories is about celebrating them… I didn’t want any of these stories to be a finger-wagging exercise. So when a boy finds a character that he relates to, that story will hopefully uplift him and validate him and make him feel good about himself.”

“I hope boys see themselves in at least one of the characters and see that they are heroic in their own way… there are many different ways to demonstrate or express heroism. I want Gods Don’t Cry to be empowering for boys in the same way that I wanted the last book to be empowering for girls”.

Gods Don’t Cry is published by HarperCollins Children’s Books

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