Nuala O'Faolain's first memoir Are You Somebody? became a literary sensation and an international bestseller when it was first published by New Island Books in 1996. It launched a new life for its author, at a time when she had long since let go of expectations that anything new could dislodge patterns of regret and solitude.
A pioneering work of literary memoir, Almost There opens at that moment when O'Faolain's life began to change. It tells the story of a life in subtle, radical, and unforeseen renewal. It is a tale of good fortune chasing out bad – of an accidental harvest of happiness. But it is also a provocative examination of one woman's experience of the 'crucible of middle age' – a time of life that faces in two directions, that forges the shape of the years to come, and also clarifies and solidifies one's relationships to friends and lovers, family and self.
Nuala O'Faolain's final memoir, Almost There chronicles the pursuit of artistic and personal integrity, and what it is to be a woman in contemporary society, with the signature style and raw candidness of her personal writing.
Nuala O'Faolain was an Irish journalist, columnist and writer who attended a convent school in the north of Ireland, studied English at University College, Dublin, and medieval English literature at the University of Hull before earning a postgraduate degree in English from Oxford.
She returned to University College as a lecturer in the English department, and later was journalist, TV producer, book reviewer, teacher and author.
She became internationally well-known for her two volumes of memoir: Are You Somebody? & Almost There, a her her novel, My Dream of You, and a history with commentary, the Story of Chicago May. The first three were all featured on the New York Times Best Seller list. Her novel Best Love Rosie was published posthumously in 2008.
Anne Enright’s introduction to Nuala O’Faolain’s Almost There does the book no service. Rather than opening a space for O’Faolain’s voice, it imposes a narrowing psychological frame that encourages the reader to view the author as a problem to be interpreted rather than a writer to be encountered. The emphasis on personal “difficulty” and emotional excess reads less as insight than as supervision, and it subtly diminishes the work before it has begun. An introduction should invite; this one conditions and qualifies. Whatever its intentions, it interferes with the reader’s freedom and undermines the authority of the book it purports to honour.
That authority, however, survives the framing. Almost There remains a work of rare courage and intelligence. O’Faolain writes with an unguarded honesty about loneliness, desire, ageing, and failure that few writers risk and fewer sustain. Her voice is direct, unsparing, and deeply humane — and it needs no mediation. Once the introduction is set aside, the book speaks with a force and candour that fully justify its lasting importance.