Author: clareodea

It’s been a horrific week of American racism showing its ugly face to the world – again. Nobody could watch the sickening video of George Floyd being crushed and choked to death without concluding that the society is broken. Law enforcement in a normal, functioning democracy does not look like this.

We’ve seen it again and again in these videos of police killings over the years. A black man who does not immediately obey sparks a dangerous white rage. It’s an old rage, hatred of the oppressor for the oppressed.

In the midst of all the grief and anger being expressed, I try to listen and learn, and interpret what’s happening behind the headlines. I hear George Floyd’s brother Terrence appeal for peace and justice. ‘Let’s stop thinking that our voice don’t matter, and vote!’

I hear young black women begging white protesters to stop spraying slogans. I hear black Irish women speak about their experience of racism. I hear three generations of black American men pouring out their pain to each other on the street.

And I hear Human Rights Watch with the statistics. In recent years, US police have killed around 1,000 people per year. This is NOT normal. A quarter of those killed are black, although black people make up only 13 per cent of the population. But it’s even worse in killings of unarmed people. In those cases, 36.8 per cent of victims are black. This is NOT normal.

I listen to Musa Okongwa, a black British writer living in Berlin who would like to talk about his speciality, football, but ends up having to comment on race all the time.  In his latest podcast, Musa asks white people to speak out. ‘Try and talk about this in your most intimate settings, the dinner table, your family WhatsApp group. Just start it.’

I usually have no trouble starting this conversation because I feel very strongly about racism. I remember hearing jokes about the Ethiopian famine as a schoolgirl and calling people out. I challenged a Swiss man sitting in front of me in a football stadium who made monkey noises when a black Irish player touched the ball.

But I did, to my shame, once find myself in a social situation where I did not speak out. It was at a gathering in someone else’s house where I was a bit of an outsider. There was a family there with a boy of about 13 and at some point in the evening, his parents asked him to tell everyone the joke he had told them recently.

He was clearly reluctant but the parents encouraged him and he told the joke. It was a man-walks-into-a-bar joke, in this case a black man with a parrot on his shoulder. The punchline of the joke is that the man belongs to the parrot, not the other way around. In other words, a slavery joke, in Switzerland in the 21^st century.

My disgust showed on my face and I looked around in vain for an ally. But I did not speak out and neither did anyone else. There was enough laughter for the moment to pass without incident. I’m no longer in contact with that family, thankfully, but I regret my cowardice on that day, which really amounted to complicity.

Anti-black racism is alive and deep-rooted in Europe too, make no mistake about that. I’ve heard it from black people in all the countries I’ve lived in: Russia, France, Switzerland and Ireland. I’ve seen and heard it displayed by white people too.

I covered the topic in The Naked Irish, including an interview with an Irish citizen of Zimbabwean origin who nearly had her spirit broken by the racism she has endured in Ireland. And, as I say in the book, hers is not a triumph-over-adversity story. The adversity is not over; it may never be. Now she worries about her children’s future.

I have no words of hope or consolation. America looks more and more like a failed state under the worst leadership imaginable. Trump can wave around the bible as a prop but America does not protect its innocents from guns, not does it care for the sick or love black neighbours.

These are dark days. May some good come out of this pain.

Black lives matter.

With my two non-fiction books I have experienced wonderful support and good fortune but I’ve also come up against barriers that are particular to the emigrant writer. The problem mainly boils down to being far away from the market and the writing community, either geographically or culturally. Living in a non-English-speaking country brings additional challenges.

If I may have a little grumble …

I recently discovered that my second book, The Naked Irish: Portrait of a Nation Beyond the Clichés, had not been longlisted for an Irish non-fiction prize, the only dedicated non-fiction prize for Irish books.

The prize is for books published in Ireland that contribute to knowledge and/or the public debate. The judging panel is also looking for originality and quality of writing. The long list cast a very wide net over Irish interest books published in the last two years, so much so that my publisher Red Stag Books queried why The Naked Irish had been overlooked.

The reason was very simple. The prize is only open to authors resident in Ireland. Being a Swiss resident, I was simply not eligible and my book was not considered.

