May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead

Irish-born writer Nuala O'Faolain has died of lung cancer at 68. You can read a nice New York Times obituary of the feminist, journalist and memoirist by clicking here.

Ms. O'Faolain, whose name I will inevitably misspell by the end of this post, was here in Miami several years back to talk about her second memoir, Almost There (she became famous for her first memoir, Are You Somebody?) She was a terrific interview, lively and funny, asking me questions with a sincerity and good humor I will never forget.

The book of hers I will always treasure most is her novel My Dream of You, seductive and romantic and terribly sad, about an Irish journalist who delves into the history of the famine. I remember reading it on a hiking trip down the Grand Canyon (South Canyon to be exact, for those of you who are Canyoneers). The first mile down South Canyon is not something I really like to think about, unless I am thinking: "Wow, I am never going down THAT again," but I remember lugging that fat paperback to the bottom and then being so happy I had once it rained and rained and RAINED AND RAINED, and the six of us were stuck under a tarp for a large chunk of the trip with not a lot to do besides read and drink.

Anyway, I know Ms. O'Faolain, who died in Dublin, did not much believe in the afterlife, so the heading on this post is not terribly appropriate. But I'm going to do it anyway, as I am a sentimental type. It's this or I sing Danny Boy and trust me when I tell you that nobody wants to hear that.

Comments

[Amy]

How sad! I loved her books, especially "My Dream of You." Well worth the read, definitely. And I'm not even Irish like Connie O'Ogle.

[Connie]

Isn't that a good book? I just loved it. The whole double narrative, in the present and in the past...I didn't know anything about the famine except for, thank God the people related to me got to a damned ship, and yes, I know the jokes about: it's a freakin' island, how can you starve if you can fish!? But I tell you, we were put down by the bootheel of British oppression. As Stephen Colbert said: Oliver Cromwell can kiss my swinging emerald scrotum (OK, I don't have one, but you get the general idea.)

Anyway, great book. It is very sad. I wish she'd written more fiction, though I did like her memoirs.

[Connie]

BTW, that description of South Canyon IS accurate...but lest I sound like an actual brave person I did manage to leave out the part where I was whining the morning we left and one of my fellow hikers figuratively slapped me back to my senses.