Almost a year ago, around August 2023, I started to work on a film project with Edna O’Brien. Initially, her reaction was of reluctance, mainly due to her dwindling health condition. Yet, after the first interview, she showed more enthusiasm towards our endeavour. Sadly, shortly after, she was hospitalised. From her hospital bed, she continued contributing to our production through lengthy voice memos, sent by a mutual companion.
Upon learning about her death, I revisited those voice recordings. I had earlier decided not to incorporate them into our lore, but retrospectively, they seemed like precious remnants of Edna’s expressiveness. Her narrative might seem prolix, leading one to wonder where she was heading. Out of the blue, she would thrill you with an insightful comment.
Edna was keen that the film should not be overly sombre or characteristically ‘stage Irish’, as she termed it. She proposed several names for the film. ‘Country Girl’ was a good suggestion, but we needed something more distinctive. She was eager to address numerous grudges, ranging from comically trivial to deeply unsettling.
Talking about Edna, there are a few aspects worth mentioning. She had an extraordinary captivating aura. My first interaction with her took place nearly ten years ago, on a gloomy December day at her London home. It was an unforgettable meeting filled with laughter, tears, and a comical search for non-existent mice in her kitchen. I found myself quoting her for the subsequent years. Meeting Edna left such an impression on many.
On the contrary, there was another essential facet about Edna; she had the ability to court controversy. Many people found her work disputable.
Throughout her life, Edna experienced strong opposition. Her books encountered severe criticism, to the point of being banned and incinerated. However, the worst was her persistent character defamation. Her ex-husband claimed to be the author of her first two books, creating a false narrative amongst their circles. The allegations seem nonsensical now, considering her later renowned publications after their split. Yet, such claims were given weight historically, often favouring the male viewpoint even if irrational.
Women today, quite rightly, feel that juggling multiple roles, such as a dedicated mother and a proficient worker, challenges societal norms. But the intricate personality that Edna embodied was unimaginable during the 1960s.
She was indeed a paradoxical being, radiant but grounded, sometimes showcasing supreme confidence, sometimes demonstrating vulnerability. She harboured a fondness for social gatherings and literature, for philosophical musings and the beauty of nature. Her fascinating persona was hard to comprehend. The pinnacle of her charm was her successful career, intimidating all with her prowess, making her a constant target of criticism and caricature sketches.
Edna, despite her pronounced imperfections, as far as I could see, possessed a remarkable courage to take on her mistakes. She paid heed to every critique, expressing a strong desire to revisit the times she had faltered. On my inquiry as to why, she responded revealing her fanatic nature.
It brings a sorrowful heaviness to my heart as I replay those voice recordings, hearing Edna’s bracing herself for incoming rebukes and cautioning me over the film’s certain aspects. It had demanded a noteworthy fortitude from her to persist over the years.
Our encounters spanned multiple occasions, sometimes recorded on film, sometimes captured purely in audio, which led to more enriching exchanges. Our dialogues were primarily one-sided, owing to her hearing impairment, my voice she confessed was particularly challenging for her to discern.
I was content in her storytelling. Her profound perspectives on literary works and the notable personalities of yesteryears were delightful. She learnt the permissible softness in writing from Chekhov. Joyce instilled her with unwavering courage. Once after an evening out, Marlon Brando had visited her home. She had posed a choice for him, champagne or cake. Can you guess what he picked, she prompted me. Cake, she giggled.
She advised that I peruse her journals, the rawest ones, which she revealed were stored in an archive in Emory College, Georgia. By then, I had fathomed that her time was limited, this led me to the challenge of deciphering and processing her writings quickly enough to incorporate them into the film.
The scope of this write-up does not permit a discussion on her diaries, a significant portion of which I had to omit from our film. Edna had scribbled thousands of pages over several years. Just as she’d hinted, they were raw, deeply intense and detailed, whimsical yet sorrowful. They filled the gaps in the years she went without penning a novel for over a decade, a phase often misunderstood.
Her physical health progressively worsened. Prior to one of our meetings, she confessed to losing her equilibrium, as she could no longer feel her own head. She indicated to me that Beckett, during their last encounter, had conveyed a similar feeling to her. I’m on the brink of death, she murmured to me. She would indulge in dreams of her departed elder sister, pleading for her to return and reveal her next destination.
On one occasion, she inquired if I could extend my stay for a few weeks. However, I had to decline due to my childcare responsibilities back home in Dublin. Then she sought to know if I was acquainted with any other Irish lasses in London who could assist her. Her question reminded me of a scene from Girls in Their Married Bliss, as she yearned for some semblance of home. Although she already had a live-in caregiver, she was perpetually inundated with letters and fretted about not completing the book she was endeavouring to pen.
Edna was blessed with numerous innate talents, such as intelligence, beauty, and charm, yet I believe her strong work principles were often disregarded. She was entirely engrossed in reading and writing. She confessed to me that her formal education was somewhat fragmented. Her education about the world was largely gleaned through literature.
“Compared to my reading experiences, life always seemed rather dull to me,” she confided. “My passion for self-education through language, if anything, has only grown.”
Eventually, she managed to publish an impressive range of 34 books encompassing fiction and non-fiction, screenplays, and theatrical plays. She spent time writing and revising, achieving success and experiencing failures, and always striving. Nevertheless, she had more she wished to articulate.
Our last recorded interview was conducted in the concluding part of April 2024. It was an incredibly challenging interaction. She was painfully uncomfortable and frantically searching for the stamina to write once more. We started on a shaky note, unsure if we would be able to carry forward and then, against all odds, from some place within her she managed to muster the strength to express her experiences and convictions that left all crew members speechless.
We were all praying that she would survive to watch our end product, “Blue Road: The Edna O’Brien Story”, or the “masterpiece”, as she’d fondly addressed it. However, in her final days, she began to lose consciousness intermittently. When our production was officially accepted by a leading film festival, the news seemed to bring her a shimmer of joy, a final vindication.
The evening I heard about her passing, an old diary entry from 1978 came back to me.
Nighttime:
“In the event of my death, I would want it known that I was unprepared, not ready, unwilling and that I had more worthy pursuits – still.”
Sinead O’Shea’s documentary “Blue Road: The Edna O’Brien Story” is anticipated to be out later this year.