This article is from the source 'nytimes' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/30/books/edna-obriens-memoir-country-girl.html

The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
Seeking the Ardent Life, Finding It and Sharing It Seeking the Ardent Life, Finding It and Sharing It
(35 minutes later)
Edna O’Brien’s fourth novel, “August Is a Wicked Month” (1965), displayed one of the best author photographs of the 20th century. It’s reprinted on the cover of “Country Girl,” Ms. O’Brien’s new memoir.Edna O’Brien’s fourth novel, “August Is a Wicked Month” (1965), displayed one of the best author photographs of the 20th century. It’s reprinted on the cover of “Country Girl,” Ms. O’Brien’s new memoir.
It depicts the young author, cigarette clasped between her middle fingers, glancing to her left at some unseen provocation. The photograph is suggestive of both innocence and experience. It seems to promise: This girl is trouble.It depicts the young author, cigarette clasped between her middle fingers, glancing to her left at some unseen provocation. The photograph is suggestive of both innocence and experience. It seems to promise: This girl is trouble.
Ms. O’Brien was trouble. Her early novels were frequently banned, and burned, in her native Ireland when they appeared in the early 1960s. They were about young women who wished to flee their stultifying families and small towns, and they were frank about sexual longing.Ms. O’Brien was trouble. Her early novels were frequently banned, and burned, in her native Ireland when they appeared in the early 1960s. They were about young women who wished to flee their stultifying families and small towns, and they were frank about sexual longing.
They were also beautifully written. “I was,” Ms. O’Brien writes, “considered something of a Jezebel because of my books.” She came to relish the dismissals from the blockheaded critics who said, as she puts it, that her “talent resided in my knickers.” Brilliance is the best revenge.They were also beautifully written. “I was,” Ms. O’Brien writes, “considered something of a Jezebel because of my books.” She came to relish the dismissals from the blockheaded critics who said, as she puts it, that her “talent resided in my knickers.” Brilliance is the best revenge.
This memoir is the book one has long wanted from Ms. O’Brien. She has famously had an adventurous life. In interviews and newspaper profiles she has seemed to be on the prowl for experience in a way that, typically, only our roguish male writers are allowed to be.This memoir is the book one has long wanted from Ms. O’Brien. She has famously had an adventurous life. In interviews and newspaper profiles she has seemed to be on the prowl for experience in a way that, typically, only our roguish male writers are allowed to be.
“Country Girl” makes it plain that Ms. O’Brien was near the red-hot center of the Swinging ’60s in London. She dropped acid with her psychiatrist, R D. Laing. Among those who came to her parties were Marianne Faithfull, Sean Connery, Princess Margaret and Jane Fonda.“Country Girl” makes it plain that Ms. O’Brien was near the red-hot center of the Swinging ’60s in London. She dropped acid with her psychiatrist, R D. Laing. Among those who came to her parties were Marianne Faithfull, Sean Connery, Princess Margaret and Jane Fonda.
Richard Burton and Marlon Brando tried to get Ms. O’Brien into bed. Robert Mitchum succeeded in doing so, wooing her with this pickup line: “I bet you wish I was Robert Taylor, and I bet you never tasted white peaches.”Richard Burton and Marlon Brando tried to get Ms. O’Brien into bed. Robert Mitchum succeeded in doing so, wooing her with this pickup line: “I bet you wish I was Robert Taylor, and I bet you never tasted white peaches.”
Paul McCartney walked her home late one night, and stayed long enough to pick up a guitar and improvise this tune:Paul McCartney walked her home late one night, and stayed long enough to pick up a guitar and improvise this tune:
Oh, Edna O’Brien,
/>She ain’t lying,
/>You gotta listen
/>To what she gotta say,
/>She’ll have you sighing,
/>She’ll have you crying.
/>Hey,
/>She’ll blow your mind away. 		Oh, Edna O’Brien,
She ain’t lying,
You gotta listen
To what she gotta say,
She’ll have you sighing,
She’ll have you crying.
Hey,
She’ll blow your mind away.
You might come to “Country Girl” for the gossip, but you’ll stay for this memoir’s ardent portrait of a young woman struggling to find her identity both as a human being and a writer.You might come to “Country Girl” for the gossip, but you’ll stay for this memoir’s ardent portrait of a young woman struggling to find her identity both as a human being and a writer.
Ms. O’Brien describes her young self this way: “I was ravenous. For food. For life. For the stories that I would write, except that everything was effervescent and inchoate in my overexcitable brain.” She desired, she says, to be “drawn into the wild heart of things.”Ms. O’Brien describes her young self this way: “I was ravenous. For food. For life. For the stories that I would write, except that everything was effervescent and inchoate in my overexcitable brain.” She desired, she says, to be “drawn into the wild heart of things.”
Ms. O’Brien was born in a village in County Clare, in the west of Ireland, in 1930. Her small family was religious. Her father was a farmer who drank and gambled; her mother was a former maid. She has described her village, Tuamgraney, as “enclosed, fervid, and bigoted.”Ms. O’Brien was born in a village in County Clare, in the west of Ireland, in 1930. Her small family was religious. Her father was a farmer who drank and gambled; her mother was a former maid. She has described her village, Tuamgraney, as “enclosed, fervid, and bigoted.”
