AUTOBIOGRAPHY: Lapsed Agnostic, By John Waters, Continuum, 193pp. £16.99There's something that happens to you in your 30s or 40s. YOU'RE ONE-THIRD of the way along the path of life and have accumulated enough experience to have some insight into the nature of existence; it is only now that you can embark on being an amateur philosopher/sociologist/political scientist, writes Yvonne Nolan.
You begin to think about who you are in relation to those who have gone before you - your parents, your grandparents - or, as they used to say where I grew up, your people.
As far back as I can remember my people have had a deep suspicion of craw-thumpers and holy Joes. It seems to me that, for us Irish, how faith is expressed and felt has always been deeply private and, while we may have conquered talking about sex, there is still a native unease with talking about one's private connection to God. Hardly surprising on an island where religion has forever been a source of division and where underlying reservations about churchmen and the official Church didn't just begin with the scandals of the last 20 years. For my people, public participation in religious ritual was the least part of what their faith involved.
Who has not felt the dread of the amiable acquaintance who one day, in the corner of an office, or a pub or a party, asks "Do you believe?" You know what comes next: a hectoring conversation that asks you to repent or wake up or reconnect. One thing is sure: you're wrong, they're right and you resign yourself to being pinned to the wall, nodding and feigning polite interest and vague agreement while you're patronised to within an inch of your life. Why the unease? Because this conversation is only appropriate with people you love, who are close to you - a lover or a dear friend.
John Waters's new book Lapsed Agnostic is the print version of getting pinned against the wall of that pub snug, and is peppered with instances where Waters has tried to get the faith conversation going with a variety of squirming companions. In his view, it's chicken-licken time for society, religion and culture in Ireland. Unbeknownst to ourselves, we are living through a Sodom and Gomorrah of boom, consumerism and liberalism. In a work of sophistry which sometimes reads like a joyless, steamrolling diatribe, the present looks like the last days of Rome: our drunken, drug-addled youth have nothing to rebel against; by being open to everything, we believe in nothing; we consume to fill the place where our souls used to be. Whose fault is this? It's the media, Dublin 4, socialists, and the militant intolerance of the establishment which in its youth campaigned and voted for what became known as the liberal agenda. What's the answer? Forget free will. Forget your "cleverality". Put your fate in God's hands.
Throughout his writing career, John Waters has exerted great passion and his not-inconsiderable intellect in examining our native hypocrisies. His fearlessness is admirable and often crucial in a climate in which political correctness sometimes stifles heartfelt debate. He has written regularly in prominent publications, including this one, and has been a valued and essential contributor to TV and radio debates which examine issues of pressing national importance. The liberal agendaists he so despises have accorded Waters every respect, but he's suspicious; he's not feeling the love. We're listening, but are we agreeing?
In the history of this island we have had one period of real boom: a chance, for some, to live high on the hog. Much hand-wringing has accompanied this tiny blip on the heart monitor of our nation. Oh ochone for when we were poor but happy - although we've long fumbled in the greasy till and didn't let Christian love get in the way of it either. Waters seems to believe (it's hard to be sure in such an incoherent work) that the cure for our boom guilt is to return to the Church we're hardwired for. But it is rather a poor sell, because even Waters can't quite get his used-to-be-agnostic head around the Catholic Church as it is today. But, sure, 'twill do: better this than the bacchanalian romp - and, as a bonus to the venal, he says we can still keep capitalism.
Lapsed Agnostic is a provocative read and a tough one to plough through, but it'll make you think until your brain sweats. It made me think about how recession, religious fundamentalism elsewhere and global warming will soften our collective coughs. It made me look at the shining young faces at the Choice Music Awards and see another generation preparing to step up - full of hope, full of fight, full of energy, and humane and kindly with it. It was reassuring: I'm sure they know that the big question is no longer just about the future of any one nation, or any one religion's God, but about our collective futures on this planet. The John Waters who buys too many shirts and hankers after snazzy cars (with cufflinks to match), the one who has a great sense of self-deprecating humour and loves music, would have seen it too and realised that he needs, like Bowie, to put his trust in God and man.
Yvonne Nolan is a critic and TV and radio producer