Writers in Residence

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The Ireland Fund of Monaco Residential Bursaries were established to enable literary and academic writers born or living in Ireland to pursue a current project during a one-month residency at The Princess Grace Irish Library in Monaco. The Bursaries are aimed at writers in each category who have already published some work of note and are currently engaged in work-in-progress which would benefit in some regard from holding the award. We are pleased to present the personal reflections from three of those writers.

Reflections from Mary O’Donnell
Ireland Fund of Monaco Writer-in-Residence at the Princess Grace Irish Library

Impressions of Monaco are, initially, baffling for someone who has flown in direct from the blowsy world of an over-busy

Ireland that takes itself very very seriously these days. Which isn’t to say that life isn’t busy—or indeed serious—in Monaco. Obviously, it is, or it would not attract the calibre of people who have chosen to invest large segments of their lives there.

But there’s something else too. It took me a few days to recognise what I found so odd, and often charming. Here I was, living in what seemed more and more to be a proud kingdom, with its castle on a beautiful promontory overlooking a painterly ultramarine sea. Everywhere, physical beauty swept me away: the late-flowering bougainvillea, the tropical trees—catalpa trees and banana-trees!—the perfectly trimmed lawn and shrubberies of the Casino Garden, gentle passages of arching shade where opposing trees rose and met one another, not to mention the constantly shifting perspectives as one trundled up this or that hill and looked down. And beside the physical beauty, which included the labyrinthine streets and the generally slower pace of life, there was a sense of efficiency and care. Care for the people who lived there. Care for the plants and trees. Care for the small children attending a school nearby the Princess Grace Irish Library. How often I heard them at play. Later, sometimes when I was leaving the library, the parade of glamorous mammas arrived to sweep the small ones away to their homes again.

The barrage of languages is rich and intriguing. I sometimes assumed—on hearing something that sounded not quite French nor quite Italian, that perhaps I was tuning into Monegasque. Certainly, I heard this vigorous language on a number of occasions and it reminded me yet again that I was in a unique geographical and cultural area in the heart of old Europe. For this is truly old Europe: where land was contested by Saracens, Barbarians and Ligurians until this very tranche of mountainous terrain came eventually to be ruled by the Grimaldis. And further back, when little more than a sheltering rock for shepherds and flocks of goats, this was owned by Rome itself.

Now, the cruise ships float in, particularly on Friday, releasing their excited travellers—middle-aged couples possibly on the loose in Europe for the first time, delighted to be there, determined to see castles and old buildings and to try to get a sense of what it is to be in a place where people have lived for millennia. Monaco is a bit like Camelot. After all, there’s a prince, who, if not King Arthur, is a good prince who intends to bring to his symbolic round table as many virtuous ecological and environmental principles as his Principality will tolerate.

And attached to the Palais Princier is the Princess Grace Irish Library, where I had the luxury of being writer-in-residence in October 2007. It is everything most writers desire: a room with a view. It took me a few hours and no more to settle into my book-lined study dedicated purely to work and peace of mind. And in keeping with the general theme of a Camelot-like existence, the attentions of Judith Gantley and Géraldine Lance ensured that all awkwardness and the occasional decidedly odd visitor (there was one!) were kept at bay.

There were no intrusions, only things that made work possible and peaceful. Items were dropped on my desk prior to my arrival each day—newspapers, things to read, maps, guides, useful information of all kinds—and after a leisurely perusal of these I would plug in and get on with the work.

Outside, the noisy lunchtime crowd at the Italian restaurant opposite frequently made themselves heard. It didn’t matter. Because I had no other responsibility for the month other than to write, I actually enjoyed the happy babble as they sipped an aperitif in the golden, translucent light that filtered down the rue Princesse Marie de Lorraine at that time of day.

My thanks to all at the Princess Grace Irish Library and all at The Ireland Fund of Monaco, including Mike Fitzgerald and MC Sullivan, who made my stay possible and so comfortable. It was a time of rediscovering a quality of solitude I had not known for many years, the kind that makes good work possible. For this especially, my sincere gratitude.

It was hard to pack up and leave. That’s the truth. To unplug the laptop having double-checked that everything was in my memory-stick, to zip it all away, sort out papers, tidy up and leave the room just as I found it. Oh hell, that was hard!

The best thing I can say is that I was extremely happy there because I was doing my work and enjoying the unfolding process. Process is everything. And having uninterrupted time for process? Priceless.