Writers Chat 68: Phyl Herbert on “The Price of Silence” (Menma Books: Cork, 2023)

Phyl, You are very welcome to my Writers Chat series. We’re here to discuss The Price of Silence,  A Memoir published in 2023 by Memna Books, Cork and launched, in Danner Hall, Unitarian Church in Stephen’s Green, Dublin in November to a packed room. Congratulations!

SG: Let’s begin with the title which tells us something perhaps about one of the themes of this memoir, and of your life, The Price of Silence. Can you talk about how you came to decide on this title?

PH: After searching through a number of titles, I knew that the motif of Silence was embedded in the storyline ranging from the young girl losing her tongue in the beginning of the book to the fact that there was a total lack of vocabulary to talk about the  abuses she experienced.  Such experiences had no words then.  The final experience of becoming pregnant by a married man which in itself was not a topic for discussion but in l960’s Ireland to become pregnant outside of marriage was not only socially unacceptable but the pregnant woman was treated as a pariah and an outcast.  So Silence was the defence mode of existence.

Cover of The Price of Silence: A Memoir showing a close up sepia image of a young girl’s face.

SG: The Price of Silence speaks eloquently, not just of your own existence, or story, but of what it was like to be a woman in Ireland during these years – the late ‘50s. ‘60s ad beyond – and, in particular, how the body, desires, ambition were silenced and controlled, and how language was used to silence and name. Were you conscious of the power of social history when writing your own story – in other words, aren’t we all formed by place and time? 

PH:  Yes, I was conscious of the power of social history and that is more or less why I wrote the memoir.  I wanted to write myself into existence and by so doing attempt to analyse those decades that I lived through.  Men ruled the institutions, and the voices of women had not as yet emerged, but there was the beginning of movements such as The Womens’ Liberation Movement that were creating platforms where women could express their grievances.  But there was a long way to go. 

SG: The Price of Silence is divided into four sections, and the opening section “Tree Rings” brings us through your childhood by way of sharp memories, many of them sensory, that seem to relate to you as a creative person – writer, actor, teacher – and very much in touch with your surrounds. Can you talk about the importance of where you grew up – that pull between Dublin and Wexford?

PH:  The pull between Dublin and Wexford was deeply felt.  It represented also the pull between my mother and father.  My mother never liked Dublin or the house where she reared her family of eleven children.  But she never rebelled, she never expressed her desires because then a woman didn’t know how to talk about such things.  I felt her lack of expression at a deep level and I think I was always conscious of the need to develop my own language, my own identity.  I was a dreamer at that young age and sought means for escape. Drama and the imagination helped me though.  I wanted to be able to express in words what I felt.  To put a name on a feeling, on a thought.

SG: That deep need to express feeling and thought comes through very clearly in this memoir. Alongside your creative outlets, your teaching career took you around the city of Dublin in secondary education, further education, and prison education with the common thread of your approach to education as what we might call a Freirean approach (echoing Brazilian educator Paulo Freire’s belief that educators need to meet people where they are at, rather than the “banking” method of education whereby teachers “feed” information to students and they regurgitate it back again). Do you think this linked in with your approaches to acting and drama and the importance of those in your own life?

PH:  Yes, I believe that our whole lives are about ‘Negotiating into Meaning’ a phrase used by Dorothy Heathcote, Newcastle Upon Tyne University where I studied for an M.Ed. In Drama in Education.  Her philosophy was to provide a mantle enabling the child to find his/her voice.  In the Stanislavski Method of acting, the truth of the character was plumbed into the depths of your own existence, your own humanity.

SG: What pulses and aches right through The Price of Silence is your experience with pregnancy, birth, and motherhood. This is your memoir – not that of the man with whom you had a daughter, and nor that of your daughter – but they are both there, with you, even in their absences. Was it a difficult process ensuring that The Price of Silence told your story only?

PH: What a great question.  Yes, it was difficult because I had to protect the identity of my daughter.  She has her own story and that is not mine to tell.  I still didn’t manage to achieve that in that there were times that her voice was necessary to present the story. The birth father is deceased but his children live on.  I’m sure I’ve made some mistakes here also but of course I didn’t reveal their identity.

SG: Lastly, Phyl, the pacing and storytelling of The Price of Silence coupled with how the memoir is structured added such an emotional push to the book that I read it in one enthralled sitting. What advice would you give to those hoping to write their own memoir?
PH: 
Everybody is different.  People say to be truthful.  But there is a high-wire balance to be achieved.  It’s not good to be too truthful, there has to be a distancing perspective but at the same time I think an immediacy has to be achieved.  E.G. I wrote some of my memoir in the present tense.  Ivy Bannister says, ‘Think of your life as a train journey, what station will you get on and what is your destination.’  That sort of worked for me.

