Michael Moynihan: Saying farewell to the ‘captain’ of Irish publishing

Fergal Tobin. Picture: New Island Books/Twitter

Fergal Tobin, who passed away last week, was rightfully described as the “captain” of Irish publishing after a long and illustrious career with Gill & Macmillan, now Gill Books.

Born in Dublin and educated at UCD, he published a wide variety of authors in many subjects, as well as writing his own books on Irish history — The Irish Difference, on Irish independence, was published last year.

I came to know Fergal about 15 years ago when a project we were involved in suddenly vanished, for reasons which had nothing to do with either of us. He came down to the Metropole Hotel in Cork for a chat and within five minutes he had banished all thoughts of the lost project, proposed another project, and heard me out about yet another proposal.

By the time we finished our coffee he had also given me a crash course in the realities of publishing. When I mentioned a sports book he’d published and how much I liked it, for instance, Fergal said, “I bet everyone in the press box liked that book. But I can tell you that publishing books which appeal mainly to sportswriters isn’t a valid business plan.”

It’s difficult to think of anyone else who had such a keen sense of that tension and how publishers have to negotiate it. 

Publishing is a business, but it’s one that relies on hunches and instincts, on a publisher’s confidence that the person making a passionate pitch to write a book can back up their passion with 90,000 words if the pitch is successful.

On one occasion I pitched a book to him about data and numbers and their growing importance in the GAA.

“Here’s an important number,” he said. “How many people will buy a book about the number of wides in a hurling game?”

“It’s not just wides,” I said, flailing. On the spot, I added: “We’d address money as well. Where it comes from. How much everything costs.”

“Hmm,” he said. After a minute or two he said, “You know something, I’d like to read that. Sold.”

I knew I was in with a shout because I didn’t hear his smoothest putdown (“That doesn’t sound like a book to me. It could be . . . a newspaper series.”)

On another occasion, I had wrapped up a book about the Cork hurlers and sent it off to Fergal when he rang me. It was clear there was going to be a Cork GAA strike and he felt it was worth holding publication until that was resolved: anyone buying the book would feel cheated if the strike wasn’t covered.

Fair enough. We waited until the strike was resolved, I blended strike and immediate aftermath into the manuscript, and off it went to the printers. 

As it came out there was another strike, and the book took off like a rocket.

“I’m not going to take credit for delaying publication,” he used to say, “As long as you don’t take credit for arranging another strike just to publicise the book.”

On yet another occasion in Dublin, I mentioned Leo Rosten’s hilarious The Joys of Yiddish in passing, and Fergal was delighted to find another fan of the book.

We swapped our favourite Rosten yarns, punctuated by many a gevalt.

It was a fitting book to associate with him. He was a mensch.

Fergal Tobin is survived by his wife Catherine, children Louisa, Isobel, Richard and Cillian, sons-in-law and grandchildren.