Artistic creation, while mirroring reality, can also mould an independent identity, forcing fiction writers into a challenging position of explaining their own creation, which at times can feel unnatural. They may have initiated the writing process with premeditated concepts and themes, yet articulating the accompanying spontaneous magic triggered by writing can be complex.
Introducing Maggie Armstrong, a budding author from Dublin aged 39,: as she forges her way through articulating the essence of her work, she stumbles upon a myriad of challenges. She has just given her first ever interview regarding her début book, a compendium of short stories entitled Old Romantics, released by Tramp Press. The cover of the book, created by Fiachra McCarthy, sports gentle shades of pastel, but this seemingly attractive façade misleadingly veils a deeper complexity. Contrary to its charming exterior, Old Romantics is far from being a breezy read. Armstrong is constantly grappling with describing its essence and its significance to herself.
The interconnected collection contains narratives revolving around the principal character Margaret, who sometimes deceives herself about her personal obsessions, identity and perception of others. Armstrong’s publishers percieve a resemblance between her literary style and the work of Kristen Roupenian, whose short story Cat Person went viral in The New Yorker in 2017. This semblance becomes evident on perusing the intricate narratives of uncomfortable relationships present in Old Romantics.
Margaret’s stumbling journey through improper relationships and suspect liaisons, puts her at the risk of losing herself, however, she endeavours to emerge unscathed and preserve her identity. Armstrong harmoniously calibrates her writing style to Margaret’s psychological state; it is lucid in its objective while simultaneously maintaining a sense of fluid momentum. Margaret’s struggles are wide-ranging, encompassing relationships, professional life and motherhood. Her constant source of solace amidst these struggles is writing, presenting a sanctuary even in troubling times. She takes solace in writing, which though a struggle in itself, along with orthodox novels presents a safe haven. The reader is both intimately involved and slightly detached from the protagonist’s life, with narratives penned both in first and third person perspectives.
Former journalist Armstrong submitted several stories to Tramp Press, an independent Irish publishing house, in 2018. She was confident that the company, led by Sarah Davis-Goff and Lisa Coen, would provide the ideal platform for her work due to their reputation in pioneering prominent postmillennial Irish literature. One example being the critically acclaimed work ‘A Ghost in the Throat’ by Doireann Ní Ghríofa and the profound collection of essays ‘Notes to Self’ by Emilie Pine. Tramp Press is particularly recognised for its expertise in identifying and promoting female authors who challenge Ireland’s gender stereotypes through their writing.
However, Armstrong’s initial stories of 2018 did not make the cut and were deemed immature for publication. Disappointed but resolved, Armstrong states, “I am relieved that they were turned down, and they did not see the light of day”. Nevertheless, as time went by, her work began appearing in periodicals like ‘The Stinging Fly’ and ‘The Dublin Review’. Lisa Coen subsequently reached out to her in 2023, to enquire about any unpublished material she might have. Armstrong responded positively and handed over some stories. A few months later, Armstrong, Coen, and Davis-Goff convened at a café to discuss a potential deal.
“We had this fantastic and surreal meeting,” Armstrong enthuses, her wide eyes growing wider as we converse in a downtown hotel bar. “They made me an offer on the spot. We convened over coffee, and Lisa Coen presented a contract proposal. I was so caught up that I didn’t even take a sip of my coffee, it was absolutely cold by the time our meeting concluded.” Armstrong still appears astounded that the two publishers, whom she greatly admired, would want to publish her work. This is largely because, until her writing was accepted by the Dublin Review merely three years prior, she had been losing hope about the course of her writing career.
Enquiries regarding the resemblance of fiction to an author’s personal experiences are invariably present. This interrogation can become trivial and is potentially intrusive, with female authors often unfairly assumed to be extracting from their own life experiences. This curiosity naturally arises regarding Armstrong, given her own life events share similarities to those of her main character. Like Margaret, Armstrong, too, is a single parent to two, having lost her father during the era of the Covid pandemic. Despite these parallels, Armstrong emphasises the numerous differing aspects between herself and her protagonist.