Obviously the mistake was ours for not noticing the residency requirement in the rules but it was another reminder of how difficult it is to stake a claim in the Irish writing scene when you are not on the ground.

When I was submitting The Naked Irish, two of the publishers I looked at did not accept submissions from writers based outside Ireland. At this stage of the game, there are ‘keep out’ signs everywhere you look, so I just crossed them off the (rather short) list of Irish interest publishers and moved on.

But it’s also an issue I come up against when I look into grants and writing residencies in Ireland. I understand that Irish-based writers come first and I don’t expect the situation to change. The Irish diaspora is so huge, and we have our own countries to support us. Or do we?

I’m a member of the Swiss Society of Authors and I receive their quarterly publication. Apart from that link, I have no real connection to the community. The competitions and grants listed in the publication are for authors writing in the national languages. The festivals and events are for authors who can perform well in those languages.

Whenever I search online for grants I might be eligible for, I lose hours and find nothing.

Could do better

I have done a limited number of events in French and German promoting the translations of The Naked Swiss: La Suisse mise à nu & Die wahre Schweiz. These included talks and interviews in front of an audience and once even reading to train passengers in a flash-mob style event, the most draining thing I’ve ever done.

But I’ve hit a ceiling in fluency in both French and German and I feel I can only offer a limited part of my personality and intellect when communicating in those languages. In any case, this year is an exception. All the author events I had lined up for the first half of 2020 have been cancelled, including a library talk, school talk, university lecture and a job accompanying a tourist group.

A big part of a writer’s job is promoting their work. If a writer complains to themselves about lack of recognition, and we do, the little voice inside says, you could be doing more, hustling better. More articles, more social media, more applications to festivals, more entrepreneurship – setting up workshops, courses, organising talks.

I’ve been really lucky to have a connection with two Swiss literary festivals that have part of their programme in English, Le livre sur les quais and Bibliotopia. Once I was invited as a featured author and twice as a moderator. For every other festival I don’t take part in, whether in Switzerland or Ireland, the little voice of doubt reminds me I have not tried hard enough or not tried at all.

I’ve been a Swiss citizen since 2015 so I am a Swiss writer, just not like the others. My current work in progress is a novel set in Switzerland. It’s a story that would have a lot of resonance for Swiss readers and should really be published by a Swiss publisher. But it is in the wrong language. Still, I will do my best to find a home for it.

I’m an Irish citizen so I am an Irish writer, but, again, not like the others. I am separated from my country, more than ever in these times of grounded flights and quarantine.

If you’ve read this far, I hope you have gained a little insight into the tensions of being an emigrant writer. Instead of telling myself, ‘could do better’, I will try to remember that having my voice and perspective included to some extent is already a gift.

So many people are removed from their natural community for different reasons. And the challenges of self-promotion are not unique to writers or to emigrants. Does this post resonate with you? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

What will we remember of our daily reality and emotions during ‘these strange times’? It’s been less than six weeks since the lockdown was imposed in Switzerland and many other countries. Six weeks of very uneven and intense feelings. For me, it went something like this:

Week 1: Disaster movie

A phase of high alert and anxiety combined with excitement. There had been a build-up before the big announcement on March 13 and we knew life was about to change. You couldn’t help but be unsettled by the disaster-movie style government announcements, the danger (literally) in the air, and the sheer size of this global emergency. During this week I wrote two news stories, one for Marketwatch.com and one for The Irish Times.

I also went out in my creaking car with my daughter to record a video of Fribourg town and describe the situation. Looking at it now, I can see how serious it all felt. The concept of social and economic shutdown is normal now but it felt quite dramatic then. I reckon the video is worth posting for posterity, plus you get to see what the town looks like.

Week 2: Coronamania

At this stage I was thinking, OK, that’s enough now. Still some residue of disbelief that it was really happening. How had we come so far so quickly? The numbers of cases and deaths were climbing at an alarming rate and everyone was obsessively following the news and the science. I began writing a round-up of the efforts being made by Swiss scientists to tackle the virus. I was talking about nothing else, dreaming about coronavirus, feeling trapped. Most of all, I remember finding it very difficult to concentrate on other topics, including my main work which had nothing to do with the crisis.

