Interviewed by Suzanne Jamir
Q: What role does history play in your inspiration? How do you build a story or a novel upon historical information?
A: I won a research fellowship at the Cullman Centre for Scholars and Writers at the New York Public Library in 2005/06—an absolutely wonderful opportunity and a treasure of a place—where I did research for my latest novel, The Family Silver, based on the life of Irish playwright, Sean O’Casey (Many of O’Casey’s papers are held at the NYPL). It was a researcher’s heaven—partly because of the enormous resources at the NYPL but also because there were learned librarians at hand who steered and guided and shared the benefit of their expertise. But normally, my research tends to be magpie-like, rather than methodical, and it is a strange thing that books come to you in unpredictable ways when you are preparing to write a novel that are exactly what you need to read, as if your subconscious called them forth. Sounds new-agey, I know, but it has happened to me too often to distrust it. I’ve never written historical short fiction, though Alice Munro’s collection The View From Castle Rock, has made me rethink that.
Q: What influence does research have upon a writer? It seems that research could free or restrain a writer, enrich or bog down a piece of fiction. How do you not only conduct research but also control it? Also, what advice would you give young writers about using research in their fiction?
A: I find research tedious. When I hear writers say they became fascinated and distracted by their research, I’m amazed. I tend to write the story first, in order to find out what I don’t know; then, I do the research. So, my approach is essentially pragmatic, perhaps due to my background in journalism. The most important thing to remember is that you are writing fiction, not social history, and authenticity of feeling is the priority. Facts and figures can be slotted in, but really inhabiting a character is the litmus test in fiction and can’t be faked. My advice to young writers is to trust in your imagination to recreate a life that is not your own. Then, Google.
Q: How accurately to you use the history that you include in your fiction? Is history the “recipe” or the starting point?
A: My first fascination is always with character and story—so in many ways I fell into historical fiction because the characters I chose and the stories I wanted to tell–a notorious child kidnap in 1950s Dublin (Mother of Pearl) or the woman who claimed to be Grand Duchess Anastasia (The Pretender)—dictated the period. My latest novel, The Family Silver, also set in the 19th century/early 20th century, centres around the life of Bella O’Casey, sister of the Irish playwright, Sean O’Casey. In all of these novels, the spark that ignited my interest was not the history, but the people. However, that said, I feel, as a historical novelist, it is incumbent on me to be as accurate as possible about historical facts. Because I often write about real people, whose stories have been eclipsed in some way, I am always faithful to the history of those people as it is known—where there are gaps, I invent.
Q: In what ways do you approach gender in your fiction? Do you find yourself bound to female characters, and if so, why? Do you find a difference between how you render male and female characters?
A: I write more women characters than men, I suppose because I am a woman. I consider myself a feminist but I don’t feel there is room for isms in fiction so if I write a lot about women it’s because they fascinate me, not because it is part of some agenda. Men in fiction—as in life—I find more mystifying, though in my work-in-progress, a linked collection of stories, I’ve been writing quite a bit from the male point of view and finding it both challenging and exhilarating. I see myself as exploring the human condition, which is, after all, common to both genders.
Q: Many of your characters are what could perhaps be categorized as dysfunctional or psychologically unstable. How do you approach the perspective and logic of such characters as a fiction writer? Do you find these characters more difficult to render? Do you have specific tactics/strategies in rendering such characters in your fiction?
A: I didn’t set out to write about broken people, and I think my readers find my characters odder than I do! If my characters have anything in common, it is that they struggle with identity and battle to move into the centre of things, to fully inhabit their lives. Sometimes they choose strange ways to do that, but the instinct to belong is common to us all, I think.
Q: What role do you believe nationality and culture play in your fiction? How do you view the notion of labels and of representation (of a nation, for example) in relation to a writer’s own goals, your own?
A: Irishness is built into me culturally, though I don’t feel any responsibility to write about Ireland because of that. The Irish wield the English language in a different way to anyone else, so that’s sewn into the work, too. At an early stage in my career, I actively avoided Irish settings for fear of being parochial, but as I get older, the tug of place, particularly the native place, grows stronger.
Q: What writers have influenced your own fiction, or what writers do you feel a sense of camaraderie with?
A: Among Irish writers, I greatly admire John Banville and Neil Jordan (also a film-maker). Carson McCullers and Flannery O’Connor were early influences on my writing and Alice Munro is my heroine for what she has achieved in the short story form.
Q: Do you have a writing regime or ritual?
A: My pattern is to work the school year – productivity often tails off during the summer when I teach. My ambition is to write every week day, though I don’t always succeed.
Q: What advice would you give young writers about rejection?
A: Rejection is a constant, whether you’re a young or an established writer, and it never gets easier. My advice is to constantly re-circulate your work. Look at a rejection as freeing you up to send the MS out into the world again to find someone who’ll really love it. The only other advice is to hold your nerve.
Q: What advice would you give young writers about finding an agent?
A: After fifteen years, I parted company with my agent and it took me three years to find a new one. It is a very trying process, much harder now than when I was starting out. These days it seems more difficult to find an agent than a publisher, as introductions are often required before an agent will even look at your work. So if you know someone who already has an agent, be shameless and ask for an introduction. Alternatively, check out the agents of writers you admire or with whom you think you have something in common (agents often get a mention in the acknowledgments) and try approaching them.
Mary Morrissy was born in Dublin in 1957. 
She has published one collection of short stories, A Lazy Eye (London, Jonathon Cape/New York, Scribner, 1993), as well as two novels: Mother of Pearl (Scribner, 1995/Jonathon Cape, 1996); and The Pretender (Jonathon Cape, 2000). Morrissy won a Hennessy Award for short fiction in 1984, a Lannan Literary Prize in 1995, and was shortlisted for the Whitbread Prize in 1996. She lives in London.
