A. I’m of Irish descent on both sides, and researched my own family history when I first moved to Ireland twenty-four years ago, visiting my ancestral home places in County Clare, reading up on the family tree, being alternately frustrated and elated by the records that were available to me. That experience certainly fed into Nick’s family tree research. My mother’s Irish grandparents went to Australia in the 1860s, settling in a tiny place called Cradock in the Flinders Ranges. From what we know, they didn’t last long as outback farmers – the drought and hardship defeated them and they moved onto easier farming property. But recalling that story helped me to put myself in Nick’s shoes, and imagine a multi-generation connection to the land.
Over my years here in Ireland, I’ve also met and spoken to visitors and tourists researching their family trees, sometimes going back many generations, all looking for a personal connection to Ireland. It can be a very emotional experience for some people. There are many genuine companies assisting people in their genealogical searches, but I’ve also heard stories of records being fudged, people being told what they want to hear rather than what might be the truth . . . All of that fed into the plot as well.
Q. A novel like Hello from the Gillespies requires a lot of research: geographical, historical, and even medical. How did you research this book? How did you learn about confabulation, Angela’s condition?
A. I either already knew or had visited everyplace that features in the novel. I’ve known and loved the Flinders Ranges all my life, having grown up in the town of Clare, less than three hours away. Over the years I’ve gone bushwalking or camping there, taken long drives through the area around Wilpena Pound, and stayed in pubs in the outback towns of Hawker and Blinman. In November 2013, my brother Paul, my mum, Mary, and my niece (and research assistant) Ruby travelled up to the Flinders Ranges specifically to research this novel. Paul was the perfect tour guide, answering my questions, patiently driving me up long dirt tracks, pointing out station buildings, stopping at every lookout point so I could choose and photograph all my locations. So much from that trip is in the novel – the drama of a big summer storm, the incredible changing colors of the Ranges, the vast distances between towns, the look and isolation of station homesteads . . . Paul had lived in the area for several years and was not only able to give me great help himself, but also put me in touch with friends of his, Keryn and Henry Hilder, who had lived on a sheep station near Hawker. After returning to Ireland, I spent hours on the phone talking to them, and they gave me so much excellent detail, about everything from the impact of drought to the number of sheep on the property to the perils of learning how to shoot a snake . . .
I also mapped out every part of Nick’s journey, walking the streets of Dublin and traveling down to Cobh and across to County Mayo in Ireland, as well as Islington and Forest Hill in London. For the other locations, I drew on my own experiences of visiting New York (and always seeing film sets) and my own memories of living in Sydney and Adelaide.
As always, I was amazed that research details seemed to present themselves at just the right time. For example, I needed some extra information about life as an Australian living in New York, to add color to Genevieve’s chapters there. I discovered that my American literary agent’s assistant, Rachel, is Australian, and she gave me terrific background details. I’d just started writing the chapters featuring the twins when a friend in Dublin happened to tell me a story about the close connection between friends of hers who were twins. She introduced us, and Noreen and Catherine gave me wonderful insights into life as a twin, including the lucky boots story. Similarly, just as I needed details about what it was like to be parents to twins, with a third child close in age, I met a couple in exactly that situation who shared great stories with me.
Medically, I was so lucky to be introduced to Dublin neurologist Siobhan Hutchinson, who couldn’t have been more helpful with the confabulation scenes in the novel, answering my hundreds of questions about the cause, symptoms, treatment, and also reading my early drafts. My own doctor, Deirdre Coyle in Dublin, was a great help with the details of Ig’s accident and treatment, male depression and miscarriage. That said, any mistakes are mine, not theirs!
Q. Everyone has experienced the terror of breached email etiquette, that moment you hit ‘reply all’ with a snarky comment meant only for your best friend. That common concern makes the accidental sending of Angela’s Christmas letter relatable, believable and hilarious. Have you been involved with – either sending or receiving! – an unfortunate email like Angela’s?