She was sent away to a convent school in Galway, but didn’t attend college. She moved to Dublin, where she worked in a drugstore while studying at the Pharmaceutical College at night.She was sent away to a convent school in Galway, but didn’t attend college. She moved to Dublin, where she worked in a drugstore while studying at the Pharmaceutical College at night.
She began to read serious literature, and she wondered: “Why could life not be lived at that same pitch? Why was it only in books that I could find the utter outlet for my emotions?”She began to read serious literature, and she wondered: “Why could life not be lived at that same pitch? Why was it only in books that I could find the utter outlet for my emotions?”
Escape of a sort came in the form of marriage to a much older man, a writer named Ernest Gebler, with whom Ms. O’Brien had two sons. They moved to London, and when Ms. O’Brien showed him her first novel, written during stolen moments, he read it and said to her, she reports, “You can write and I will never forgive you.”Escape of a sort came in the form of marriage to a much older man, a writer named Ernest Gebler, with whom Ms. O’Brien had two sons. They moved to London, and when Ms. O’Brien showed him her first novel, written during stolen moments, he read it and said to her, she reports, “You can write and I will never forgive you.”
Divorce soon followed. Ms. O’Brien never remarried, but was involved in several long relationships, which she refers to only in passing in “Country Girl.” She is frank about what she calls her “pleasure-seeking endorphins.”Divorce soon followed. Ms. O’Brien never remarried, but was involved in several long relationships, which she refers to only in passing in “Country Girl.” She is frank about what she calls her “pleasure-seeking endorphins.”
She refers to the “high trapeze at the commencement of love,” and the attendant “surprise meetings, canceled meetings, devouring jealousies, the rapture and the ruptures of an affair.” Things got messy. “I lack the cunning and the dissimulation,” she says, “necessary for a normal affair.”She refers to the “high trapeze at the commencement of love,” and the attendant “surprise meetings, canceled meetings, devouring jealousies, the rapture and the ruptures of an affair.” Things got messy. “I lack the cunning and the dissimulation,” she says, “necessary for a normal affair.”
Ms. O’Brien has a taste for excellent writing and excellent conversation, and among the writers who circulate through this memoir are Samuel Beckett, Philip Roth, Harold Pinter and Günter Grass.Ms. O’Brien has a taste for excellent writing and excellent conversation, and among the writers who circulate through this memoir are Samuel Beckett, Philip Roth, Harold Pinter and Günter Grass.
Then there’s Norman Mailer, who once said to her about her novels, she tells us, “You’re too interior, that’s your problem.” Yet another of this memoir’s artful sidebars is an account of Ms. O’Brien’s friendship with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.Then there’s Norman Mailer, who once said to her about her novels, she tells us, “You’re too interior, that’s your problem.” Yet another of this memoir’s artful sidebars is an account of Ms. O’Brien’s friendship with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.
“Country Girl” is, like Ms. O’Brien’s best fiction, plain-spoken and poetic in equal measure. There were moments when I wished for more clarity about events, and at times the narrative drifts. There is a long and pointless digression, for example, about a masseur who got lost on the way to an appointment.“Country Girl” is, like Ms. O’Brien’s best fiction, plain-spoken and poetic in equal measure. There were moments when I wished for more clarity about events, and at times the narrative drifts. There is a long and pointless digression, for example, about a masseur who got lost on the way to an appointment.
I should add, though, that Ms. O’Brien is very funny about her addiction to spas and various practitioners of woo-woo diversions. She describes a visit to one guru, “the smell of burning joss sticks wafting in from the hall,” this way: “Taking his cue, perhaps, from Wilhelm Reich, he was clearly an advocate for the orgasm, insisting on nudity for massages, where he pressed his being on the various chakras for added intensity and panted more than was reasonable. All that was needed was an orgone box.”I should add, though, that Ms. O’Brien is very funny about her addiction to spas and various practitioners of woo-woo diversions. She describes a visit to one guru, “the smell of burning joss sticks wafting in from the hall,” this way: “Taking his cue, perhaps, from Wilhelm Reich, he was clearly an advocate for the orgasm, insisting on nudity for massages, where he pressed his being on the various chakras for added intensity and panted more than was reasonable. All that was needed was an orgone box.”
Ms. O’Brien has long and correctly been recognized as among the greatest Irish writers of the 20th century. She’s had an outsize life to match her outsize talent. It was filled, she writes, with “the extremities of joy and sorrow, love, crossed love and unrequited love, success and failure, fame and slaughter.”Ms. O’Brien has long and correctly been recognized as among the greatest Irish writers of the 20th century. She’s had an outsize life to match her outsize talent. It was filled, she writes, with “the extremities of joy and sorrow, love, crossed love and unrequited love, success and failure, fame and slaughter.”
At 82 she continues to be trouble, of the best sort.At 82 she continues to be trouble, of the best sort.