Regarding Armstrong’s portrayal of Margaret, she views her as a young journalist of privileged upbringing, lacking moral guidance and sensibility, and displaying a propensity to wrongly place trust, landing in precarious situations. “Dear me, I long to offer her a piece of advice akin to a pantomime performance – ‘watch your back!’,” states Armstrong. She further explains that the chilling predicaments her fictitious counterpart finds herself in are so unsettling, she had to write in the third person to maintain an objective distance.
Initially, Armstrong began writing tales for her own amusement before becoming a “somewhat disenchanted” journalist who read at minor literary events and got published in literature magazines. This publication will introduce her to her widest reader group to date, which she professes is a “frightening” prospect.
“What an odd endeavour, to compose an entire anthology of short stories centred around a character sharing my namesake,” Armstrong jests. “I’m astounded that I authored this book and equally astonished that people aim to read it.” But while she finds humour in the situation, her dedication to her narratives and constructing a fictional realm for her audience is unwavering.
After obtaining an English degree from Trinity College Dublin, she initially ventured into the publishing field, but ended up becoming a journalist during an economic downturn. Her early works, she depicts with a dose of self-mockery, were a touch overly elaborate and rather bloated. Her interest lay in people-watching, unearthing controversies, and presenting engaging narratives. Yet, she admits, she was often ensnared by the relentless cycle of late-night journalism deadlines. She found herself continually working despite not clearly understanding her motivations, often penning pieces related to the entertainment world.
She knew this was not her true calling, and admitted to feeling a tad envious during her interviews of those who were doing what they truly loved. “I often found myself envious of actors, especially males for some reason,” she confessed. “I felt as if they monopolised the charm quotient. Their radiant allure seemed to cast many talented women into the shadows. While I was drawn to these individuals, I also felt somewhat out of place.”
Endless optimism and high stakes are invested in sustaining relationships. It was the emergence of the pandemic in March 2020 that spurred her decision to take a leap of faith into fiction writing, leaving journalism behind. “The day schools were closed, leaving my children without supervision, was the same day my editor assigned me a new article. I had to decline, stating ‘I can’t do it, I have to stay at home’. It was the welfare of my children that necessitated this change,” she explains.
Presently, she devotes some of her time to proofreading and copy-editing, primarily academic publications, a role she relishes for the opportunity it provides to encounter intriguing terms and expressions. “I aspire to write fiction, to write books. There’s so much I wish to achieve, and time is of the essence, which can indeed be daunting,” she acknowledges. Life is fleeting, “Incredibly so,” she adds.
The brevity of life was hammered home for her when she experienced the loss of her mum in 2018 and her father during the restrictions imposed due to the Covid pandemic. She states, “My world was thrown into chaos with my father’s passing…’ Her siblings offer invaluable support, with the reassurance of a caring father for her children.
Her parents, Jacqueline and Fergus, were characterized by their unquenchable thirst for literature and exceptional intellect. Her father, in particular, took a keen interest in his children’s pursuits and provided judicious feedback. She proudly acknowledges the crafting abilities of her brother. Her parents’ fervent passion for books left an indelible mark on her; they were responsible for her introduction to countless acclaimed authors. She reminisces about her mum presenting titles from Anne Enright, Muriel Spark, Anita Brookner, Edna O’Brien, Elizabeth Bowen, including Bowen’s “The Death of the Heart,” which was gifted during her school years. These books were treated like protective amulets and circulated widely among the family members, sparking collective interests in works such as Patrick Hamilton’s or topics pertaining to Russia.
The lineage of the Armstrong family boasts an array of lawyers and political figures. Her exceptional great-grandfather, John A Costello, was a seminal figure in the genesis of the Republic, having served as a Fine Gael TD and Taoiseach on two occasions. His audacious declaration of the Republic to a press conference in 1948, which took place in Canada, initiated the process of Ireland’s embarking away from the Commonwealth. Besides his revered political standing, he was a meritorious barrister; his brilliance being displayed during the notable libel case of poet Patrick Kavanagh, defending The Leader publication. Armstrong recalls an amusing legal spat that involved Costello outwitting Kavanagh, which ultimately led to Kavanagh losing the libel case.