A. I’ve had quite a few brushes like that – emails or texts being sent to the wrong person, private remarks made when I thought the phone had been disconnected, etc., and so was easily able to describe that moment of realization – the sudden rush of coldness, then heat, then horror . . . My own real horror story of private information going public thankfully took place pre-internet. I was packing up to move and had collected a box of books to donate to a nearby charity shop. What I hadn’t realised was that the diary I’d been keeping for my first few years of married life in Ireland had also somehow made its way into the box. I’d poured my heart out onto its pages, filling the diary with all my first impressions of Ireland, my in-laws, what it was like being married . . . By the time I realised and rushed back to the charity shop, it was too late – the entire box of books had been sold, my diary among them. Even now, all these years later, I still sometimes shudder when I think of my most private thoughts being read by a complete stranger. On the bright side, I could easily imagine Angela’s horror, multiplying that one set of eyes by hundreds . . .
Q. As one of seven children, you grew up in a large family. Can you tell us about alliances and loyalties among your siblings? Have you known twins with a bond as strong as Genevieve and Victoria’s? Have you known a sibling of equal age who felt left out, like Lindy? Or a much younger sibling like Ig? These characters seem so real, I have to fight the temptation to assume you were inspired by actual people.
A. I’m so glad to hear the Gillespies all felt real; thank you. They became very real to me as I was writing the novel. I talked to as many people in similar family situations as I could, then filtered it all through my imagination. I did also draw on my own family life, but mostly from an emotional point of view rather than by borrowing facts and real events. Like every human being, I know what it’s like to feel jealous, angry, left out, but I also know how good it feels to be part of a close family, the ties and the loyalty. Even though I’m on the other side of the world, I’m in almost daily contact with my mum and six brothers and sisters via texts, email and phone calls, and we meet up as often as possible. I think of us like a solar system, planets moving around one another, a constant connection even if we are not all in the same place. There is always a lot of snip-snap dialogue when we are together and also on email, and I love to recreate that family banter in my novels. One of my favourite scenes in Hello from the Gillespies is when all four children are in the lounge room, about to read Angela’s letter for the first time, but in the meantime just lazing about in the heat, talking and teasing one another. It felt like I was back at home again as I wrote that.
I’m the middle child of seven, and that position definitely came in handy when I was writing this book and my other novels. I know what it’s like to feel left out by the older ones, and also how it feels to be one of the younger ones, with that bit more freedom. But ultimately the finished novel is a product of research and imagination. I ask myself question after question as I write my books. What would it be like to have a twin, an even closer connection than I already have with my three sisters? How would it feel to be like Lindy, always on the fringes? What would it be like to have a much younger brother like Ig?
I especially loved writing Ig’s scenes. Once I decided he was a solemn, quirky little fellow, all his other character traits seemed to fall into place. I’m sure it helped that I have a trio of excellent ten-year-old nephews (not triplets, a
s each belongs to a different sibling) that I love spending time with. I find them so amusing and entertaining, and I suspect Ig is an amalgam of them. Ig’s imaginary friend is also drawn from real life, but goes back more than thirty-five years to when my own youngest brother, six years my junior, had an imaginary friend he called Tickles. Tickles was part of the family for a couple of years, coming with us on car journeys (it was already crowded in the car with nine of us) and sitting at the table (also already crowded). We all became very used to seeing my brother play board games with Tickles, chatting away and moving the pieces for him. It didn’t feel right to call Ig’s friend Tickles, though, as he belonged to my brother, not me. So I did the next best thing and called him Robbie – my brother’s name!
Q. Angela’s urge to create something of her own, whether through pottery, ceramics or photography, is bound to strike a sympathetic chord among readers. Aside from writing, do you have a creative outlet? Or is there one you would like to pursue someday?
