Eimear McBride
Despite anticipating for some time that I wouldn’t be seeing her again, the news of Edna’s passing has still left me devastated. Her literary work has been part of my life from a very young age, long before I could really grasp it, but I perceived it in its most unadulterated form straight from author to reader through the parchment. Delivered unadulterated from any criticism and devoid of cultural bias related to her many struggles, her prose deeply resonated within me, its beauty and desire unabated. Edna portrayed the bodily, female experience, love, and suffering in ways no other author could. Many disagreed, and continue to, with her celebration of the complex nature of human interactions, viewing their challenges not just as expected but as blessings. Despite varying trends in literature across her lifetime, Edna consistently remained true to her conviction that the essence of literature revolves around truth, beauty, and emotions. She penned about difficult experiences with sincerity and humanity, and notably, aesthetics – at times even in a heavenly manner. Thanks to this, her incredible, mischievous, and entertaining persona may be gone, but the rich legacy of her work will continue to illuminate, entice, and delight us.
Kevin Power
Interestingly – if such things can be merely coincidental – I spent a part of the last week immersed in Edna O’Brien’s writing. I’m currently working on a scholarly chapter for a book covering the Irish novel in the 21st-century, and my foundational and thematic consideration is O’Brien’s ‘In the Forest’ (2002). This was the novel that saw O’Brien brilliantly and eerie fictional renditions of the Imelda Riney case: a tragic incident where a young mother named Imelda, her son Liam of only four years old, and Father Joe Cleary were brutally killed in 1994 by Brendan O’Donnell, a man tortured by state-induced abuse and a history of violence, in Clare’s Cregg Wood.
When O’Brien’s book was launched, she faced harsh criticism for presumptively “exerting” the particulars of a distressing case. However, O’Brien recognised that the narrative concerning Imelda Riney and the one who took her life, was indeed a reflection of Ireland’s evolution during the later parts of the 20th century. The novel, In the Forest, was unfortunately not celebrated for its true essence: a description of Ireland’s anguished and tormented transition from Catholic authoritarian rule towards an alternative. Edna O’Brien was proven to be ahead of her generation once more. It was to be expected by this stage in her life. In the Forest, allowed subsequent writers to depict public incidents in a manner that facilitated our collective reflection on Ireland’s transformation. But this was what Edna O’Brien had been engaged in all along – starting with the release of The Country Girls at the outset of her writing journey in 1960. She granted all of us the freedom. This was her exceptional legacy.
Sinéad Gleeson
There are instances throughout your literary journey – particularly if you become an author – that etch into your memory. They are deeply ingrained and surge forth passionately when the author’s name is mentioned or a new book is released. In my adolescence, I came across a worn-out Penguin edition of The Country Girls at a local charity sale, which led me to discover the remaining parts of the trilogy. It was evident that despite our distinctive histories and issues as Irish women from different era, O’Brien had encapsulated a side of our national persona that I hadn’t stumbled upon before. Amidst a century of suppressed narratives, especially surrounding women, Edna’s voice was resounding and articulate. Despite being confronted with gender-related biases and being overlooked by her male counterparts, she remained unwavering and advanced towards exploring unchartered territories. It’s remarkable that her demise coincides with the commemoration of another trailblazer Sinéad O’Connor’s anniversary. Like Sinéad, Edna O’Brien’s literary contributions questioned numerous aspects about Ireland and has made an indelible mark as one of Ireland’s foremost raconteurs.
Nuala O’Connor
Edna O’Brien, for me, was an influential figure in literature – throughout my life, I have been captivated by her uncensored, witty and razor-sharp writing style. I can recall her stating at a Cork literary occasion that she holds language as ‘sacred’. And to me, it seemed a fitting portrayal of her unwavering commitment to words. It’s pleasing to see that the whole of Ireland eventually recognised her value; I believe that Irish women have consistently appreciated Edna for her unflinching commentary on society’s undesirables. As a self-confessed bookworm, I have always held her in awe and strived to mimic her literary prowess. Her departure is lamentable, but we are appreciative of the trails she blazed for us; she will be sorely missed.
Diarmaid Ferriter
In her own terms, Edna O’Brien aspired “to depart as one who spoke truthfully”. Despite her celebrity status and the unavoidable link between her name and the conflict between traditional and progressive Ireland, the controversy over censorship and the collective anxieties stirred by those who dared to write about personal contemplations of life, love, sexuality and women’s status, to Edna, these were all secondary to her inherent urge to write. As a historian, I found her deep explorations of internal lives immensely useful in attaining justice to the emotive backgrounds when writing on the subject. In her words, she enjoyed writing about “the internal turmoil” and perfecting this was not just a literary feat but a value which proved increasingly significant as Ireland struggled to confront its dismissals and their subsequent effects.
