Tag: Irish Writing

4 Writers More Irish Than a Pint of Guinness

Lá Fhéile Pádraig libh go léir! (law ay-la paw-drig liv guh lair). For those of you that don’t know, that’s Gaeilge (or, Irish) for Happy St. Patrick’s Day! While this year’s festivities are very unlike those that have come before, the day remains a celebration of all things Irish. Given Ireland’s rich literary history, the country has produced some incredible authors, four of which I’m about to divulge. I’m focusing on contemporary writers today, since I should hope we are all already familiar with the elite Joyce, Yeats, and Beckett gang.




1. sally rooney

Image result for sally roney

image via elle

Sally Rooney is an Irish powerhouse right now. From Mayo, in the west of Ireland, Rooney has been “hailed as the first great millennial novelist for her stories of love and late capitalism”, according to The New Yorker. Rooney penned Normal People and Conversations With Friendsboth of which are currently in the process of adaptation by the BBC. Rooney writes from a perspective that is paradoxically both universal and yet specific to Irish consciousness. You can expect some allusions to the Irish landscape, or maybe to the Dublin University Rooney herself attended, but her writing has proven to be popular worldwide.

2. kevin barry

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image via irish times

Kevin Barry is a best selling Irish author from Limerick. He is the writer behind City of Bohane, Beatlebone, and Night Boat to Tangier, for which he was long-listed in the Man Booker Prize. Alongside his successful novels, Barry has also written a number of short story collections, such as Dark Lies The IslandHis work is poetic and enthralling, encapsulating the knack for storytelling that many Irish people have at their disposal.

3. Emilie pine

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Emilie Pine is Associate Professor of Modern Drama at University College Dublin, and author of Notes to Self. The novel is a non-fiction collection of essays on the struggle of being female, through the varied lenses of addiction, menstruation, rape, and infertility. Pine is an incredibly revered lecturer at UCD, and her book has been topping charts the world over since its release.

4. paul murray

Image result for Paul Murray irish

image via culture ireland

Paul Murray is an Irish novelist, and the man behind titles such as Skippy Dies, An Evening of Long Goodbyes, and The Mark and The Void. His works have been nominated for a host of prestigious awards, such as the 2010 Costa Prize, The National Book Critics Circle Award, and the 2010 Booker Prize.

feature image via contiki

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James Joyce’s Steamy Love Letters Are Better Than ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’

Irish writer James Joyce may best be remembered as a literary icon whose written work, Ulysses, cemented his image as a wise and intelligent mind hiding behind a soft and innocent-looking face.


Don’t be fooled, however. Yes, he is in fact intelligent, but he’s certainty not soft (in more ways than one). Behind those puppy dog eyes, thick mustache, and posh bowtie happens to be a dirty old man. Seriously dirty, dirty man.


The same passion and experimental attitude this linguistic mastermind brought to his stories and poetry he also translated to other avenues of his personal life. For those unfamiliar with Joyce, he had a passionate relationship with Nora Barnacle, whom he met in 1904 (the same date he later chose as the setting of Ulysses).


Their enduring love was filled with children, a marriage, and a great deal of passion. The sensual bond between the pair was evident throughout their public relationship. However, it became much more evident following their deaths when, in 1975, a book containing Joyce’s side of their written correspondence was published. The book, appropriately titled, Selected Letters of James Joyce (which you can buy here), brought to light their very personal and steamy love affair that rivaled anything E. L. James ever wrote. 


Don’t believe it? Take a peek for yourself. Just a warning, however, they are absolutely NSFW! You’ve been warned.


