Autobiography: Of Nuala O'Faolain's many gifts, writes Éilís Ní Dhuibhne, her greatest is her voice: that warm, intimate tone which whispers along her finely crafted sentences and seduces the reader with something that is more than sincerity, honesty, wryness, although it comprises elements of all these qualities. It is that voice above all which gives her the power to draw the reader in and keep her enthralled.
The book is unputdownable.
It is a sequel to her first memoir, Are You Somebody?, and, in a series of well-chosen windows tells the story of her life since that was published and became an international bestseller.
The story moves between Dublin, Clare and New York, and skilfully interweaves the present, when the author sits and writes in an old holiday house in Upper New York with various significant moments of the past six years and also of her more distant past.
Writing has been O'Faolain's job for a long time and one layer of this memoir deals with this all-important aspect of her life. Credit is generously given to all who helped her and a facilitator at the Irish Writers Centre in particular is acknowledged as having played a crucial role in getting Are You Somebody? off the ground.
The narrative is seasoned with numerous comments and insights into the writing process, such as this: "The way fiction is made is basically a mystery. Are connections made between body and mind in the conjuring up of a story?"
Her comments on the process of memoir writing, its therapeutic benefits and its dangers (nobody likes being written about) are original, even stunning, and I wished that she could have examined these issues in greater depth.
But the main task of the memoir is more important than an analysis of literature, however brilliant and insightful. Like her last memoir, and her novel, this book is essentially an exploration of the most pressing emotional need of the human being, the need for love. That sounds trite, but in her hands the theme is restored to its elemental centrality. O'Faolain describes the loneliness and isolation which she experienced for many years after her break-up with Nell McCafferty, during which she spent her evenings alone drinking wine, listening to music and reading good literature - a way of passing the time, she admits, which was far from miserable: indeed the redemptive power of literature (and wine and music) is demonstrated throughout the book; had she passed her evenings watching Blind Date instead of reading Proust her life would, I hazard, have had a sadder outcome.
As it was, reality had its tatty aspects. The long affair with Joseph the elusive truck driver, which provided inspiration for the novel, My Dream of You, illuminates the desperation which can drive a lonely person to take love wherever it is found, even if that is a risky, sordid, place.
There is more than one kind of love, however, and the author experienced and explored several valuable kinds: she tells of her deep affection for her dog, Mollie, of her attachment to her siblings, of her deep friendship with "Luke" and others, who showed her that friendship is something "you do".
This story has a happy-ish ending. Eventually, true love is discovered via the unromantic means of an Internet dating agency. As she writes the memoir, Nuala tells us about her new relationship with John, a New York lawyer and father of an eight-year-old girl. Happy, she does not deny the problems involved, and her serious envy of the close relationship John has with his daughter, the classic stepmother dilemma, is described in searing depth. Love does not come without snags and by the end of the book Nuala is still learning this tough lesson, although she finishes on a typically honest ambiguous note.
As personal tales go, hers is moderately eventful. Not everyone, after all, is a successful columnist, a bestselling novelist, a newly rich middle-aged woman with a a strange, tragic childhood and a rich emotional and sexual history (bisexual at that) behind her. Still, it is not the story of an Arctic explorer or whatever else is supposed to be exciting nowadays, and Nuala manages to convey the sense that her story is ordinary.
It is not, really, but in focusing on the elemental human emotions, she succeeds in imbuing it with universal relevance. Her philosophical insights, drawn from her own experience and sharp observation, ground the story in the realm of general truth: "I believe all the common nostrums that every magazine article peddles: friendship, travel, art, animals, the natural world. That's all there is. They are not love itself but they are nurturing, the way love is."
Sound nostrums, but not, perhaps, as common as one would wish.
Nuala O'Faolain combines emotional vulnerability, without which emotional wisdom seldom occurs, with a modestly brilliant mind. Her extravagant, affective responses are counterbalanced by intellectual depth and real literary education, as well as down-to-earth qualities such as common sense, neighbourly compassion, and probably most significantly, a true sense of fun. She comes across as flawed, loving, needy, bright: heartbreakingly real.
Such a coup is not possible without art. Her literary style seems simple. But the considered aesthetic shape of this book is artistically a huge advance on the first memoir. Training is important, to paraphrase the teacher at the Irish Writers Centre.
Nuala O'Faolain has learned a lot about narrative composition since Are You Somebody?. This memoir is not just a powerful and moving personal story, it is a beautifully wrought literary work. I loved reading it and it gave me comfort in a time of difficulty.
I thank Nuala O'Faolain for writing it.
Éilís Ní Dhuibhne is a novelist and short story writer
Almost There: The Onward Journey of a Dublin Woman By Nuala O'Faolain Michael Joseph, 275pp, € 14.99