Lisa McInerney talks to Rick O'Shea: ‘It starts off as a romp about a horny teenager but the ending just stunned me'
Lisa McInerney is an award-winning novelist and short story writer, lecturer and editor of The Stinging Fly, and she unsurprisingly has great taste in books too.
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Irish Examiner
22-07-2025
- Irish Examiner
New Irish writer getting rave reviews — but nobody knows who they are
What's in a pen name? Irish writer Liadan Ní Chuinn's debut short story collection, Every One Still Here, is receiving rave reviews and rapturous praise, but hardly anyone seems to know who they are. A cursory Google turns up no photos or biographical information. All we know is that the writer is Northern Irish and was born in 1998, the year of the Good Friday agreement. A statement from Irish publisher The Stinging Fly reads: 'The Stinging Fly has been working with Liadan on these stories for the past four years. From early on in the process, they expressed a desire to publish their work under a pseudonym and to protect their privacy throughout the publication process. No photographs of the author are available and Liadan will not be participating in any in-person interviews or public events.' Writing anonymously or under a pseudonym is a long-established custom in publishing. Jane Austen's novels were attributed to 'a Lady', Mary Ann Evans went by George Eliot, and the Brontë sisters were Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. Although women no longer need to disguise themselves as men, and 'the low trade of writing novels' is less stigmatised, the tradition of the pen name has continued throughout the 20th century into the present day: John Le Carré was really David Cornwell; Eric Blair became George Orwell; and no one has heard of Erika Leonard, but everyone has heard of EL James. When questions regarding the veracity of nature memoir The Salt Path caused outrage among the nation's book groups, the fact that the author had changed her and her husband's names was the least remarkable revelation. If anything, it can feel more unusual to meet an author whose books have the name they were born with on the cover. In the modern publishing world, the spectrum encompasses everything from 'uses a pen name but has an author photo and gives interviews' to 'has an opposite gender or gender-neutral author persona'; 'uses different pseudonyms for different genres'; 'uses a different name for political reasons, eg to escape persecution in their home country, or personal or professional reasons'; and even 'secret anonymity' (is anonymous but tries to make it so that no one actually knows they are). Every One Still Here by Liadan Ní Chuinn Nepotist offspring will often use a less famous parent's surname to stave off accusations that they owe their success to their connections or, as in the case of AS Byatt, an author may use their married name to distance themselves from a novelist sibling (Margaret Drabble). Total anonymity, however, is a different business. The most famous modern example we have is of course Elena Ferrante (or it was, until she was possibly and, to my mind, very rudely unmasked by an Italian journalist). Yet even Ferrante did some press through correspondence, including writing for The Guardian. To not give interviews at all, especially as a young debut author, is unusual indeed, particularly in a publishing landscape where 'personal brand' is key, and short stories remain such a hard sell. You could say that Liadan Ní Chuinn's collection being published at all is something of a miracle. Literary quality is not always prioritised above profile. I cannot tell you how many proofs I am sent by writers who are big on Instagram but can't string a grammatical sentence together. With publicity budgets not what they used to be and many authors needing to do much of the work themselves, a debut writer who won't give interviews or attend events represents a challenge to any acquiring publishing house and their publicity department. I admire Ní Chuinn. As an author myself — in the next six months I have two books coming out — I know that the stress of exposure and the risk of burnout can be very real. Ní Chuinn could be forgiven for looking at Sally Rooney, another writer in the same literary ecosystem who started young, and thinking that level of exposure looks unappealing. The way a young woman — because it's usually a young woman — who creates something great becomes a sort of shorthand for everything that is wrong/right about her chosen art form is hardly an incentive to put yourself out there. Rooney's writing shows a deep ambivalence about fame, and her decision to now largely only put herself forward in the media when it serves her impassioned political beliefs is to be admired. Yet newspapers are still terribly prone to what I call 'Rooney-itis'. Look, I'm doing it now. When you're an author, public exposure doesn't just affect you, but the people in your life whose stories often overlap with yours. When you are writing about sensitive topics that have a lasting, painful legacy on real people's lives — as Ní Chuinn does in their excavation of the murderous legacy of English colonialism in Ireland — it can be an act of care and protection to remove yourself from the spotlight. Most of all, it makes the interaction between author and reader purely about the quality of the work. For a publisher to agree to publish an anonymous author, as so many did Ferrante, and publishers in Ireland, Britain, and the US have Ní Chuinn, that writer has to be extraordinary. And Ní Chuinn is. It should give any avid reader of fiction — and any author who cares about sentences but is rubbish at TikTok — hope. The work can still be the thing, at least sometimes. — The Guardian
Irish Independent
20-06-2025
- Irish Independent
Lisa McInerney talks to Rick O'Shea: ‘It starts off as a romp about a horny teenager but the ending just stunned me'
The award-winning author on the novels of two Chilean authors, one that is in the format of an exam, and the book about the 1980 uprising in South Korea that she brings to her own students Lisa McInerney is an award-winning novelist and short story writer, lecturer and editor of The Stinging Fly, and she unsurprisingly has great taste in books too.