Week 3: Reality bites

Around this time, the dominant feeling was frustration as I struggled to manage the new work-life-family balance. There was worry about older family members, disappointment at all the cancelled plans and concern about lost income. Still addicted to coronavirus-fuelled conversations, a flavour of which I think I captured in this slightly hysterical essay – Everyone’s an epidemiologist.

Week 4: Getting there

Everyone had coronavirus fatigue but at least we’d finally got used to the restrictions. Those trips to the supermarket were less fraught. The routine at home settled down. We had reconciled ourselves to many of the lost things and learned to enjoy the moment and appreciate the renewed closeness with friends and family, even though we were miles apart.

Week 5: Waiting game

If you were keeping a diary, this was the point when there was nothing new to say. Another walk in the neighbourhood, another home-cooked meal, another Zoom call. And yet, a feeling of being strangely relaxed. Having nowhere to be and knowing you’re not missing anything turns out to be quite liberating. Who knew?

Week 6: Light at the end of the tunnel

The present day. In Switzerland at least, the number of fatalities and new cases is mercifully low. Plans for the gradual easing of the lockdown were laid out on April 16. Children are allowed to meet and play together again. Not knowing when the lockdown would end made the time go slowly. Now everything feels easier to handle.

It’s not a question of returning to the rush and action of our lives before. It won’t be like that for a long time yet. The return to normal will be slow and partial; mass gatherings and travel are still a long way off.

One thing I am conscious of is that there is no common badge of suffering to be claimed. The crisis will not leave the same mark on everyone. In Switzerland, for example, more than 1,400 people have lost their lives to the virus. Most of the bereaved were not able to hold a proper funeral for their loved ones (this restriction will be lifted from April 27, thankfully).

We have entered a once-in-a-lifetime recession. Nobody knows the best path out of this pandemic. It’s one step at a time. This article by Simon Mair of University of Surrey presented four scenarios of what life might be like after coronavirus. Lessons learned from the disruption could lead to a better world – or not.

Imagine we all have to fill in a form when this is over recording our losses and gains. What boxes will you tick? Will it be a list of temporary inconveniences or a more devastating record? It’s probably too early to say.

What makes this crisis strange is the contradictions it throws up. If ever you had the thought, stop the world I want to get off, this time has potentially been a gift. A time when many of us developed a fresh appreciation for the simple things in life, strengthened relationships and got to know ourselves a bit better.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the balance sheet of coronavirus. How do you think you will look back on this extraordinary time? Wishing everyone a safe transition to life after lockdown.

We may not be able to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day as usual this year with parades and parties but we can enjoy another form of escapism, reading Irish historical fiction. It also happens to be the middle of #ReadingIrelandMonth, the fifth annual social media festival organised by the indefatigable Cathy Brown of 746Books.com. No better time to talk about Irish books and share reading recommendations.

I’ve found that reading these books has been a wonderful way to immerse myself in Irish history, which is all the more interesting when seen through the eyes of marginalised or formerly forgotten characters.

In chronological order, the list includes Her Kind by Niamh Boyce, a fictionalised account of a real ‘witch trial’ that took place in Kilkenny in 1324. The next novel is The Rising of Bella Casey by Mary Morissy, set in Dublin at the beginning of the 20th century. It gives us the life story the sister of the famous playwright Seán O’Casey. This is the one that made the deepest impression on me.

And finally, The Branchman by Nessa O’Mahony, is entirely imagined, though based on real social and historical context. Set in the 1920s in Ballinasloe, Co. Galway, it is a police detective story that unfolds in the unstable early days of the Free State.

Before we jump in, I have some good news to share about The Naked Irish: Portrait of a Nation Beyond the Clichés, almost six months after publication. The book has been chosen by IrishCentral.com as their book of the month for March. The website has a big following in North America so I’m hoping this explainer of modern Ireland will catch the eye of some American readers. If you’ve already read the book, I’d really appreciate a comment or two at the end of the IrishCentral post to get the ball rolling.