Éilís Ní Dhuibhne
Edna O’Brien established a precedent for future Irish female authors with her stark, yet impassioned narration of the sexual enlightenment of a young girl in her debut novel, The Country Girls. She treated sexuality as a regular matter, which was quite extraordinary for 1960’s Ireland, but would become commonplace a decade later when authors like myself were coming into our own. Thanks to Edna O’Brien, we – and those who would follow – could write honestly and freely about life and its emotions. This is all set against the backdrop of her brilliant depiction of the Clare landscape, the life in a small Irish town and, the quirky individuals that inhabit such locations; a narrative touch that remains unbeaten.
Joseph O’Connor cherished Edna, who to him was the epitome of literary greatness – akin to Chekhov, Alice Munro, and Annie Ernaux. He revered her commitment to her craft, her intense work ethic, and her literary brilliance.
Many, including Eoin McNamee, admired her audaciousness and the refreshing new perspectives she offered through her writing. Her storytelling prowess and elegant prose captivated generations of writers and readers alike. Associated with traits of heroism, jest, and charm, her work commanded both reverence and affection. Despite her passing, her aura as a doyen of Irish literature persists, her work continues to be cherished, and her influence echoes.
Endowed with a rare flair, Edna O’Brien unveiled facets of the Irish identity overlooked until then, painting them in a cosmopolitan lens. She imparted glamour to the Irish at a time when they could barely fathom it for themselves. However, these contributions would have been in vain if not for her literary genius, asserts Carlo Gébler. To him, she was a true virtuoso, to whom they are greatly indebted.
Margaret Kelleher, the Anglo-Irish Literature and Drama chair at the University of Dublin, acknowledges the profound sadness felt by readers all over the globe at the news of Edna’s demise. She asserts that Edna’s gallant advocacy for artistic freedom and her ability to beautifully portray life’s harsh and sublime moments would be remembered for times to come. As a tribute to Edna, the Museum of Literature Ireland has instituted the annual Edna O’Brien Young Writers Award. Due to the efforts of Susie Lopez, Simon O’Connor, and MoLI colleagues, the award has already seen more than seventy budding writers paving their way in literature.
Throughout my entire life, which started just a few months following the release of her epoch-defining novel Country Girls, Edna O’Brien bravely laid bare the often difficult truths of her experience as an Irish lady navigating a frequently adverse world. She displayed a spectacular honesty that was wholly unique, without fear of welcoming uncomfortable realities. Her writings on her idol, James Joyce, were infused with brilliance, and one can’t help but feel she also aspired to adhere to his ethos of not conceding to anything that didn’t hold her faith, whether it represented her family, homeland, or religion. This isn’t to say that she rejected her Irish roots. On the contrary, by forging such an audacious and inventive path, she gave Ireland a profound tribute through her steadfast portrayal of female experiences in her extensive six-decade-long career as a writer. Her journey commenced with the naive Kate and Baba in The Country Girls, culminating with her last work, Girl, laying bare the saga of a Nigerian girl trapped by Boko Haram. Her life, as well as her literary output, marked a remarkable journey that significantly augmented both Irish and global literature.
I had the pleasure of meeting Edna O’Brien on a few occasions and each time I felt privileged, as if I was in the company of a queen. In addition to her remarkable intellect, her physical presence struck me an intimidating clarity and wisdom that was sent by no other writer. As a teenager, I was drawn to her stories of women, specifically those affected by the historical Irish patriarchy, thereby instilling a great value in her works for me. Her last novel Girl, a narrative inspired by the Boko Haram kidnapping of 276 girls in Nigeria and published in her late 80s, holds a special place in my heart. I consider myself fortunate to have interacted with someone who, even at such an age, stayed relevant in themes like politics, gender, violence, and literature. Losing her certainly left a void in literature, but her contributions were a priceless present as well, for which gratitude is due.
She was riveting: one of the brightest, warmest, most sociable and witty individuals I had been lucky to know. Unfortunately, I was seldom in her company – a missed opportunity I now rue. However, every encounter I had with her was nothing short of delightful.
The early novels of her initiated a rebirth in Irish literature due to their originality, straightforwardness, and excellent craftsmanship. Even though their quality was exceptional and hard to match, she resolutely persisted in writing. It is remarkable to ponder how a young girl, who started her journey in Dublin during the early 50s while serving in a pharmacy, could create such transparent yet potent work. Specifically referencing her maiden ‘Girls’ trilogy – I personally see it as a trilogy – and the fact she finalised her extensive career with another piece about girls, this time those abducted by Boko Haram terrorist group in Nigeria in 2014. Indeed, her scope was vast.
