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  • Written by Monica McInerney
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A Novel

Written by Monica McInerneyAuthor Alerts:  Random House will alert you to new works by Monica McInerney


List Price: $9.99


On Sale: November 12, 2008
Pages: 576 | ISBN: 978-0-307-48465-9
Published by : Ballantine Books Ballantine Group
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“Crossing the globe, from Australia to Manhattan to Dublin, McInerney’s bewitching multigenerational saga lavishly and lovingly explores the resiliency and fragility of family bonds.”–Booklist

"Vivid characterizations and sharply honed dialogue . . . McInerney brings humor and insight to issues of sibling rivalry, family secrecy, and romantic betrayal."--The Boston Globe, on The Alphabet Sisters

"A book to treasure . . . clever, amusing, and heart-warmingly touching."--Woman's Day (Australia), on Family Baggage

From internationally bestselling author Monica McInerney comes a captivating and charming new novel of family secrets, the loyalty of sisters, and the power of redemption.

As a child, Maggie Faraday grew up in a lively, unconventional household with her young mother, four very different aunts, and eccentric grandfather. With her mother often away, her aunts took turns looking after her–until, just weeks before Maggie’s sixth birthday, a shocking event changed everything.

Twenty years later, Maggie is living alone in New York City when she receives a surprise visit from her grandfather Leo, who brings a revelation and a proposition: He’s preparing a special gift for his daughters and needs Maggie’s help. When the Faradays gather from all parts of the world to celebrate Christmas in July–a longstanding tradition–Maggie uncovers unexpected family history and learns that the women she thought she knew so intimately all have something to hide.

Written in McInerney’s trademark warm, heartfelt prose, The Faraday Girls is a sweeping and affecting family saga.


Chapter 1

Hobart, Tasmania, Australia

The day the Faraday family started to fall apart began normally enough.

Juliet, at twenty-three the oldest of the five Faraday sisters, was first into the kitchen, cooking breakfast for everyone as she liked to do. This morning it was scrambled eggs, served with small triangles of buttered toast. She added parsley, diced crispy bacon and a dash of cream to the eggs, with a sprinkle of paprika as a garnish. She also set the table with silver cutlery, white napkins, a small crystal vase with a late-blooming red rose from the bush by the front gate and a damp copy of the Mercury that had been thrown over the fence before dawn. The big earthenware teapot that had once belonged to their grandmother had center place on the table, resting on a Huon pine pot holder that sent out a warm timber smell as it heated up.

Juliet stepped back from the table, pleased with the general effect. She’d been asked by her new boss at the downtown café where she worked to come up with ideas for menu items. She made a record of this morning’s arrangement in her notebook under the title “English-style Traditional Breakfast???” A smoked kipper or two would have been a nice touch, but they were hard to come by in Hobart. Too smelly, anyway, if her childhood memory served her well.

Twenty-one-year-old Miranda was next up and into the kitchen. She was already fully made-up—black eyeliner, false lashes and very red lipstick—and dressed in her white pharmacy assistant’s uniform. She looked around the room.

“Juliet, you really are wasted with us. You’d make some lucky family a lovely maid.”

She absentmindedly pulled in her belt as she spoke. Two months earlier, a visiting perfume sales representative had flattered her by mentioning her slender waist. She’d been working vigorously to get it as thin as possible ever since. She worked in the local drugstore, publicly expressing an interest in studying pharmacy, privately thrilled with the access to discount and sample cosmetics.

Juliet was also dressed for work, in a black skirt and white shirt, with a red dressing gown on top for warmth. She ignored Miranda’s remark. “English-style traditional breakfast, madam?” she asked.

“I’d rather skin a cat,” Miranda answered, reaching for the newspaper.

Eliza, sister number three and nineteen years old, came in next, dressed in running gear. She did a 4k run every morning before she went to university. “That’s not how you use that phrase, is it?”

“It is now. I’d rather skin a cat within an inch of my hen’s teeth than put my eggs in Juliet’s basket.”

Juliet looked pointedly at Eliza. “Would you like an English-style traditional breakfast, madam? Toast? Coffee or tea?”

“I’d love everything, thanks. And tea, please. I’ve got a big day today.” Eliza was studying physical education at university. During the week she coached two junior women’s basketball teams. On weekends she ran in cross-country competitions. The only time any of her family saw her out of tracksuits was if she went to church on Sundays, and she rarely did that anymore. She took up her usual seat at the wooden table. “Why do you put yourself through this every morning, Juliet?”

“Practice. Research purposes. A strongly developed sense of familial responsibility. It’s all good training for when I have my own café.”

“Really?” Miranda said. “So if you were training to be an undertaker you’d embalm us each morning?” She was now eating a grapefruit and ignored a yelp from Eliza as her jabbing spoon sent a dart of juice across the table.

“If you get any funnier, Miranda, I’m going to explode laughing.” Juliet put Eliza’s toast on and stood by the window. She pulled her dressing gown tighter around her body as a sharp breeze came in through a gap in the frame.

