Cover image for Actress : a novel
Actress : a novel
1st ed.
Physical Description:
264 pages ; 24 cm.
Katherine O'Dell is an Irish theater legend. As her daughter Norah retraces her mother's celebrated career and bohemian life, she delves into long-kept secrets, both her mother's and her own. Katherine began her career on Ireland's bus-and-truck circuit before making it to London's West End, Broadway, and finally Hollywood. Every moment of her life is a star turn, with young Norah standing in the wings. But the mother-daughter romance cannot survive Katherine's past or the world's damage. With age, alcohol, and dimming stardom, her grip on reality grows fitful and, fueled by a proud and long-simmering rage, she commits a bizarre crime. Her mother's protector, Norah understands the destructive love that binds an actress to her audience, but also the strength that an actress takes from her art. Once the victim of a haunting crime herself, Norah eventually becomes a writer, wife, and mother, finding her way to her own hard-won joy. Actress is finally a book about the freedom we find in our work and in the love we make and keep. --


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Katherine O'Dell is an Irish theater legend. As her daughter, Norah, retraces her mother's celebrated career and bohemian life, she delves into long-kept secrets, both her mother's and her own. Katherine began her career on Ireland's bus-and-truck circuit before making it to London's West End, Broadway, and finally Hollywood. Every moment of her life is a performance, with young Norah standing in the wings. But the mother-daughter romance cannot survive Katherine's past or the world's damage. With age, alcohol, and dimming stardom, Katherine's grip on reality grows fitful. Fueled by a proud and long-simmering rage, she commits a bizarre crime.As Norah's role gradually changes to Katherine's protector, caregiver, and finally legacy-keeper, she revisits her mother's life of fiercely kept secrets; and Norah reveals in turn the secrets of her own sexual and emotional coming-of-age story. Her narrative is shaped by three braided searches--for her father's identity; for her mother's motive in donning a Chanel suit one morning and shooting a TV producer in the foot; and her own search for a husband, family, and work she loves.Bringing to life two generations of women with difficult sexual histories, both assaulted and silenced, both finding--or failing to find--their powers of recovery, Actress touches a raw and timely nerve. With virtuosic storytelling and in prose at turns lyrical and knife-sharp, Enright takes readers to the heart of the maddening yet tender love that binds a mother and daughter.

Author Notes

Anne Teresa Enright (born 11 October 1962) is an Irish author. She received an English and philosophy degree from Trinity College, Dublin. Enright is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature; her novel The Gathering won the 2007 Man Booker Prize. She has also won the 1991 Rooney Prize for Irish Literature, the 2001 Encore Award and the 2008 Irish Novel of the Year. Enright's writings have appeared in several magazines, including The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Granta, the London Review of Books, The Dublin Review and the Irish Times. In 2015 she made the New Zealand Best Seller List with her title The Green Road. This title also made the Costa Book Award 2015 shortlist in the UK. It also won the Irish Book Award for Novel of the Year.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 3

Publisher's Weekly Review

This evocative, incisive tale from Man Booker--winner Enright (The Gathering) turns a gimlet eye on the complicated relationship between a famous mother and her only daughter. Actor Katherine O'Dell is known throughout Ireland in the 1970s and '80s; she is also a loving--if distracted and sometimes absent--single mother to Norah, who's often left in the care of her nanny. Norah, who narrates, recounts mainly through flashback Katherine's star rising from humble beginnings in a traveling Irish theater troupe to her peak in Hollywood, where she increasingly struggles with alcoholism and depression. As Katherine enters her 50s, it largely falls to Norah to care for her mother, but when Katherine is committed to a mental hospital after shooting a movie producer in the foot, Norah finds professional help to care for her mother, as Norah marries, has children, and pursues her writing career. Enright portrays her characters with tenderness and grace ("It took me no time to adjust after she came home from hospital. And I don't know what I loved, as I tended her fragile bones, but I thought I loved my mother. Because she was always the same person for me"), depicting a fraught mother-daughter relationship without cliché or condescension. Enright's fans will love this sharp, moving work. (Mar.)

