Luck o’ the Irish

In which I confess to mostly being Irish in spirit

Dear Reader,

When I did a DNA ancestry swab test kit a few years ago, I did not discover an unknown heritage, a secret twin separated from me at birth and being raised with a questionable English accent, or half siblings from a surprisingly dirtbagg-y old relative’s dusty affairs. No, I discovered that in spite of my identification as EXTREMELY IRISH, I am in fact only about 25%. And what’s even wilder? They group England and Ireland together, so in fact I am not only a quarter Irish AT MOST, but some of that may actually be English blood. (No shade on the English: I’m a big fan of the Shelleys, fish and chips, and many of your crime television shows.)

Here I am drinking a Guinness at the Guiness warehouse in Dublin. Proof of an Irish-American girl trying to bullshit her way into Irish ancestry if I’ve ever seen it.

Now this is not actually a tragedy by any means, but it does make it a little harder to promote my book – as in, I wrote about an Irish-American mob family because you’re told to write what you know – without feeling slightly inauthentic. Although of course here we are in March in America, celebrating St. Patrick’s Day as if it is the Irish-est of all Irish traditions when in fact it’s really more of an American thing.

Anyway. My less-than-Irish ancestry is a little disappointing, I think, just because the Irish cultural history and general vibe is just so rich. I have never met as many naturally funny people anywhere in the world as I did in Ireland – the customs official who stamped my passport when I landed in Dublin gave me shit (or shite, as he might say) about going to Dublin Castle (“why’d you want to go there? It’s just an administrative building”) and the airport shuttle driver started the trip by asking, “Okay, who wants to go for ice cream?” This is the tip of the iceberg, and I was only there for three days.

From the Long Room in Trinity College, Dublin. Too pretty not to include.

But if I am less officially Irish than I thought I was, I still think that I am very culturally Irish. I love to tell and listen to long-winded stories, I’ve never met a fiddle or a folktale I don’t like, and I’m so pale I wear sunscreen on a cloudy day. Plus I only tease people when I love them, and as a sign of love. Come on, you gotta admit that feels very Irish.

So in honor of the Irish tradition of not letting a little truth-bending get in the way of a good story, let’s say that I’m super Irish, actually, and in honor of St. Patrick’s Day (again pretending it is a really TRADITIONAL Irish holiday), I’d like to recommend some Irish books and movies.

The Quiet Girl – a movie about a quiet (GO FIGURE), troubled young girl in 1980’s Ireland sent to live with relatives for the summer. Sweet, sad, gorgeous, and almost entirely in Irish with subtitles.

Anything by Tana French – My favorite mystery writer – all her books are set in Ireland and every single one is great.

Milkman by Anna Burns – a coming-of-age novel about a girl growing up in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Strangely funny in places, incredibly beautifully written and really made me think.

This is obviously an incredibly incomplete list (Bram Stoker and James Joyce are turning over in their graves) but there’s something to get you started. And notice I waited until the very end to mention potatoes.

Damn it. I was going to try not to do that.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

Cassandra

P.S. Just a reminder: I’m hosting another creative writing workshop at Leigh’s Bookstore in Sunnyvale, CA on Saturday, March 21 at 3 p.m. entitled “How To Start a Novel.” The event is free, but please sign up here to register.

Fake news corner: SO basic.

Real news corner: Father-daughter bonding at its best.

Quote of the month: “You stick to me, do what I say, play square, you’ll be walking around with lace pants and a gold hat.” — the original 30’s Scarface movie

Travel photo of the month: Me in the Wicklow Mountains at Guinness Lake (sorry, I promise I don’t have a sponsorship deal, that’s really what it’s called!) in — you guessed it — Ireland.