LIZ McMANUSreviews From the Republic of Conscience – Stories Inspired by the Universal Declaration of Human RightsLiberties Press 256pp, €19.99

I ALWAYS carry a copy of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in my briefcase. It serves as a simple reminder of what, ultimately, politics is about; of what politics is for.

The copy is battered and torn and I rarely refer to it but it is still with me, a lodestar in my working life.

This is the manifesto of individual liberty and social mutuality of our time when the various “isms” – Catholicism, communism, capitalism or whatever – have proved to be so problematic.

Nowadays there is a general wariness of ideology and yet, despite that disenchantment, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights abides. It has endured, unlike the green catechism of my schooldays or Mao’s little red book of the 1960s. It draws its legitimacy from many sources, from ancient Greece, to Christianity, to the French call for “Liberty, Equality and Fraternity” that found its response among the United Irishmen. Its great strength, however, is its universality. It belongs to no one and yet it belongs to everyone on this Earth.

From the Republic of Conscience is a collection of responses to the UN Declaration of Human Rights, originally published in The Irish Times, from distinguished writers and artists, drawn together by Roddy Doyle and Seán Love (the former director of Amnesty International), into a diverse, eclectic mix. In his introduction, Seamus Heaney reflects on the declaration as a document of great moral force. At the time of its making 61 years ago, after the nightmare of the second World War, the fact that it had no legal bearing was considered a disadvantage. Time, he argues, has given it a power greater than any legal framework. Its language of “a perfectly secular, civic idiom” rests on the roots of human rights.

In their responses, the writers obey an artistic imperative. As Heaney says, because they are writers, “they must make a thing of words, construct ‘a verbal contraption’ ”.

So this book is not a political tract. It is literature. As a vehicle of verbal contraptions constructed by many of our best writers, it swings along sweetly. A perfect book to dip in and out of, to enjoy a range of offerings, that are as short as they are apposite. At times the tone is comic, mournful at other times and even, on occasion, darkly disturbing.

Some contributions are commentaries rather than fiction. Neil Jordan muses on Article 2 and the difficulty of writing on a principle that human beings are born free and equal etc that is so self-evident.

He concludes that it is something else entirely by quoting Tertullian, a Carthaginian theologian on Christianity who wrote “certum est, quia impossible” (because it is impossible, it must be true).

There are lots of goodies in this bag; too many to mention them all. Roddy Doyle has a cracking yarn entitled Custer Never had to Go in Front of a Tribunal.

There’s a tale of gothic horror from John Connolly, and a witty stream of consciousness from the sportswriter Tom Humphries. From Northern Ireland, there is black humour from Gary Mitchell and wry self-discovery from Glenn Patterson.

There are also several women and among them are Maeve Binchy, Anne Enright, Lia Mills and Eilis Ní Dhuibhne.

Hugo Hamilton challenges us on how to commemorate the past and Kevin Barry offers a joyous Anthem for the King.

In all, 31 writers inspired by the 30 (plus 1) Articles present their work here alongside illustrations from well-known artists.

In telling us about ourselves and how we relate to each other, this book is intended to renew our faith in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights that inspired it. Thankfully it succeeds.

Liz McManus TD is Labour Party spokeswoman on communications, energy and natural resources. She is also a writer.