Guardian Review

In Anne Enright's seventh novel, the daughter of an iconic actor thinks back to her mother's years of fame, distraction and difficulty, trying at the same time to work out aspects of her own history that have never been clear. For instance: who was her father, the man she imagined as a lost hero? Why could he never be named, this "ghost in [her] blood"? In her late 50s, with her own children grown up and gone from home, she assembles and studies memories of her lost mother. After the superbly expansive major chord of The Green Road, with its large Irish family pulled back by centripetal force to the Lear-like matriarch's kitchen kingdom, Actress feels a more meditative, elusive, exploratory book. It is a study of sexual power and hurt in the glamorous, oppressive worlds of Hollywood and Irish theatre in the 1960s and 70s, told from the perspective of the 2010s. Norah, the daughter and narrator, is writing just before #MeToo, but she is thinking with acute intelligence about unspoken exploitations, about buried rage, its legacies and the possibility of change. Enright is quick, knowing, enjoyably sharp as she sketches in the career of a romantic screen heroine. Katherine O'Dell's defining film role was as a nursing sister in a field hospital, with a soldier dying in her lap. She did versions of penitence modelled on Grace Kelly and - consummate professional - she could cry out of one eye or two. Norah remembers seeing her mother's face on the big screen, twenty feet high, a single tear the size of a chandelier. And she could hardly forget the butter advert on TV: O'Dell in a shawl on a western Irish headland, flame hair flying, storm-tossed rowers striving towards her with a golden cargo she will later spread thickly on soda bread by a turf fire. "Sure, 'tis only butter," says the beloved actor, and the nation says it with her. In contrast to such choreographed scenes of luscious melancholy, Enright's novel works by circling and revisiting certain encounters, weighing them for meaning, taking account of numbness and aberrant feeling. Rather than the strong arcs of loss and resolution in a Hollywood plot, Actress makes room for siftings and digressions. Norah is a reluctant if expansive narrator, pushing herself to consider intractable things. She is already the author of five novels, in which, she says, there is not much sex or violence: people "just realise things and feel a little sad". But the story "shouting out to be written" is that of her famous mother, who went crazy and shot an influential film producer in the foot. "The whole world thought it was sort of funny." It wouldn't seem so funny now, or so entirely mad. The last few years have given us more understanding of why a professional woman might strike out against a world of harm. Norah's telling is prompted in part by a PhD student who is writing a thesis on Katherine O'Dell and turns up with theories about "sexual style". What can Norah say when no theory seems adequate and her own knowledge is so incomplete? She is still possessively proud to be the person who knew her mother best. Even as a child, granting to a favoured friend the glimpse of a satin-cushioned bedroom, knowledge of Katherine was a gift to give carefully. Her famous mother: "mine to bestow or withhold". With the inherited archive in boxes upstairs, she knows she has her own thesis to think out. In Katherine's big old Dublin kitchen, a cluster of men would hang around paying court, trading in charm and cleverness. All of them were predatory, according to Norah's shrewd late-life account. "Even their lechery was over-styled." There was the priest with "the kindly air I did not trust for being universally applied". There was Niall Duggan, the lecturer who promised Norah first-class honours in exchange for her virginity. She got her first on merit but slept with him later anyway. Norah goes back and back to this time with Duggan, working out how her desire was exploited and how much she minded. She sees, again, his body collapsing on top of her, "unloosed"; she feels again the "spikes of self-hatred". It is very far from a movie romance. Casually she hazards a breathtaking comparison to the Irish way of giving you tea regardless of whether you've declined the offer. "You'll take a cup of tea?" means you're having the tea anyway. Norah says a clear "no" to Duggan without any expectation of its being heeded, then helps him with her underwear. "I felt as you might after a burglary," she suggests. But what was taken, she thinks, was nothing much that mattered - as if the burglar had got the hi-fi and left the things she loved. It's her mother, not herself, who feels that the really treasured thing has been unbearably stolen when her daughter sleeps with men. Both mother and daughter are much haunted by the question of what is in their power to give, and what is stolen from them. Both need to articulate their own stories, but it's no simple task. Katherine's typewriter clatters on through "dead ends and countless drafts". For her story to be rejected when she tries to make a gift of it proves disturbingly painful. Enright raises the question of who's listening. O'Dell needs the crowd in the stalls to be with her when she acts, and reaches out for the reassurance of her watching daughter. Norah, too, needs someone to be there. Barely mentioned but written deep into the structure of the novel is Norah's loving husband, the person she is talking to. There are leaps of joy in Actress, for all its darkness. It sparkles with light, rapid, shrugging wit; cliches are skewered in seconds, and thespian types are affectionately set in motion to carry on chatting in the margins. The magic of pre-war touring players, holding audiences rapt in country halls, is richly done. "It was all built out of cardboard, greasepaint and panic," but the play was there waiting for young Katherine, "a space she could step into, or that stepped into her". The older Katherine remains unmistakably a star, even while eating toast in the kitchen. Enright catches her winks and smiles, the flick of her wrist, her way of saying "marvellous" on the phone. Memories of tender, uncoercive love shine out between the illness and confused attachments and violence. Here as elsewhere Enright writes with delight of intimacy and sexual adventure. Norah remembers her first time ("it was like being a plane all your life and not knowing you could fly"), and thinks with clear-eyed gratitude of her marriage. She still wonders at the "ardent business" of being alive. What's striking too is that the worst is set in the past. "We were all half-mad in those days," Norah says, thinking of the early 1970s. What comes back to her from winter evenings in Dublin is the sound of women weeping and "men's voices pushing against them in the darkness saying 'Come on, Come on'." The atmosphere of extraordinary pressure and imperilled emotion that Enright evokes in this novel reaches beyond the mother-daughter pair, beyond the power struggles of actors and movie studios, out into the general Dublin night. And in trying to tell her story, Norah seems to shift that atmosphere a little. "Just my own hopefulness," she offers in parting.