Permit me to narrate my favourite tale about Edna.
Many summers ago, on a Saturday afternoon, Colm Tóibín, Edna and myself participated in a joint reading at Harvard. Colm was first to take the stage and received considerable applause. It was then my turn. A majority of the audience was predominantly young and enthusiastic for amusement. In one of my books, I managed to discover a few pages which, on a generous interpretation, could be deemed funny. To my surprise, the audience responded with laughter – more than what the segment merited, really.
Once done, I returned to my seat in the front row. After an anticipated and deliberate pause, Edna gingerly made her way onto the stage, looked at me and whispered into the microphone in her characteristic husky voice, ‘Oh, John, I wish I could be funny – like you.’ It just demonstrated her capacity to effortlessly and subtly disrupt.
We were lodged at the same hotel in Harvard, and following the reading we both headed to the hotel bar for a drink. She informed me that evening she was to have dinner in the hotel restaurant with Australian art critic Robert Hughes. Hughes, despite being a great writer was quite a boisterous and willful individual, much like Simon Dedalus. As was her usual, polite manner, she extended an invite to me to join them. Of course, I agreed.
Edna chose to indulge in some relaxation, leaving me by myself in the bar, absorbed in a novel. Robert Hughes, who, like us, was a guest at the hotel, entered the main room. Without missing a beat, a blustery Irishman, the kind Harvard was teeming with in those times, collared him. The Irishman, not knowing the meaning of brevity, invited Hughes to join him at a table and began his onslaught of verbal diarrhoea.
While this was happening, I kept my focus on my book.
But, when Hughes got up to depart, I heard the Irishman mention a later rendezvous at 7 pm. Just at the time Edna had arranged for our three-person meal.
She arrived at around quarter to seven, and I informed her about what I’d overheard, pointing out the Irishman, who had promptly occupied himself in chatting up another poor soul at the bar. ‘I haven’t a clue who he is,’ Edna admitted, ‘but I’m sure he won’t be dining with us.’ She then instructed me to protect our reservation in the restaurant while she resolved the issue. Five minutes on, as I was faithfully guarding our table, Edna glided in, positioned herself, and asked the server for a glass of dry, white wine. ‘Make sure it’s bone dry,’ she said to him, wearing a charming smile.
I looked at her quizzically, to which she assured me that Bob – referring to Hughes – would be joining us momentarily.
‘And the Irishman?’ I questioned.
‘Pay him no mind,’ she brushed it off. ‘He’s been dealt with.’
Curious, I inquired about how she managed to shoo him away. She nonchalantly responded, ‘I told him to get lost.’ Her language was more colourful in person.
Despite our efforts, the dinner ended up being rather dull. However, I distinctly remember a tie Hughes was wearing, adorned with a decidedly risqué, voluptuously naked woman.
After the meal, Edna and I returned to the bar for a final drink of the night and overindulged on brandy. She became sentimental about ‘home’ and even dropped a tear or two. Once we drained our glasses, we took the lift back to our guest rooms, where Edna leaned against the mirror during the ride, and proceeded to seduce me with one of her signature smouldering looks.
It’s with a heavy heart that I’ve received the news of the death of my dear friend and Sabina’s, Edna O’Brien. Known for her unique storytelling ability, Edna has been highly regarded among the influential writers of contemporary times, whose works have resonated globally. Edna was a brave narrator of the unvarnished truth, possessing the moral strength to challenge Irish society by exposing long-buried and neglected realities.Employing her perception and human understanding, she was among the first writers to portray and voice the variegated experiences of Irish women across different generations, significantly transforming their societal status.
Although her work initially encountered a reluctancy to accept the candid depiction of women’s lives in the realm of Irish literature, which resulted in a regretful banning of her novels after their first issue, it’s crucial to remember this part of her journey. Thankfully, her creations are now universally acknowledged and celebrated for the artistic masterpieces they undeniably are.
As the Irish President, I had the honour of awarding Edna the Torc of the Saoi of Aosdána in 2015, followed by the Presidential Distinguished Service Award in 2015. Furthermore, her election as Saoi, a decision made by her artist peers, is the ultimate testament to the respect and appreciation her work commands.
Edna’s work will persist in exploring the unrestricted liberty a writer demands, the inconsistencies and risks imposed by external circumstances, alongside the aesthetic freedom bestowed by the imagination. I express my deepest sympathies to Edna’s sons Carlo and Marcus, her family and friends, her Aosdána fellow members, and her avid followers worldwide.