Did the youthful Armstrong ever feel drawn to the lively sphere of politics? “Absolutely not,” she vehemently denies. “My sole desire was to be a wastrel. I never had any aspirations for anything at all. Could that just be a sign of the times?” Her passion for writing, however, surfaced later. “If you persevere, even at an older age, it can strike you that there’s something you can delve deeply into, and then you have to figure out how to pursue it.”
In her novel ‘Old Romantics’, Armstrong’s central character goes through numerous humiliations but is continuously spurred on by the belief that something more fulfilling lies ahead. Despite the apparent incompatibility of her love interests, Margaret remains relentless. “Several relationships in this book exhibit unwholesome characteristics that I was keen to portray,” Armstrong shares. She further explains, “If a woman from a prosperous area of south Dublin encounters hardship, it will be relatively easier for her to seek refuge. I’m not denying the dangers exist for all in personal relationships, especially in unhappy marriages.”
A composite family features in the book, with Margaret taking up the mantle of caregiver for her fiancé’s children. This sparks a conversation from Armstrong about how caregivers are treated in Ireland. “There’s a high volume of people in our country who find themselves caring for the young. Many individuals become caregivers without having consciously chosen it,” she opines. “The recent referendum, however, establishes that even though the responsibility may fall within the family, it’s neither fair nor just on either party involved. It can be both rewarding and utterly disillusioning. More often than not, the burden falls on the women, which is something I wanted to address.”
She also expresses a desire to infiltrate a couples’ therapy room and delve into that particular environment through her literature. “It can be an incredibly exhausting and sometimes vexing experience which drains both monetary and emotional resources. There is so much at risk and so much optimism, especially when you’re striving to salvage relationships,” she concludes.
In the narrative “Old Romantics”, it chronicles the journey of a pair grappling with lengthy therapy sessions, visiting a myriad of counsellors. Yet, it can’t help but feel like they’re merely postponing what appears to be impending. Armstrong illustrates the faith people can place in these professionals, the considerable finances they invest, only to often receive a return far inferior to their expectations.
The narrative segues into the struggles that come with being a lone parent of two youngsters, and how Ireland has treated single mothers in the past. Armstrong expresses abhorrence for the strife women had to face throughout Ireland’s past, citing the immense transformation of today’s era for solo parents, herself included. Historically, societies supposed a horrific fate awaited unmarried women who bore children ‘out of wedlock’.
In her recent research for a tale, she stumbled across an antiquated Home Economics textbook, inside of which was a list titled ‘problems and threats to society’. Notably, one of the listed items was single parenthood. This was a key lesson in educational institutions, she remarked, firmly impressing it was a societal anomaly. Even today, though reduced, an element of being the odd one at the collective extravaganza of the nuclear family lingers. She finds it rather comic.
Undoubtedly, parenting alone can bring its hardships. She admits it can be challenging, but even birthing a child solo holds its advantages. She would not trade it; it even holds a touch of glamour, with others’ care and attention on you and the newborn. Parenting a toddler single-handedly is far from glamorous, however; it can verge on gruesome. Her second pregnancy was a time she navigated alone, which she describes as feeling momentarily ‘set adrift’.
Despite favourable societal progress, Armstrong is of the viewpoint that society has regressed to Medieval times concerning accepting diversity. However, she recognises key individuals whose fearless efforts have significantly advanced the rights of transgender people, disabled individuals, and women.
Armstrong, firmly in the process of devising a miniature novel, articles, and narratives, utilises her fiction genre to navigate situations that are recognisable to many of her readers. “This book is a work of fiction. It would be exceptionally mundane if it were an autobiography,” she claims. “It’s a muddled mix of fictional experiences, some are stolen, some hold deep personal resonance. There are occurrences in life that cannot just be aired casually in common chatter. They simply have no other place to be. Therapy just isn’t enough.”
While writing may not serve as a substitute for therapy, it seems that it aids Armstrong in navigating the complexities of life, particularly during her most challenging times.