Edna O’Brien was a significant figure in Ireland, her life was long and filled with accomplishments which boosted her fame. She was not merely a vivid and intense writer whose debut novel fluidly defined a crucial point in time, unlocking the nation’s embedded challenges. It wasn’t strictly her aptitude for drama or her frail yet unbreakable persona that left a significant impact on us.
O’Brien was adaptable in dialogue, yet steadfast in her lifestyle, work principles, and beliefs always finding her way back to her workspace and confronting the critical world. She possessed an inner radiance, diving deep into every discussion, every literature, and personal interaction. Her passionate love for Ireland, a land that has caused her much pain, shone brightly – she was predominantly viewed by Americans as being quintessentially Irish, never missing to note her green eyes, red hair, and her melodious eloquence.
It was evident that O’Brien gained both fame and controversy from the moment she stepped into the public sphere. She found herself in the midst of other people’s perceptions, seeming to grasp the meaning of all that this entailed, she didn’t shy away from enjoying it, although it filled her with fear at times.
Edna matured during an era when being creative was equated with pursuing excellence, an age when creatives aspired to take risks, unveil truths and put in their utmost effort. This grand approach also harboured the concept of vulnerability and sacrifice, especially from females: an artist must expose themselves, surrendering in order to grasp unwritten truths. In the words of O’Brien, penning a book was “a euphoric voyage”; with each journey, she was astonished to have emerged untouched. “I am astounded by my own resilience, sure, but I do not believe I am without wounds. I can not do basics like driving a vehicle or swimming. In many aspects I feel like a handicapped.”
She was a woman who didn’t fear the authoritative Catholic Church, but the roar of a thunderstorm would send her into shivers. Some found her blending of resilience and fragility difficult to comprehend, others were disturbed by how she intermingled divine and worldly matters. Despite her tenderness, O’Brien never shied away from unveiling raw reality. Her work initially faced severe condemnation, followed by an undefined discomfort.
Even during the height of her fame, she complained about feeling “persecuted”, a sentiment which might have seemed fantasised until the blatant and scornful sexism of certain critics was considered. O’Brien had a way of drawing out people’s true colours, often the darker shades, and it must be emphasised that she was profoundly respected, celebrated, and loved. She illuminated a path for future writers to follow, lending courage from her bravery and strength from her enormous sacrifice. Living in a time that was abhorrent for some women and uncomfortable for all, O’Brien served as a lightning conductor, purifying the environment through her work.
Quite expectedly, considering the commotion, O’Brien asserted that she was not consciously directing her writing. In her late twenties, inspired by Hemingway’s crisp writing style, she began writing ‘The Country Girls’, a book that she claimed, wrote itself in just three weeks. “I was merely delivering the message,” she explained. “Oddly enough, I was constantly teary while working on this book, even though it carries an overall jovial and humorous tone.” Having recently left Ireland, the book was a reoccupation of the lost girlhood she had experienced, with a thin line separating remembrance and invention.
In a conversation with her friend Philip Roth about her writing process, she shared, “This semblance of a memory, or whatever it is, infiltrates me.” This explained why her descriptions felt so alive and potent – the intensity of the experience was beyond her dominion. “It isn’t something that I can deliberately invoke, it simply appears and I am its enabler… It occurs, as you are fully aware… through dreams, through randomness and, pertaining to my experience, through the whirlwind of emotions driven by a romantic involvement and the ensuing consequences.”
Edna O’Brien’s inspiration was nourished by robust feelings which could be far from romantic. In her latter years, she acknowledged that her creative force was often fueled by fear, comparing it to the heightened senses of a scared animal. Her father, a spiteful and aggressive alcoholic, became a character in one of her plays after his death, with his wrath, lust, and insatiable desires mirrored in the character. This act of portrayal, she explained, was her way of forgiving him and it did offer her respite. Her own life imitated his when she squandered a substantial amount of wealth, or at least a house, during her irresponsible phase in London where she hosted literary luminaries and famous individuals of her time. Money played a significant role in her life and literature. Through most of her life, O’Brien was self-reliant and lived independently.
