"I haven't heard him sing yet," Flannery confesses, in answer to the burning question, when we sit down after a rehearsal in Nuns Island theatre in Galway.
This weekend such a moment occurred. I never knew I wanted to see Harry Styles channel Lord of the Dance Michael Flatley in a silk blouson shirt and headband and canter around a stage.
Ireland are Triple Crown winners for the 15th time thanks to a 12th consecutive win over Scotland, whose long search for success in Dublin will stretch into its 18th year before they get another chance to end their dismal record.
You get this feeling when you enter the Burren's limestone landscape. It has an energy, and a history that permeates. A dynamic entrepreneur, MacNamara champions slow food at her Galway restaurant, Ard Bia, and slow fashion through her homespun label, The Tweed Project.
With literacy rates declining across OECD countries, building healthy habits around books is truly essential. Allowing reading at dinner started as one of those on-the-spot parental solutions. Letting them have a copy of Bunny Vs Monkey or The Beano while they ate seemed like a more ethical solution for keeping them in their chairs for the duration of the meal than, say, duct tape.
The 24/7 grind of a politician is not for the faint-hearted as the likes of Simon Coveney and Catherine Martin will tell you. Former TDs who stood down or lost their Dáil seat at the last general election say why they haven't looked back.
From the outset, in the novel's prologue, Anna tells us she is determined to account for herself and her life. But we are to expect no ordinary narrative, concerned only with actual events, evidence-based or relying on historical data. No, Anna is interested in the climate of the psyche and the vibrations of the soul. Can it be that the very things we cannot quantify or rationalise are what make life meaningful?
Ever feel like you're playing a character in your own life? Like you're constantly adjusting your personality based on who's in the room, what they might think, or what seems "acceptable" at the moment? I spent years doing exactly that. Morphing into whatever version of myself I thought would get the most approval, the least conflict, or the best opportunities. It was exhausting, and worse, I started losing track of who I actually was beneath all those masks.
The Irish government will give 2,000 artists unrestricted weekly stipends in a program officials described as a "recognition, at government level, of the important role of the arts in Irish society." After a successful three-year pilot, the Irish government made its basic income program for artists permanent. Similar pilots have been launched here in the United States, but they're supported primarily by the nonprofit sector.
I've never had a sense of direction. In a family where everyone knows where they're going, I'm the one who gets lost. When my son Charlie was small, he would listen as I outlined the day's itinerary-grocery store, library, post office-then interrupt. "Mama," he'd say, "I have a better way." And he did. He was five, and already knew where he was going.
Lying in my bed, I listened to what sounded like a woman screaming outside in the dark. I picked up my pen. A month of living in this Icelandic village and I was still unaccustomed to the impenetrable January gloom and the ferocity of the wind; its propensity to sound sentient. I had started to feel like the island was trying to tell me something, had a story it wanted me to write.
Finnegan's Wake: An Immersive Ghost Story, presented by 13th Floor Theater, plunges audience members into the beautiful, dysfunctional Finnegan-Plurabelle family. Scenic designer Treigh Buchet, lighting designer Meghan Schultz, and ephemera designer Michelle Josette Crashette transfigure the San Francisco Mint into an Irish family home on the banks of a mystical river. Audience members are free to explore the spaces before the show begins with libation in hand. When the dinner bell rings, the show commences.
When the gunmen came for Jimmy Graham they were thorough. They fired the first two shots as he parked his bus in the school yard, then boarded the bus and fired another 24 shots. As the killers sped away they whooped in delight. Yahoo, they screamed. Yahoo. It was 1 February 1985 and the IRA team had special reason to celebrate: it had bagged a third Graham brother. They had killed Ronnie Graham in June 1981, Cecil Graham in November 1981 and now, just over three years later, they got Jimmy. A hat-trick.
The Oscar Wilde that entered Napoleon Sarony's New York studio in 1882 was fresh-faced, yet to pen the plays and singular novel that would make his name. But he was no unknown quantity. As captured by the photographer, Wilde was an aesthetic: his outfit of velvet jacket, silk knee breeches, and slippers crowned with grosgrain bows cutting the figure of a dandy who had captivated London society with his keen wit.
The ghost of a previous lover is always a challenge, particularly if you (mistakenly) believe that she's actually dead. This is the unenviable situation for Lily, the protagonist of O'Farrell's second novel, who is swept off her feet by dashing architect Marcus and in short order moves in with him. Lily takes his assurances that her predecessor Sinead is no longer with us to mark a more permanent absence;