Born in Dorchester in 1965, a celebrated writer grew up in one of South Boston’s toughest corners, shaped by generations of Irish immigrants and enduring hardship. The latest novel, Mysterious River, published by Salamandra Black, carries echoes of those early days and the struggles of a childhood spent amid a volatile landscape. A remote video conversation from Los Angeles revisits a year defined by a tragic subway accident and a missing teenager. Those events sharpened tensions and sparked riots as a judge pressed for bussing to desegregate schools across neighborhoods. The memory of that era forms the backbone of the book’s courage and investigation, pushing its characters to navigate a world where access to education and opportunity remains unequal.
The protagonist, Mary Pat, has lost her son to drugs and now searches for her missing daughter. Pure maternal courage drives the narrative.
The author recalls stories of mothers seeking justice for their children. There is a fierce, almost brutal resilience in women who have faced immense losses. People are shaped by their surroundings, and a shared history of hardship can forge a steadfast resolve in those who survive. The landscape itself becomes a partner in their struggles.
A sense of despair emerges through a character who seems to have lost everything meaningful.
The author imagines a man pushed to the edge, capable of extreme acts against someone he believes he cannot protect. In this world, nothing is left to lose; the stakes are survival and the fight to carve out a future, or the risk of death if the mission fails.
The heroine is depicted as formidable and unyielding, yet visibly scarred by her experiences.
The writer notes encounters with Mary Pats in youth—fierce, protective women who raise troubled children. Their inner wounds and outbursts reveal a paradox: strength coexists with damage, making them seem almost indomitable. This complexity fuels the tension and humanity of the story.
Are the young offenders portrayed as frightening?
The narrative suggests many of these youths are shaped by lies and hostility handed down by adults. Hatred isn’t born with a child; it is taught, learned, and inherited, with consequences that echo across generations.
“Writing this book was a way to confront past ghosts”
Racism remains the novel’s central theme. The author recalls being nine during protests in a pivotal year.
The summer is etched in memory: protests, banners, and the era’s loud messaging. A child’s sense of self expands as the world grows louder and more complicated, and the writer recognizes how those events shaped his later voice and choices.
What is your view on racism?
Those demonstrations began as debates about desegregation and how it was carried out, especially in poorer neighborhoods. Over time, anger and ridicule turned toward African Americans. The writer explains how observation and quiet reflection pushed him toward storytelling as a way to understand and confront what he witnessed.
What about family life?
The parents described did not share racist beliefs, and some siblings chose non-violence, yet the environment itself carried lasting traces of prejudice. The writer notes that the sense of “the other” persists in many communities today, and that dehumanization makes cruelty possible.
“The protests distilled anger and rage against African Americans. It was angry, discriminatory and derogatory.”
The book suggests poverty alone does not drive division; race and identity play a major role.
While poverty contributes to tension, a broader belief in the outsider remains powerful. The author cites contemporary scenes where armed individuals confront protesters, underscoring how structural divisions persist and shape perceptions. The rhetoric of “us versus them” continues to inflame perceptions and deepen rifts, masking progress in some areas with ongoing conflict in others.
Has Trump-era politics worsened this, or merely brought it into sharper view?
Significant changes have occurred, and cross-racial marriages once seen as unlikely are more common. Yet commercialized media often amplifies fear, making the country seem more fractured than it is. The author notes that the struggle plays out in courts, elections, and public discourse, not just in street confrontations.
Are the Boston neighborhoods of the author’s youth still recognizable today?
South Boston has changed greatly and is notably gentrified now. The old, close-knit doors have given way to new faces and energy. In many rural areas and smaller towns, older tensions linger, and political loyalties reflect that persistence even as urban centers show a broader fusion of cultures. The author observes that cities remain hubs of exchange, while other places may cling to older divisions.
“When scripting for TV, the planning is meticulous; with novels, the voice comes first”
During a 2017 visit to Barcelona to receive an award, the author weighed in on democracy. Will it endure?
Democracy endures, though the path is bumpy. While some policy shifts prompted backlash, the overall system remains resilient. Legal challenges and ongoing debates mark the healthy friction that sustains democratic governance. The writer recognizes the risk but stays hopeful about the institutions that guard civil rights and the rule of law.
Many works by the author have found screen life. Could a Mary Pat appear on screen someday?
A film or series adaptation is possible, though specifics stay private. The author remains involved as a producer and writer, ensuring the adaptation stays faithful to the characters and spirit of the book while exploring new cinematic language.
Some scenes in Coup de Grace translate perfectly to screen. Do the books have a cinematic heartbeat?
Cinema remains a distinct medium; books live first on the page through character voices and language. A great novel feels alive, told by a narrator who could sound like someone at a bar sharing a story. Mary Pat came to life in the writing as a natural evolution, a process that doesn’t imitate film but stands on its own. When a screenplay is drafted, planning every scene becomes essential, contrasting with the more organic rhythm of a novel.
Did the Covid era affect the writing of this book?
Yes. The author was midway through a TV project when the pandemic struck, and the world fell apart. The mental space created by that upheaval became the forge for this story, a way to confront personal ghosts from childhood. It offered a shelter where the imagination could roam freely, even as it pulled the author back to real, painful memories.
Which ghosts does the author mean?
All of them. The environment of those years left such a deep imprint that writing became a way to revisit a nine-year-old self. The emotional energy behind the book flows from those early experiences, making it a deeply personal exploration of memory and resilience.