Even though her artistic genius often seemed divine, O’Brien recognized herself to be “driven” and “hard-working”. She filled notebook after notebook with the same violet ink that Virginia Woolf preferred, meticulously researching and scattering her work-in-progress novels all over her living quarters. She was untiring in her pursuit for the perfect structure, movement, or contrast, the optimal word. She penned her works out aloud. She argued that all elements – the landscape, the narrative, the persona – were crucial but it was the rhythm, lyricism and the magic of language that mattered the most. If this wasn’t the case, she would just pen it down on a postcard.
This diligent work schedule resulted in a noteworthy sequence of mature novels. Her latest novel, Girl, is thrillingly brisk and skillful. At the age of 80, her writing has become more confident and innovative than ever. Perhaps, she had eventually found liberation from those inklings of ‘prosecution’, which are felt by women throughout their lives, and unlike O’Brien, are challenging for many to articulate.
She unearthed a source of literary dynamism from the writings of Joyce, whose work was the first serious book she read during her stint as a pharmacist in Dublin. According to her, no other author has imparted the lessons that Joyce did, stirring her to reach for the raw, the painful and the stirring aspects of life.
In my years of growth, I often contemplated the disparity between the emotional transparency of women and the stoic facade of men, particularly in the arena of Irish public life. O’Brien, however, stood against the common practice and celebrated this vulnerability. She was at one point under the care of the troubled psychiatrist RD Laing, and her discussion of art borrowed a great deal from the obscured realities dug up by psychoanalysis. “An act of masochism,” she regarded writing. Being both a woman and an artist, female authors suffer doubly.
From the Country Girls trilogy onwards, O’Brien focused on the internal turmoil of women and the physical drama of procreation. Despite all this, O’Brien feared feminists, who she believed saw her as too submissive. During her central period, she wrote extensively, both in fear and sympathy, about cruel men, sometimes portraying them as desirable. She desired the company and safeguarding of dominant male authors, some of whom lacked basic courtesy around women. Norman Mailer, notorious for stabbing his wife, greeted her modestly in a Brooklyn church. Roth admired her. Beckett, ever the gentleman, remained ever considerate. When it appeared her name was fading in Ireland – but not globally – I recall commendations and applause from Heaney and John Banville.
O’Brien’s literary heroes were predominantly men, but she jerked them over to the feminine side. Joyce, according to her, aspired to be a woman, referring to himself as a ‘womanly man’. Flaubert, he was woman-like: “Located in Rouen, yearning for the city lights of Paris and chaotic romances, he deliberately kept his distance, chose to isolate himself, to stoke and revel in his emotional turmoil.”
I hope you don’t perceive these as detractive remarks, but rather consider them as beneficial points. O’Brien endured circumstances that silenced and oppressed countless potential female authors, those struggles and the ensuing contradictions should be viewed as healing. Constantly evolving, her work underwent changes across the decades, shaping her into a successful author. Later in life, O’Brien felt she may finally receive recognition from Ireland’s younger generation, fostering a newfound sense of trust. A woman initially wary of the feminist movement became a celebrated feminist icon through her dedication to expressing her truth and constantly giving her all. Her brilliance saw her through.
Her tribulations following the publication of The Country Girls were vast, the most devastating of which was the response from her mother. As a young child, she would shield her mother from her father’s wrath and their bond was extremely strong. As an adult, Edna was left burdened with “overwhelming guilt” and the constant sensation of her mother “looking down upon her, judgementally”. Edna’s husband’s envious nature combined with this caused the robbery of her initial success’ joy: “I didn’t feel the fame. I was married. I was a mother to young children [Marcus and Carlo]. All I received from my mother and from nameless letters out of Ireland were hate and detestation and outrage.”
Edna never physically left Ireland, or rather, the Ireland of her childhood remained persistent in her memory, prepared to overwhelm her with past experiences and emotions at all times. Living there was a challenge; the land proved too harsh for a woman of her nature. Now, however, the hateful sentiment has disappeared, the detestation long left behind; Ireland has reformed to embrace her. She is finally home, a homecoming long overdue.
According to her, she has “a beautifully situated final resting place” on a sacred island in Lough Derg. The burial plot belongs to her mother’s family, even though her mother was laid to rest in a more social location. “Contrarily, I prefer the birds, the remnants of ancient monasteries, the lake and just the melodic echoes of nature.” she states.