I don’t think I’ve ever been more nervous for an interview.
After spending a semester studying award-winning Symposium author Claire Keegan and her works, I felt nothing but admiration and inspiration. I had fallen in love with her novellas and looked up to the way she fearlessly and seamlessly weaves politics into her literature.
I was absolutely terrified that she would think I was unintelligent, criticize me, or shatter the gilded picture I had painted of her in my mind.Luckily, after meeting her, my fears were almost immediately extinguished. Although I only spoke with her a few times during her week in Connecticut, her personality quickly became clear. She was sharp, funny, extraordinarily intelligent, and with a strong sense of self that made me admire her ever more than I had before.
I had the honor and privilege to sit down with her for a thirty minute interview, in which I discovered that she speaks exactly as she writes: with passion, clarity, and conviction. Read on for an abridged version of our conversation.
Juliana Chipelo: What was it like growing up in Ireland?
Claire Keegan: Well, I grew up on a farm in County Wicklow, on the Wicklow/Wexford border. And I was the youngest of six. My eldest sister finished high school before I was born. So, really, I grew up kind of at the tail end of the family, and we had horses and sheep and cattle, pigs, and I liked living where we lived. I liked being outside, and I liked having four seasons, and the harvest, and the hay, and the winter, and Christmas, all of that. The season’s really, really mattered to me, and I liked rural life, and I still like country life. I’m not sure that country life in Ireland is the same as, or is regarded in the same way, as country life in the United States. And I have spent eight years in the United States. One of the things about country life in Ireland is, well, country life in the United States, it seems like people want to get out of there when they’re young. They want to get out of the small town and go to the city and be successful, whereas I’m not sure that that is something that we share in Ireland. You can have a really good style of life and live in a very nice house in the countryside in Ireland and not feel that you’re missing out on having a career or having a better life in the city.
JC: So what ultimately led you to make the decision to leave the countryside, and go to America?
CK: Well, I just wanted to go to university, so that was the reason, and, really, that was the only reason that I went to New Orleans. That was the only reason.
JC: In general, what is your writing process? Can you describe the feeling you get before you begin writing?
CK: It just feels like something is asking to be written. And it doesn’t go away. I think the things that you don’t really need to write burn off and disappear. But the things you need to sit down and write and spend time on and thoroughly imagine are things that stay with you. It could be anything. It could be anything at all. It could be an image, it could be a piece of dialogue. It could be a circumstance, it could be a paragraph that suggests another paragraph. There’s nothing specific I can think of that comes every time I need to write something.
JC: How do you further dive into this idea or this feeling? Is it kind of this general progression from one idea or feeling to just diving into it completely?
CK: I don’t know. That sounds like a big passionate thing to do. I think I write quietly and evenly and just try and write one paragraph and then write another that feels like it belongs to the paragraph that I have just written and goes on rather than going on and on.
JC: Do you ever have an urge to write, but you just don’t have a feeling or something to write about?
CK: No, I don’t really feel the urge to write when I have nothing to write about. Anyway, I’m not sure that I’ve ever had nothing to write about. It feels like the world is full of things to write about. It’s a matter of choosing one rather than searching for one.
JC: Which authors are your favorite to read? What draws you to these authors?
CK: Well, I like Chekhov. Elizabeth Bishop, Raymond Carver, Flannery O’Connor, John Cheever, James Joyce, Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, John Millington Singh, D.H. Lawrence, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Thomas Hardy, Tolstoy. It’s just good writing. The writing feels good, and lively, meaningful, and humorous, and it takes me somewhere. It takes me into imagining another set of circumstances, a set of circumstances, not my own.
JC: We talked a lot in class with Dr. Gleason, whether or not your writing was minimalist or maximalist or somewhere in between. Do you have a take on where you think you fall on that spectrum?
CK: I don’t. I’ve never analyzed my work in that way. And in fact, I don’t even know what maximalist means. What does that mean?
JC: It’s the opposite of minimalism. Ultimately, we all agreed that your writing was more towards the center.
CK: I think it’s a compliment. That’s exactly where I like to be: in the center.
JC: If you could have any Symposium author, dead or alive, who would it be and why?
CK: Oh, what a great question. Goodness. God, it’s a hard question to answer. Because you want somebody who’s generous, and will show up and talk.
I would have to say, it’s probably Chekhov. I think he would be good, fun, and lively, and give lots of advice and be sociable and want to meet people and be well-mannered and that his talent would come out, and I would imagine that he would be the one I couldn’t resist if I could have my choice.
JC: What kind of questions would you ask him?
CK: I’d ask him about how not to write. I’d ask him to do a session on paragraphs. I’d ask him about writing dialogue. I’d ask him about narrative structure and character and point of view and how to be light-handed, and I’d ask him where his athletic imagination comes from.
JC: What do you feel like a paragraph can give you that prose or another form of writing maybe can’t?
CK: Well, I think all the prose that I know of are written in paragraphs. I think of a paragraph as being like a bowl. So that everything that’s in it can touch everything else that is in it and they all belong together. And everything that’s in it talks to everything else that’s in it. And they’re not standing up straight, but rather leaning on one another so that when you get to the end of it, it’s more than the sum of its parts, and it can become meaningful and create a feeling, whatever that feeling may be. Sentences are gregarious. They like the company of other sentences. They’re social. They don’t want to be on their own. Every now and then you get a great, big, long one that wants to be on its own. And I have one of these at the end of a story called “So Late in the Day.” But for the most part, I think sentences want the help of other sentences in order to go into what it is that the paragraph wants to go into.
JC: Do you find yourself writing about common themes or situations throughout your short stories?
CK: I don’t think about themes. I really don’t. I know that I’m very interested in how adults’ decisions can have terrible consequences for children. And I know that that interests me deeply, and that it’s there in both “Foster” and “Small Things Like These,” and “So Late in the Day.” I know that. They all have something to say about having children.
JC: What challenges, if any, have you faced as a female author? How do you overcome these dead white males being the main source of inspiration in the literary field?
CK: Well, I didn’t know if I overcome it. I mean, that is still the literary canon, a dead white man. And I’m not sure that it should be anything other than that because, I mean, it seems that they’re the ones who did most of the good writing, but, I mean, there were reasons for that. Women didn’t have the opportunities to write, and often to be published, or to be educated to that level, or have that luxury. A lot of women were raising children, or, if you’re working class. I just have the privilege now, and the great luck to write whatever I please, and to have it all be published and find many readers. So it’s not something I think about anymore, which is not to say that I don’t feel hugely privileged to be able to make a living in this way. I certainly do.
JC: We talked a lot about how a lot of your books deal with misogyny. How would you personally define what that is?
CK: It’s regarding what women want as secondary to what males want.
JC: How do you face misogyny?
CK: With difficulty, with anger, with upset, with rage, with disappointment.
JC: Do those feelings ever get less intense or upsetting?
CK: I think I’m more upset about it now than I used to be when I was younger, when I was your age. When I was your age, I didn’t notice it so much because I was in the middle of it. And Ireland was hugely misogynistic at that time. It’s getting better now. It really is getting better. But then it was just a matter of not accepting how things were. But not seeing how things could change. I think it’s probably more upsetting now because it’s less acceptable. And that’s a good thing.
JC: How have you enjoyed your time at KO?
CK: Oh, I’ve just loved it. I had the most wonderful time, and everything was so beautifully organized, and I’ve had the good fortune to meet so many of the students, including you. And it’s lovely to see how interested the KO students are in reading. It’s heartening. And just delightful.