That’s a great piece of advice from Ivy and yourself. Lastly, Phyl, some short questions:

  1. Quiet or noise when you’re writing?  Quiet.  Or quiet music in background.
  2. Mountains or sea?   Both.  I spent some time in The Tyrone Guthrie Centre.  Bliss.
  3. Coffee or Tea?  Coffee. But not many cups.
  4. What’s the next three books on your reading pile?   Just finished Christine Dwyer Hickey’s ‘The Narrow Land.’  Superb.   ‘The Strange Case of the Pale Boy and other mysteries.’ by Susan Knight. ‘In the Foul Rag-And-Bone Shop’ by Jack Harte. ‘The Deep End’ A memoir. By Mary Rose Callaghan.
  5. A great reading list, thank you! What’s next for your writing?  A One woman stage show about a nun who leaves the convent before her 50th birthday and discovers Tango Dancing as a way into unlocking her repressed emotional life.

That sounds intriguing, Phyl, I very much look forward to it. Thank you for your generous engagement with my questions and I wish you every continued success with The Price of Silence.

Phyl Herbert smiling in a cafe. Photograph by Emer Sweeney used with permission.

Purchase The Price of Silence from Menma Books or from Books Upstairs, D’Olier Street and Alan Hanna’s in Rathmines,  Charlie Byrne’s in Galway.

Phyl Herbert, Mary Rose Callaghan and Liz McManus will feature in Books Upstairs in an interview about memoir writing on Sunday afternoon 28th January, 2024.

Writing Through…

Writing through grief, disturbances, and uncertainty in a time of war and collective anxiety can be difficult, if not impossible. Jeanette Winterson in the New Yorker (thanks to Jeannine Ouellette for the link on her Substack post) writes that “People are frightened of not producing in this obsessed world of continuous work.”

All this uncertainty in the world – locally and internationally – can push us to give in to this fear, to believe that we are incapable of creating because we do not feel we can produce. Winterson, in the same interview, also points out that:

If you’re doing creative work, you have to move your mind out of its habitual executive function, its administrative mode, and to allow other things to come in, to allow patterns to emerge, to connect things in ways that are simply impossible when we’re just formatting stuff…

Photograph of Lough Ree by (c) Shauna Gilligan

When we are in a state of societal and political uncertainty, how do we move our mind out of its habitual executive function when it feels as if it is in a state of high alert? When even executive function can feel strained, and difficult?

Perhaps it is a matter of pausing. Of stepping back a little. Of accepting that so many things are out of our control. Remember what it is to show kindness to ourselves and to others – and especially to strangers. George Saunders has spoken of regretting his “failures of kindness”. In his convocation speech at Syracuse University, he reminded graduates that:

That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality — your soul, if you will — is as bright and shining as any that has ever been…Clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place. Believe it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits tirelessly.

Maybe instead of trying to create, or worrying that we are not fulfilling one of our roles – for our “produce” to mirror society – despite being too close, or everything feeling too raw – we might just think about that invisible, “secret luminous place” from which – surely?- creativity seeps.

(That is, if we are in a privileged position to have a safe space, and time, in which to do this.) Or we might pause to remind ourselves that amid – and despite – chaos, violence, and selfishness, we do, still, witness acts of kindness and selflessness. These acts of kindness shine and remind us what it is to be human. And to be human, as we all know, is to create.

Dublin Book Festival Event: An Emotional Impact

It’s rare that I get a chance to attend literary events these days so I was really glad that I was able to attend Irish PEN/Pen na hÉireann and Dublin UNESCO City of Literature, in association with Dublin City Council event “Culture in a Time of War”.

Screenshot from Dublin Book Festival Website

Three women spoke – individually then together in conversation – about holding culture, identity, literature and art close and tight, and preserving and rebuilding during a time of war. Tetyana Teren and Olha Mukha spoke of volunteers working hard to rebuild libraries, salvage cultural artefacts and preserve a culture that is under attack.

Culture in a Time of War, a packed event, was held in the beautiful Royal Irish Academy building on Dawson Street (Photograph: Shauna Gilligan)

Poet, essayist, and Professor of Cultural Studies Iryna Starovoyt spoke powerfully of how culture is a sensory system which helps us tell evil from good. Culture in and of itself is all-inclusive. Writers not only mirror and tell stories but they preserve the human face of humanity during a time of war, “living on the edge of pain”. Culture, in short, helps build bridges and brings people together.

It struck me, as these writers spoke, that it is not just a time of war, it is war that was and continues to be waged. This event – and the act of attending events like these – feels part of the preservation and restoration of culture and enacted what Iryna spoke about: it brought people together.

What stays with me is the memory of the empty chair on the Royal Irish Academy stage (you can see the chair in the photograph above, on the right of the stage). This empty chair was in memory of writer and Ukrainian rights activist Victoria Amelina, who had accepted an invitation to speak at this very event but who died from injuries suffered in a Russian missile attack in Kramatorsk in eastern Ukraine on 27 June 2023.

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