I decided to tell the story of a monstrous
crime that takes place, almost casually, at a time of suppressed
consciousness in Ireland’ Two issues lie at the heart of The Trout. The first is elusive childhood
memory; the second is the ability of whole societies to deny the
evidence of their eyes.
As adults, we all know the moments when we suddenly smell something, or
taste something, or see or hear something, and for the tiniest second a
memory floats up from our deep unconscious. It’s like a spark from a
deep, deep cave. But we can’t grasp it, can’t keep it – and then it’s
gone, just as our dreams defy our attempts to hold on to them. We are
left with a feeling that we have just encountered something which we
know intimately – that is part of us – and yet we don’t know what it is.
We know it, yet we don’t know it. We may, also for a nano-second,
think, I’ll ask my mother – but my mother has not been there for years.
We are left in this tantalising state of being on the brink of something
that we know is very important for us, and yet is utterly unobtainable.