Madam, - I was very saddened by the death of Nuala O'Faolain. It was terrible to realise I would never again have the great pleasure of rushing to the bookstore to pick up the latest work by this phenomenal writer. Are You Somebody was, for me, one of those all-too-rare reading experiences in which, from the moment I finished the last sentence, I wanted to start at the beginning and experience the story all over again.
In beautifully rendered reflections on women's issues, Irish history and culture, and her own life's journey, she described with eloquence and sensitivity the greatest of human frailties, the most profound cultural and social aches of a nation, and the discovery of great beauty amid tragedy. She will be greatly missed. - Yours, etc,
URSULA OAKS, Silver Spring, Maryland, USA.
Madam, - I was very sorry to read of Nuala O'Faolain's death. She did invaluable work in her column by throwing light on some of the hidden, nasty corners of Irish society and by writing so honestly about her own fears and disappointments.
I saw her once in the supermarket and rushed over to say, not "Are you somebody?" but: "Aren't you Nuala O'Faolain? I love your writing." She said: "Oh - a fan!" - she was so approachable and pleased to be recognised. I am sorry we will hear no more from her. - Yours, etc,
MAEVE KENNEDY, Rathgar Avenue, Dublin 6.
A chara, - Many years ago, before Ireland became rich and multicultural, and before she was somebody, Nuala O'Faolain came to Boston to give a talk. For reasons that still escape me, I was put forward as her official tour guide.
I had known Nuala only from her column in The Irish Times, and from reading it those many years knew that while she was graceful, she had no airs. After she checked into her hotel, I asked her if she wanted to see the tourist traps or the real people. "Oh, the real people, please," she replied.
I took her for a stroll around Castle Island in South Boston and Nuala was delighted. She said it reminded her of the East Pier in Dún Laoghaire, except that for every ruddy face that looked like it was from Galway, there were black, brown and yellow faces mixed in.
A fellow walked by with a pet iguana on a leash and Nuala looked at me with wide eyes and exclaimed, "Aren't Americans something else?" She chatted up Vietnamese fishermen, Irish-American kids with freckles and red hair, some black kids from a church group visiting from Alabama, and an old Polish man who said he knew the pope. Her curiosity and her warmth were infectious. I never saw anyone enjoy a stroll so much.
An awful lot has been said of late about the way Nuala chose to die. I would prefer to remember the way she lived, her heart proudly on her sleeve. She was a wonderful writer and a better person. - Is mise,
KEVIN CULLEN, The Boston Globe, Boston, Massachusetts, USA.