A. I have to confess Lindy’s cushion idea came from my own attempt to find a creative outlet other than writing. I was becoming concerned how much time I spent at the computer, and decided I needed a hobby as far removed from writing as possible. One day I saw an embroidered cushion in a vintage store and thought it was so pretty. I decided that was the perfect hobby solution for me. Sewing would not only be relaxing, but I’d still be creating something. I visited a haberdashery and enthusiastically got all the material, the patterns and the thread, and sat down one night, ready to be spirited away into a dreamy, gentle world of handcrafts. It was a disaster. My eyesight is so bad that I couldn’t see the stitches. I kept losing my way with the pattern – halfway through it looked more like a child’s drawing of a pizza than the vase of delicate flowers it was supposed to be. I kept at it, day after day, but never seemed to get any closer to finishing it. Eventually, I realised it was making me more stressed than relaxed, and I tidied it all away into the back of a cupboard. It’s still there today. Fortunately, as a writer, nothing is ever wasted, and poor Lindy got to take it up instead.
In recent years I’ve become a keen photographer, just as Angela is in the novel. I do it purely for the pleasure of observing tiny details or beautiful colors and shapes, not with any thoughts of it as a potential career. I also take a lot of photos during my research trips, often posting them on my Facebook page. I like to print out my favorites and turn them into greeting cards, which I send to my friends and family. I call them Monicards.
Q. Angela works and finds solace in her pottery shed. Do you have a special space for writing?
A. I have a beautiful writing space – the attic in my house in inner-city Dublin. It’s warm, quiet and peaceful, with two skylights high enough that I see only sky. My desk is set under the slanting roof, and I can often hear birds walking across the tiles. This year I’ve also had the joy of watching a pair of seagulls set up a nest on the nearest chimney pot – the two chicks hatched a week ago, and as I write this, I can hear them chirping to be fed. The other great thing about working in the attic is I have to climb up and down three flights of stairs many times during the day. I get so involved in the writing that often I don’t leave the house at all for days on end – if it wasn’t for the stairs I wouldn’t get any exercise at all.
Q. As a writer, you create new worlds and invent the people to populate them. Similarly, Angela imagines her fantasy life in London with Will and Lexie. Do you ever view writing as a way to explore different choices you could have made in your life?
A. Absolutely. In the same way that my reading transports me into many different lives, so does my writing. I’ve lived many different lives through the eyes of my characters. I’ve operated a bed and breakfast on the Hill of Tara in Ireland, worked as a flight attendant based in Hong Kong, as a scientist in Antarctica. I’ve been widowed twice, lost a child in tragic circumstances, fallen in love many times, been estranged from my sisters, been reunited with a long-lost aunt, had twins, fostered a daughter . . . It’s been an action-packed fifteen years since I started writing.
More seriously, I do believe writing my novels has had a profound effect on my life and how I live it. Most of the time it is a great experience, entertaining and enjoyable, inventing a cast of characters and putting myself into their shoes, imagining their lives, reactions, personalities, putting them through all sorts of emotional turmoil. But the writing process has also at times made me face up to some uncomfortable truths about myself. I’ve slowly realised I often have characters who are too quick to lose their temper, who feel jealous easily, who let their anxiety take over too often . . . I’ve learned that those can be my own negative personality traits, and I need to address them in my own life as my fictional characters have to in theirs.
Q. Genevieve is a vivid character whose humor and loyalty make her likable despite her short temper and penchant for gossip. You do a great job of creating believable characters with human flaws whose positive traits still make them appealing to readers. What’s your secret?
A. They feel like real people to me and real people don’t have just one personality trait. We are all different shades. I see it in myself, in my friends, in my family. Most of us strive to be the best version of ourselves – kind, patient, generous – but there are always flashes of other traits – impatience, anger, selfishness – that fight their way to the surface. It can so often depend on who we are with. In Genevieve’s case, for example, she is endlessly patient with Victoria, but Lindy gets under her skin. That’s the fun of writing fiction about family – all those different personalities under one roof means a constant supply of light and shade, drama and comedy.
