Richard Flanagan on why he thought he might never write again

Richard Flanagan, the Booker Prize-winning Australian author best known for The Narrow Road to the Deep North, recently visited Sydney for a brunch at Bills in Surry Hills, a venue often frequented by notable figures. The occasion marked a rare public appearance for the Tasmanian writer, who typically prefers solitude and routine, especially when working on his novels. During the visit, Flanagan spoke candidly about his creative process, his reluctance to embrace modern technology, and the challenges of maintaining productivity as he ages. Flanagan arrived at Bills with a specific routine in mind, breakfast was not on his agenda. He usually skips meals early in the day, opting instead for a light lunch, which he believes helps preserve his energy. This habit, he explained, is common among many writers who find that eating too soon can lead to a drop in focus and stamina. However, despite his usual preference for simplicity, Flanagan found himself in a familiar setting: the bustling brunch spot where he often visits for coffee and conversation. At Bills, Flanagan was greeted with the usual enthusiasm from the staff, who were prepared for his arrival. The restaurant, known for its signature ricotta hotcakes and other inventive dishes, had set aside a prime window seat for him. Yet, rather than indulging in the elaborate menu, Flanagan chose a more modest option, toast with marmalade. This choice surprised both the staff and his interviewer, who had assumed he would order the famed pancakes that have drawn celebrities like Oprah Winfrey to the establishment. “I always think I should have the pancakes,” Flanagan admitted, acknowledging the expectations placed upon him by his readers. “I’ve never had them. I usually just have toast and marmalade, would you believe?” He joked that his decision might raise eyebrows among fans who expect their literary icons to indulge in the finer things. Despite his modest meal, Flanagan's presence at Bills was anything but unremarkable. The staff had clearly anticipated his visit, and the atmosphere was charged with a sense of reverence. Flanagan, ever the self-deprecating humorist, noted the irony of being labeled a “national treasure” at a place where he opted for the simplest of fare. “There’s a history of burning national treasures, isn’t there?” he remarked with a glint in his eye. “You become one a century later, normally after the stake and the pyre.” His comments were laced with a wry acknowledgment of the weight such titles carry. While he had never heard himself referred to as a national treasure before, he suggested that the staff at Bills might have relied on photographs to elevate his status. Nevertheless, the encounter was far from solemn. Flanagan ordered quince bellinis, poached quince paired with prosecco, with a sense of abandon, embracing the moment with characteristic flair. As the brunch progressed, Flanagan engaged in thoughtful discussions on a range of topics, from his experiences with artificial intelligence to broader reflections on literature and society. His intellect and eloquence were evident, and he displayed a deep engagement with the subjects at hand. The conversation veered from philosophical musings to practical considerations, revealing a mind constantly in motion. Flanagan’s visit to Bills underscored the delicate balance he maintains between public and private life. While he is celebrated for his contributions to literature, he remains deeply rooted in the rhythms of daily existence, choosing simplicity over spectacle. As he sipped his bellini and reflected on the nature of creativity, it became clear that his journey as a writer continues to evolve, shaped by both personal choices and the demands of an ever-changing world.