Q: What role does history play in your inspiration? How do you build a story or a novel upon historical information?
A: I won a research fellowship at the Cullman Centre for Scholars and Writers at the New York Public Library in 2005/06—an absolutely wonderful opportunity and a treasure of a place—where I did research for my latest novel, The Family Silver, based on the life of Irish playwright, Sean O’Casey (Many of O’Casey’s papers are held at the NYPL). It was a researcher’s heaven—partly because of the enormous resources at the NYPL but also because there were learned librarians at hand who steered and guided and shared the benefit of their expertise. But normally, my research tends to be magpie-like, rather than methodical, and it is a strange thing that books come to you in unpredictable ways when you are preparing to write a novel that are exactly what you need to read, as if your subconscious called them forth. Sounds new-agey, I know, but it has happened to me too often to distrust it. I’ve never written historical short fiction, though Alice Munro’s collection The View From Castle Rock, has made me rethink that.
Q: What influence does research have upon a writer? It seems that research could free or restrain a writer, enrich or bog down a piece of fiction. How do you not only conduct research but also control it? Also, what advice would you give young writers about using research in their fiction?
A: I find research tedious. When I hear writers say they became fascinated and distracted by their research, I’m amazed. I tend to write the story first, in order to find out what I don’t know; then, I do the research. So, my approach is essentially pragmatic, perhaps due to my background in journalism. The most important thing to remember is that you are writing fiction, not social history, and authenticity of feeling is the priority. Facts and figures can be slotted in, but really inhabiting a character is the litmus test in fiction and can’t be faked. My advice to young writers is to trust in your imagination to recreate a life that is not your own. Then, Google.
Q: How accurately to you use the history that you include in your fiction? Is history the “recipe” or the starting point?
A: My first fascination is always with character and story—so in many ways I fell into historical fiction because the characters I chose and the stories I wanted to tell–a notorious child kidnap in 1950s Dublin (Mother of Pearl) or the woman who claimed to be Grand Duchess Anastasia (The Pretender)—dictated the period. My latest novel, The Family Silver, also set in the 19th century/early 20th century, centres around the life of Bella O’Casey, sister of the Irish playwright, Sean O’Casey. In all of these novels, the spark that ignited my interest was not the history, but the people. However, that said, I feel, as a historical novelist, it is incumbent on me to be as accurate as possible about historical facts. Because I often write about real people, whose stories have been eclipsed in some way, I am always faithful to the history of those people as it is known—where there are gaps, I invent.
Q: In what ways do you approach gender in your fiction? Do you find yourself bound to female characters, and if so, why? Do you find a difference between how you render male and female characters?
A: I write more women characters than men, I suppose because I am a woman. I consider myself a feminist but I don’t feel there is room for isms in fiction so if I write a lot about women it’s because they fascinate me, not because it is part of some agenda. Men in fiction—as in life—I find more mystifying, though in my work-in-progress, a linked collection of stories, I’ve been writing quite a bit from the male point of view and finding it both challenging and exhilarating. I see myself as exploring the human condition, which is, after all, common to both genders.
Q: Many of your characters are what could perhaps be categorized as dysfunctional or psychologically unstable. How do you approach the perspective and logic of such characters as a fiction writer? Do you find these characters more difficult to render? Do you have specific tactics/strategies in rendering such characters in your fiction?
A: I didn’t set out to write about broken people, and I think my readers find my characters odder than I do! If my characters have anything in common, it is that they struggle with identity and battle to move into the centre of things, to fully inhabit their lives. Sometimes they choose strange ways to do that, but the instinct to belong is common to us all, I think.
Q: What role do you believe nationality and culture play in your fiction? How do you view the notion of labels and of representation (of a nation, for example) in relation to a writer’s own goals, your own? A: Irishness is built into me culturally, though I don’t feel any responsibility to write about Ireland because of that. The Irish wield the English language in a different way to anyone else, so that’s sewn into the work, too. At an early stage in my career, I actively avoided Irish settings for fear of being parochial, but as I get older, the tug of place, particularly the native place, grows stronger.
Q: What writers have influenced your own fiction, or what writers do you feel a sense of camaraderie with?
A: Among Irish writers, I greatly admire John Banville and Neil Jordan (also a film-maker). Carson McCullers and Flannery O’Connor were early influences on my writing and Alice Munro is my heroine for what she has achieved in the short story form.
Q: Do you have a writing regime or ritual?
A: My pattern is to work the school year – productivity often tails off during the summer when I teach. My ambition is to write every week day, though I don’t always succeed.
Q: What advice would you give young writers about rejection?
A: Rejection is a constant, whether you’re a young or an established writer, and it never gets easier. My advice is to constantly re-circulate your work. Look at a rejection as freeing you up to send the MS out into the world again to find someone who’ll really love it. The only other advice is to hold your nerve.
Q: What advice would you give young writers about finding an agent?
A: After fifteen years, I parted company with my agent and it took me three years to find a new one. It is a very trying process, much harder now than when I was starting out. These days it seems more difficult to find an agent than a publisher, as introductions are often required before an agent will even look at your work. So if you know someone who already has an agent, be shameless and ask for an introduction. Alternatively, check out the agents of writers you admire or with whom you think you have something in common (agents often get a mention in the acknowledgments) and try approaching them.
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About the Interviewer: Suzanne Jamir recently obtained her Ph.D. From Florida State University.
Her short stories have appeared in The South Carolina Review,
Jabberwock Review, and Meridian.