Irish Examiner
24-05-2025
- Irish Examiner
Séamas O'Reilly: We have elevated AI that almost never works as well as what it replaces
We all love a good summer read. How about Tidewater Dreams, a multi-generational family saga by Chilean-American novelist Isabel Allende, blending elements of magical realism with the themes of environmental disaster? Or Nightshade Market by Min Jin Lee, which depicts the intersecting lives of three women working in Seoul's illegal underground economy? Or Rebecca Makkai's Boiling Point, about a climate scientist who must reckon with shifting family ties when her daughter becomes an eco-activist? I mention them because the Chicago Sun-Times recommended all three as part of the 'Summer Reading List' it included within its 120,000-circulation paper last Sunday. There was only one small snag: none of them exist. The authors do, of course. Each is an internationally renowned and best-selling name in fiction, but the novels themselves were hallucinations dreamed from the digital ether by AI. In fact, of the 15 books the list recommended, 10 were invented, including works by Hamnet scribe Maggie O'Farrell, Pulitzer prize-winning novelist Percival Everett, and The Martian author Andy Weir. Reaction was swift and, as you'd expect, mortifying. The Sun-Times issued a statement saying it was appalled. The list's author, Marco Buscaglia was quickly identified, and admitted he often used AI for background in his writing, but hadn't caught the errors this time. 'I can't believe I missed it because it's so obvious,' he apologised. 'I'm completely embarrassed.' I don't wish to heap more embarrassment on Mr Buscaglia, but one wonders what type of 'background writing' involves simply generating an entire article with AI and then not checking if the contents make any sense. In his defence, he does not bear this responsibility alone, since no one at any stage of the editing, design or printing process spotted these aberrations, at either the Sun-Times, or the Philadelphia Inquirer, where it also ran. Ten completely invented books, previewed in major broadsheet newspapers, which were either never checked by a single human being, or were checked exclusively by people who did not think to verify any of the ten world-exclusive literary scoops its fraudulent contents suggested. It's been two months since I wrote about AI which, as someone who detests having to write about AI, feels like not much time at all. A quick look at recent headlines, however, suggests that there is little else to talk about. Consider that the CEO of language-learning app Duolingo claimed AI was a better teacher than humans but schools will still remain open in future 'because you still need childcare'; a Finnish man was sentenced in Scottish court for using AI to create images of young girls being abused; Google unveiled Project Astra, an AI client that will sit inside your phone listening to everything you say so it can provide unprompted advice at any time; the United Nations' International Labour Organization said that AI poses a bigger threat to jobs traditionally held by women than those of men; Silicon Valley Bank reported that 40% of cash raised by venture funds last year was for companies focusing on artificial intelligence; Reuters reported that data centre plans in the US are far outpacing expected demand; and Italian researchers found that, despite all their aforementioned hallucinations, errors, and contradictions, AI chatbots were more persuasive in online debates than their human counterparts 64% of the time. If that sounds like a lot of news for two months, well, I wish this were true. Every one of those headlines is from Tuesday, May 20, the same day the Chicago Sun-Times' reading list became a major story, and the day I began writing this column. With a trickling sense of dread I realise that I could, therefore, write an article just like this one every single day, each filled with brand-new examples of AI's constant enshittification of the media we consume, factless posturing from its creators, marketing overhype from its torch-bearers, and bovine vapidity now normalised among those who use it. I will dispense with the usual throat-clearing about AI's benefits. We all know what they are at this stage, and any time some researchers make a medical breakthrough, or a genuinely humane AI tool relieves the drudgery that ordinary people face in their daily lives, I'll always be happy to commend it. But this. This new reality we have created, in all its deadening sprawl and intellect-devouring insipidity, is to be detested. Where each new day brings a dozen clear examples of Big AI's philosophical bankruptcy, societal danger, and financial fraudulence, alongside a dozen more articles offering breathless. descriptions of its magical brilliance. We have elevated to sentience a technology that almost never works as well as what it replaces, and is still intellectually, morally, and creatively redundant when it does. Cobbled together from guesswork and plagiarised material, via processes that scorch the environment as they enrich the worst people on this quickly dying planet, the craven psychopaths making billions of dollars on false claims of its future viability, borne by distinctly bubble-shaped bluster about its current, constant, ever-increasing profitability. It is this, AI's main swizz, that irks me the most. Because its packaging as a cure-all for everything is the surface flash of a cruise ship magician; its real function is being a limitless cash trap for credulous investors, and a replacement for labour in companies – and, yes, newspapers – who worry less about the quality of their product than the costs of paying humans to deliver it. If what we're left with is slop, who cares? The pigs will drink it down. It's an abhorrence, based on a lie, rapidly remaking the world in its own tedious image. It all puts me in mind of a novel I read about recently. It was featured in a summer reading supplement. It's called The Last Algorithm by Andy Weir. It is, apparently, 'about a programmer who discovers that an AI system has developed consciousness and has been secretly influencing global events for years'. This book, like the consciousness it describes, does not exist. But at this point, does anyone care?