Q. The descriptions of Errigal are so beautiful and vivid, especially those of Swing Hill. Were you thinking of a place from your own life for those scenes?
A. As I mentioned earlier, I have known and loved the Flinders Ranges all my life, so I was able to draw on so many memories and images to create the landscape, buildings, birdlife and feel of Errigal. It’s a wonderful part of Australia; the landscape is so extraordinary, not to mention the wildlife – kangaroos, emus, eagles. I took lots of photographs when I was there on my research trip last year, but it wasn’t until I had finished the first draft that I looked at the photographs again. All the descriptions of that huge sky, the vivid colors, the curve of the Chace Range, the sounds of the birds, came from my memory.
Q. Your work is published around the world. Do you have much chance to meet your readers? Care to share some of the more unusual, surprising or perplexing interactions you’ve had?
A. I’ve been very lucky to go on book tours to different parts of the world – Australia, New Zealand, the USA, Italy, Ireland, the UK, even Hong Kong – meeting readers of all ages, male and female. What amazes me is how similar family experiences are around the world. I might be writing about a family in small-town Australia, or rural Ireland, but readers in different countries tell me it’s as if I am writing about their lives too. There’s a great Chinese proverb that I used in the front of my novel The Faraday Girls, which I could, in fact, put in the front of all my books: No family can hang out the sign, ‘Nothing the matter here’. We all know how it feels to experience sibling rivalry, family ties and tensions, grief and joy, no matter what part of the world we live in.
What does surprise me sometimes is the different translations. My books have been translated into nearly a dozen languages, but I rarely have anything to do with the translations. I get the good news from my literary agent that a novel is being translated and then about a year later, I receive my own book, in a language I can’t read, in the post. All I can do is hope they haven’t changed the story too drastically. One year, I received the Dutch edition of The Alphabet Sisters, and, as I always do, leafed through it page by page, trying to recognise familiar scenes or lines of dialogue. I noticed there was an asterisk next to one word and a footnote on one of the pages. That surprised me – I’d never had a footnote in my novels. I
managed to work out which scene it was and checked it against the original English edition. It was a scene involving a picnic, with one character bringing lamingtons, a very common and ordinary Australian cake made from slices of (usually stale) sponge that have been soaked in runny chocolate icing and then rolled in coconut. Every Australian kid knows them; they are the staple of school fetes and lunchboxes, cheap, quick and easy to make. I’m not sure where the Dutch translator found the information, but the footnote described lamingtons as ‘an Australian culinary delicacy’.
Q. I know you love to read. Are there certain kinds of books you most enjoy, or others that you stay away from when you’re deep into your own writing? Are you able to take time between books to catch up on your reading, and are there particular books you’ve especially enjoyed this past year?
A. I read very widely: fiction, nonfiction, thrillers, literary novels, poetry, biographies . . . When I’m writing my own novels, I don’t read as much family-oriented fiction as usual, in case I get jealous of another author’s great plotline, or in case an idea leaps across from their book into mine. While I was writing Hello from the Gillespies, I mostly read nonfiction – many research books about confabulation and amnesia, raising twins, outback life, celebrity hairdressers, Australian birds . . . When I did get the longing for fiction, I read some very gripping thrillers, including Jo Nesbo’s Nordic dramas, as far removed from my outback setting as I could get. I also read and loved a biography of Kate Bush, one of my favourite musicians, which gave me a fascinating insight into her creative process and family life.
I’ve saved up a large pile of books that I’m planning to read as a treat when I finish the last copyedit and Hello from the Gillespies is on the way to the printers. I can hardly see my bedside table at this stage, there are so many of them. They include Kristan Higgins’ The Perfect Match, Tom Keneally’s The Daughters of Mars, Carys Bray’s A Song for Issy Bradley, Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Colleen McCullough’s Bittersweet, JoJo Moyes’ The One Plus One, and Evie Wyld’s All The Birds, Singing . . .
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