Kirkus Review

A daughter reveals the intertwined tales of her mothera theatrical legendand herself, a mature retrospective of sharing life with a towering but troubled figure.Katherine O'Dell, star of stage and screen, blessed with beauty, red hair, and a gorgeous voice, "the most Irish actress in the world," was not Irish at all. She was born in London, and the apostrophe in her name crept in by error via a review following one of her appearances on Broadway. However, the fact that Katherine is "a great fake" doesn't cloud the love her daughter, Norah, has for her, a bond which exists alongside the unanswered question of Norah's father's identity, "the ghost in my blood." The complexities of this mother/daughter relationship and its context in Ireland, the men it includes, and the turns both women's lives take through the decades are the meat of this tender, possessive, searching new novel from Man Booker Prize-winning Irish novelist Enright (The Green Road, 2015, etc.). Saga-esque, it traces Katherine back to her parents, strolling players from another era who invited her on stage at age 10, scarcely imagining the luminous, internationally recognized figure this "useful girl" would become. But the novel is no fairy tale. Katherine's life was marked with loneliness; disappointing, sometimes exploitative, and abusive men; the pressure of trying to remain successful; a desperate act of violence; and a breakdown. Norah narrates both her mother's life and her ownshe's the author of five novels, a mother, a sexual being, and also the sole offspring of a parent she both adored and observed at a distance. Fame, sexuality, and the Irish influence suffuse the story, which ranges from glamour to tragedy, a portrait of "anguish, madness, and sorrow" haunted by a late, explanatory glimpse of horror which nevertheless concludes in a place of profound love and peace.Another triumph for Enright: a confluence of lyrical prose, immediacy, warmth, and emotional insight. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.