1. 2 December 1909, Dublin


My love for you allows me to pray to the spirit of eternal beauty and tenderness mirrored in your eyes or fling you down under me on that softy belly of yours and fuck you up behind, like a hog riding a sow, glorying in the very stink and sweat that rises from your arse, glorying in the open shape of your upturned dress and white girlish drawers and in the confusion of your flushed cheeks and tangled hair. It allows me to burst into tears of pity and love at some slight word, to tremble with love for you at the sounding of some chord or cadence of music or to lie heads and tails with you feeling your fingers fondling and tickling my ballocks or stuck up in me behind and your hot lips sucking off my cock while my head is wedged in between your fat thighs, my hands clutching the round cushions of your bum and my tongue licking ravenously up your rank red cunt. I have taught you almost to swoon at the hearing of my voice singing or murmuring to your soul the passion and sorrow and mystery of life and at the same time have taught you to make filthy signs to me with your lips and tongue, to provoke me by obscene touches and noises, and even to do in my presence the most shameful and filthy act of the body. You remember the day you pulled up your clothes and let me lie under you looking up at you while you did it? Then you were ashamed even to meet my eyes.


You are mine, darling, mine! I love you. All I have written above is only a moment or two of brutal madness. The last drop of seed has hardly been squirted up your cunt before it is over and my true love for you, the love of my verses, the love of my eyes for your strange luring eyes, comes blowing over my soul like a wind of spices. My prick is still hot and stiff and quivering from the last brutal drive it has given you when a faint hymn is heard rising in tender pitiful worship of you from the dim cloisters of my heart.


Nora, my faithful darling, my seet-eyed blackguard schoolgirl, be my whore, my mistress, as much as you like (my little frigging mistress! My little fucking whore!) you are always my beautiful wild flower of the hedges, my dark-blue rain-drenched flower.




2. 3 December 1909, Dublin.


As you know, dearest, I never use obscene phrases in speaking. You have never heard me, have you, utter an unfit word before others. When men tell in my presence here filthy or lecherous stories I hardly smile. Yet you seem to turn me into a beast. It was you yourself, you naughty shameless girl who first led the way. It was not I who first touched you long ago down at Ringsend. It was you who slid your hand down inside my trousers and pulled my shirt softly aside and touched my prick with your long tickling fingers, and gradually took it all, fat and stiff as it was, into your hand and frigged me slowly until I came off through your fingers, all the time bending over me and gazing at me out of your quiet saintlike eyes. It was your lips too which first uttered an obscene word. I remember well that night in bed in Pola. Tired of lying under a man one night you tore off your chemise violently and began to ride me up and down. Perhaps the horn I had was not big enough for you for I remember that you bent down to my face and murmured tenderly ‘Fuck up, love! fuck up, love!’





3. 8 December 1909, Dublin.


My sweet little whorish Nora,


I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck up in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue come bursting out through your lips and if I gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.


You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over me with a whore’s glow in your slumbrous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover’s fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometime too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your hot drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling’s cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly.


Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.




If you can’t get enough, the great news is, there’s more. You can read more of James Joyce’s letters by clicking on the link here.


Feature Image Courtesy of The Irish Times and Her Campus

Disney's The Little Mermaid

A Feminist Re-Telling of The Little Mermaid? YES PLEASE.

Irish author and famous feminist Louise O’Neill has announced that her new book will be a retelling of Hans Christian Anderson’s classic tale “The Little Mermaid,” seen through a searing feminist lens. 


The book, entitled “The Surface Breaks,” will be published in the UK in May 2018, with the US publication date still to be announced. The story takes place beneath the sea off the Irish coast and centers around a mermaid, Gaia, who dreams of being human. 


Louise O'Neill

Image Courtesy of Independent


A spokesperson for the publisher, Scholastic, said that in the book “Christian Andersen’s dark, original fairy tale is reimagined…with the stunning, scalpel-sharp writing and world building that has won Louise her legions of devoted fans.”


The Surface Breaks” will be O’Neill’s third novel. A major motion picture based on her first book “Only Ever Yours,” a feminist dystopia that has been compared to Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Handmaid’s Tale‘ is currently in development


Asking For It

Image Courtesy of Goodreads


Her second work ‘Asking For It‘, a painful and honest portrait of rape culture was profiled in Teen Vogue and has won countless awards including the American Library Association’s Michael L. Printz Honor for excellence in literature written for young adults, with The New York Times calling it “riveting and essential.”


Featured Image Courtesy of MovieFone