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Dafydd Elis-Thomas: Nation Builder
Dafydd Elis-Thomas, Lord Elis-Thomas of Nant Conwy, was one of the outstanding Welsh public figures of the last fifty years. His political career spanned from first election to Westminster as a Plaid Cymru MP in 1974, to his retirement from the Senedd in Cardiff in 2021, having served as a minister in the Welsh Government. He was the first Presiding Officer of the National Assembly for Wales, stabilising the new institution and embedding devolution during its first tentative decade, and was described as a ‘true giant’ and the ‘founding father’ of Welsh devolution following his death in 2025. Elis-Thomas was also a controversial and magnetic character, whose life and work is captured in this biography – branded a ‘maverick’, an ‘intellectual acrobat’ and a ‘political chameleon’, he was labelled a ‘terrorist’ for his interventions in Northern Ireland, and a ‘traitor’ for oppositional stances adopted towards nationalism. Despite a career often marked by controversy and fearless passion, his unique vision and perseverance was central to the creation of Wales’s first legislative parliament.
488 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 22, 2025
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February 9, 2026
Dafydd Elis-Thomas is one of those national figures who seems to have always been hovering somewhere in the background of my life. Growing up in a Plaid Cymru household, I remember the strange dizziness of it all: holding a genuine affection for the man, even a sense that he occupied a special place in our national story, while at the same time finding him utterly infuriating.
I didn’t really know Dafydd El personally, but I did have the privilege of meeting him and enjoying conversation with him on a handful of occasions. He was unfailingly charming, impressively intelligent, and extraordinarily well read—including philosophy and theology, which naturally caught my attention. Long before reading this book, I had come to think of him as a walking paradox. Nation Builder fixes that paradox in black and white, preserving it for time immemorial.
Aled Eurig has produced a biography that is genuinely easy and engaging to read. There is no sense of ploughing through unnecessary or tedious detail. Instead, what is included is there for a reason: revealing anecdotes, entertaining asides, and moments of subtle but real national importance.
On a more personal note, I was unexpectedly entertained to find two references to my father in the book. One quotes a letter he wrote to Dafydd El in the early 1980s, encouraging him and the local Plaid Cymru organiser, Elfed Roberts, to make peace. The other jumps forward more than forty years, to a time when Dafydd was Culture Minister and my father was Chief Executive of the National Library of Wales. Aled Eurig credits my father as being one of the very few people who ever truly had his way with Dafydd on a policy and funding matter.
The opening chapter, which explores his childhood upbringing in a 1950s nonconformist chapel as the son of a minister, is particularly eye-opening. As a minister myself today, I find it hard to fathom just how different that world was. Nonconformity has lost the social and cultural grandeur it possessed in mid-twentieth-century Wales. And yet, despite being a much smaller outfit now, I can’t help feeling that we are healthier for it.
One thought that stayed with me throughout the book is that Dafydd El’s life and wildly varied career only really makes sense when understood as both an appreciation of, and a reaction against, nonconformity. A paradox, yes—but paradox is precisely what Dafydd was from start to finish.
The book closes on a rather sad note, chronicling his final fallout with Plaid Cymru and his failure to rejoin the party towards the end of his life. He was unwilling to submit to the normal re-admission process required of members who had previously brought the party into disrepute. He seems to have felt that he should be welcomed back without due process because, well—he was Dafydd El. It’s classic Dafydd: audacious, self-assured, and ultimately self-defeating. Because of this, his story lacks the redemptive arc he appeared to be seeking in retirement.
By the end, the book reminded me exactly why Dafydd so often drove me to distraction. But it also reminded me of something else. He was our Dafydd. And despite everything, I can’t help but love the man. Nation Builder is a fine biography of a true character—one who belongs to the Wales that raised me. Diolch.
I didn’t really know Dafydd El personally, but I did have the privilege of meeting him and enjoying conversation with him on a handful of occasions. He was unfailingly charming, impressively intelligent, and extraordinarily well read—including philosophy and theology, which naturally caught my attention. Long before reading this book, I had come to think of him as a walking paradox. Nation Builder fixes that paradox in black and white, preserving it for time immemorial.
Aled Eurig has produced a biography that is genuinely easy and engaging to read. There is no sense of ploughing through unnecessary or tedious detail. Instead, what is included is there for a reason: revealing anecdotes, entertaining asides, and moments of subtle but real national importance.
On a more personal note, I was unexpectedly entertained to find two references to my father in the book. One quotes a letter he wrote to Dafydd El in the early 1980s, encouraging him and the local Plaid Cymru organiser, Elfed Roberts, to make peace. The other jumps forward more than forty years, to a time when Dafydd was Culture Minister and my father was Chief Executive of the National Library of Wales. Aled Eurig credits my father as being one of the very few people who ever truly had his way with Dafydd on a policy and funding matter.
The opening chapter, which explores his childhood upbringing in a 1950s nonconformist chapel as the son of a minister, is particularly eye-opening. As a minister myself today, I find it hard to fathom just how different that world was. Nonconformity has lost the social and cultural grandeur it possessed in mid-twentieth-century Wales. And yet, despite being a much smaller outfit now, I can’t help feeling that we are healthier for it.
One thought that stayed with me throughout the book is that Dafydd El’s life and wildly varied career only really makes sense when understood as both an appreciation of, and a reaction against, nonconformity. A paradox, yes—but paradox is precisely what Dafydd was from start to finish.
The book closes on a rather sad note, chronicling his final fallout with Plaid Cymru and his failure to rejoin the party towards the end of his life. He was unwilling to submit to the normal re-admission process required of members who had previously brought the party into disrepute. He seems to have felt that he should be welcomed back without due process because, well—he was Dafydd El. It’s classic Dafydd: audacious, self-assured, and ultimately self-defeating. Because of this, his story lacks the redemptive arc he appeared to be seeking in retirement.
By the end, the book reminded me exactly why Dafydd so often drove me to distraction. But it also reminded me of something else. He was our Dafydd. And despite everything, I can’t help but love the man. Nation Builder is a fine biography of a true character—one who belongs to the Wales that raised me. Diolch.
Displaying 1 of 1 review