Where were we? I’ll begin with my favourite, The Rising of Bella Casey. This beautifully-written book tells a grim story. Through Bella’s life we get a fascinating depiction of turn-of-the-century Dublin which captures the grinding poverty, the vulnerability of women before marriage and within marriage at that time, twisted family dynamics, and the Catholic-Protestant divide. The Casey’s were poor Protestants and Bella suffers most from the agony of losing respectability.

The novel is a really interesting study of how a person can be trapped by their perception of who they are meant to be. It is also fascinating to see Seán O’Casey’s less than rosy relationship with his family and his egotism, which must have contributed to his success.

I really enjoyed Nessa O’Mahony’s The Branchman, set in 1920s rural Ireland. It was a time of great upheaval as the Free State took its first shaky steps after independence. The action of the book takes place in the long shadow cast by the Civil War amid a wave of violent crime in Ballinasloe.

In The Branchman we have a solid and sympathetic hero, Michael Mackey of the newly-formed Garda Síochána (Irish police force), whose dogged detective work leads him where others fear to tread. Everyone in this story has something to hide and Mackey’s secret is that he served in the British Army in the First World War. The strain of having to deny his traumatic past is very well conveyed. The sarcasm-loaded dialogue rings true as does the amoral behaviour of many of the characters.

During the recent debate about whether the state should commemorate the members of the Royal Irish Constabulary (the issues are very well covered here by UCD historian Mary McAuliffe), I was not happy to see people claim ownership of what they see as the one, true version of Irishness.

I would say that the Republic of Ireland had a messy and divisive start. It’s fair to say no-one got to live in the country they wanted after independence and everyone had to make do with whatever side of the border or the argument they found themselves on.

There were plenty of Irish people pre and post 1916-1922 who had no aspirations of independence and thought it was a bad idea. Some felt unsafe and unwanted in the Free State because of their family history, military service or religion. They had to suck it up post 1922. O’Mahony’s novel may help to understand some of that context.

Moving to the far distant past, Niamh Boyce leads us through the alleyways and intrigues of 14th century Kilkenny in her second novel, Her Kind. The book is written from the point of view of a number of characters, mainly Petronelle and her daughter Basilia, in the lead up to Petronelle’s trial for witchcraft.

Petronelle is an Irish woman living under an assumed name as a servant in the household of Flemish moneylender Alice Kytler, one of the town’s richest and most prominent citizens. Boyce has taken the scant details known about Alice and Petronelle and other notable figures of the time (1324) and woven a gripping tale of misogyny and treachery.

The villain of the piece is the Bishop of Ossory, who was obsessed with heresy and witchcraft and madly jealous of Alice Kytler, a woman altogether too proud – and rich – for his liking.

The medieval city comes to life, full of atmosphere, industry and gritty detail. The phrase ‘richly imagined’ is overused but this novel earns it royally. It’s worth reading for the descriptions of daily life alone but there is also great tension and drama in the clash of powerful personalities, the twisted religious fanaticism and the complex ties between Alice, Petronelle and Basilia.

I’d like to squeeze in two more recommendations of novels I’ve read recently. Shadowplay by Joseph O’Connor is another biographical story which mainly takes place in 1880s London and follows the fortunes of the author of Dracula, Bram Stoker. It’s a virtuoso work.

Finally, Tatty by Christine Dwyer Hickey, is a short heart-breaking book that I read in one sitting. Just on the borderline of historical fiction, it is set in Dublin in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Written in the first person, the story is told through the voice of Caroline (Tatty) from the age of three to 13, growing up in a troubled household with alcoholic parents. There are lovely moments of humour but its achingly sad too. I discovered Dwyer Hickey late, just last year, when I read The Narrow Land. She is a marvellous writer.

I hope you find something to enjoy from this list. With all the anxiety about Coronavirus, it may be hard to concentrate on reading but I think it is good for us to keep doing the normal things that are still within our reach. I’ve written an article about the situation in Switzerland and I will add the link here as soon as it’s online for those who are interested.

In these worrying times, I wish you all comfort and protection from harm. I hope our solidarity will get us through this and that we will have many more celebrations together in the future.