Before I wrote Pretty Boy Red, I found myself drawn to writing from the perspective of a boy who was not entirely innocent. His name was Troy, the central character from my first novel Shotline. He seemed vulnerable until the moment he became dangerous. To get into his head I had to enter a different mental space, tripping along in a kind of stream-of-consciousness where madness was never far away. It was fun in a reckless sort of way, but I didn’t really think this kind of rule-less writing would see the light of day. Shotline has never been published, but the character Troy was knocking around in my head waiting for another chance. And it came.
My attachment to Australia stretches back decades, along with a fascination for those quirky crime cases rooted in the landscape – kidnappings, murders, people vanishing without trace into the vastness. In June 2022, I read a news report from Perth in Western Australia: boys as young as fourteen had been transferred from Banksia Hill Youth Detention Centre to the adult prison at Casuarina, after they’d left their own facility unfit for habitation. There was an outcry. Children in an adult prison. Opinions divided. Some argued they deserved it; others that they were victims of a system that had failed them. Out of that tension, the character Joel Brady was born. Fourteen years old, nicknamed “Psycho” for his violent outbursts, he is awaiting trial for a crime so grave that he is to be judged in adult court before the public. Although inspired by contemporary events, I chose to set the story back in the late 80s early 90s, when I lived in Australia and was immersed in youth culture. This was a pre-digital world: no mobile phones, networked computing confined largely to academic and official settings. Distance, silence, and institutional opacity allowed dark undercurrents to fester, the kind that would later surface in crimes such as the Snowtown murders and backpacker murders.
Joel is part of a cohort transferred into the wing of a harsh adult prison. I imagined a setting like Fremantle Gaol in Western Australia, closed in 1991, with its slopping out, rats, dirty brick walls and imposing gatehouse entrance, the site of a violent riot in 1988 in which guards were taken hostage. The aim was to place these boys under relentless pressure.
The story begins when Joel catches sight of an adult prisoner who seems to recognise him, triggering a memory buried deep in his subconscious. There can be no contact between adult and juvenile inmates, but Joel senses a creeping menace behind the walls and corridors of the wing – a smell he seems to recognize, a name scratched onto a wall, a drawing shoved under the door to his cell. When a prisoner goes missing, his imagination begins to fill in the gaps.
The difficulty with Joel is not simply that he may be guilty. It’s that he may not be telling the truth, even to himself. Joel is awaiting trial for his role in a series of abductions. Hugh, one of the boys who survived, is called by the Crown to testify. The trial becomes a central tension in the novel, the clash between Joel and Hugh. Who is telling the truth?
Joel has memory gaps. Fragments arrive out of sync, often in second person, as if he is watching someone else. “There is a difference between unwilling and unable,” his psychiatrist tells the court when questioned about Joel’s dissociative amnesia. Even inside prison, Joel’s version of events is not left unchallenged. His cellmate Glenn – initially an enemy – becomes one of the few steady points in Joel’s fractured world, pushing him towards truths he would rather avoid. And me, the writer – can I trust Joel? At times it feels as though he is leading me, not the other way round.
And what of Troy? He gave me the clues to get inside Joel’s head, to explore that space, to understand what it would be like to be that boy standing in rooms created for adults: a dock cell, a corridor of stone, a slop-stained cell, wondering who he is supposed to be, swinging between crisis, submission, and defiance. Joel resists explanation. He withholds. He distorts. The only way to write Joel was to keep following him, even when I no longer knew where he was leading me. But that is the point. Joel was never meant to be fully understood, or fully believed. He was the boy I didn’t trust.
Pretty Boy Red by Derek Byrne (Eye Books) Out Now
Child prisoner Joel Brady is facing trial for murder. If he can survive that long... In the juvenile wing of a prison in Western Australia, fourteen-year-old Joel Brady – small, girly-voiced, nicknamed ‘Psycho’ – is awaiting trial for his role as sidekick to child abductor Marcus Welby. Joel still isn’t sure what he did that last day at Welby’s outback house of horror; his memory has blotted it out. Is his mind playing tricks in other respects too? Did he really see the malevolent Quentin, another of Welby’s associates, in the adult wing of the prison? Or is Quentin a figment of his imagination, as Joel’s lawyers insist? A more immediate priority is hiding from the rampaging cons who have escaped the adult wing, one of whom wants Joel’s head. Will his cellmate Glenn, an arch-enemy who has become his first real friend, stay loyal? Set in an ultra-violent, alpha-male world where human connection is a double-edged sword, and interwoven with a gripping courtroom drama in which the truth about Welby’s chilling set-up gradually emerges.
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