It was autumn in Hobart, getting colder each day. Their weatherboard house was heated by open fires in the living room and the kitchen, though they were never lit in the morning. Wood was too expensive. This morning was bright and crisp, at least, the sun strong enough to send gentle light through the red and orange leaves in the front hedge. A scattering of frost lay on the ground. There’d been warnings already that the winter would be a cold one. Possibly even snow, and not just on top of Mount Wellington.

Juliet touched the windowpane as she refilled the kettle. It was icy cold. Their North Hobart house was in the dip of a hilly street, but high enough to give them a view of the mountain, though the trees their father had planted years ago were now threatening to block it. If she stood on tiptoes, Juliet could see the glisten of frost on cars in the street and on the hedges of the houses opposite. She gave a fake little shiver. She liked telling her friends that this weather was nothing like the cold she remembered from her childhood in England. Not that her memories were all that strong anymore. Like their English accents, they had nearly faded away.

The whole Faraday family had emigrated to Tasmania twelve years earlier. The girls’ father, Leo, a botanist specializing in eucalyptus plantations, had been headhunted by a Tasmanian forestry company. Juliet could still remember the excitement of packing everything up in preparation for the month-long sea journey from Southampton. None of them had even heard of Tasmania before then.

The toast popped. Juliet prepared Eliza’s breakfast and passed it across. She refilled the teapot for the others. Sadie and Clementine’s cups were already on the table. Juliet took down her father’s cup and saucer from the shelf. It was a delicate blue color, with a border of cheerful red blossoms. Their mother had always had her morning tea in that cup. Juliet could remember her sipping it, closing her eyes and saying, “Ah, that hits the spot.” Only Leo used her cup these days.

The kitchen door was pushed open with a bang. “Hell, Juliet. Look at the time.” Sadie was still dressing herself as she walked in, her head emerging from an orange and red striped poncho. Her hair, last night the model of current fashion with its teased perm, looked like a flattened haystack this morning. None of her sisters remarked on it. She threw her canvas bag and a pair of cork-heeled boots into the corner of the room with a clatter, then slumped into a chair. Sadie woke up grumpy every morning. “Why didn’t you wake me? I told you I have an early lecture.”

“You didn’t ask me to wake you. Do you want some breakfast?”

“What is it?”

“Cat sick on toast if you keep talking to me like that.”

“Sorry, Juliet. I’d love some of your beautiful cuisine. Thank you for getting up early to prepare it for me.” Eighteen years old, Sadie was in her first year of study for an arts degree. One month earlier she’d been in her first year of a science degree. She’d also completed one week of a teaching degree, before changing her mind about that as well. “Such a shame there’s not a degree in dillydallying,” Miranda had remarked. “You’d top the class in that.”

“Where’s Leo?” Eliza asked, bringing her teacup over for a refill. “Shed Land. He’s been there all morning.” Juliet had been up at seven and the light in the garden shed their father used as his inventing room was already shining. He was spending more time in there these days than out looking after his tree plantations. She decided to give him another ten minutes before checking on him.

Miranda pushed the newspaper away and gave a graceful stretch. Her glossy dark-red hair shimmered down her back as she flexed her arms above her head. “If you ask me, we’re being replaced in his affections by test tubes and soldering irons. Juliet, call the authorities when you’ve finished washing the dishes, will you? If it isn’t bad enough that we’re motherless, we’re now heading toward fatherlessness.”

“You said you preferred it when he’s busy out there.”

“Busy out there is one thing. Abandoning his daughters for days on end is another.”

Juliet secretly preferred it when Leo was in one of his inventing frenzies. Life was much quieter. He didn’t care whether each of them had done their share of the housework, or express dismay about Miranda’s too-short skirts, tell Sadie off for playing her music too loudly, remind Eliza to mow the front lawn, tell Juliet to find more uses for mince or tell Clementine to get over her hatred of mince. He hadn’t even noticed when Juliet served roast chicken midweek, instead of as a rare Sunday luxury. She’d done it as a test.

If things weren’t going well in Shed Land, it was like having a bee in the house. He was always around, offering help that wasn’t needed and getting in the way. A real sign of his frustration was when he shut the tin door of the shed loudly enough for them to hear over their pop music, strode into the kitchen, turned off the stove or the grill and declared that he was feeling housebound and was going to take the five of them out for dinner somewhere. They usually ended up at Bellerive beach, eating fish and chips at one of the wooden tables by the water. Money was always too tight for restaurants.

“Morning, everyone.” It was Clementine, still in her pajamas, her school blazer over the top, her long, dark hair tied back into a ponytail.

Four voices answered in a singsong way. “Morning, Clementine.”

Clementine had barely taken her seat when she stood up again, pushed back her chair and made a dash for the bathroom down the hallway. Eliza and Juliet looked at each other. Miranda kept reading. Sadie began to look ill herself.

Clementine came back, white-faced, clutching a washcloth. “Sorry about that.”

Juliet looked closely at her little sister. Clementine was always pale—all five of them were—so that was nothing new, but she did look especially peaky this morning. “Were you sick?”

Clementine nodded.

Juliet guided her gently into a chair and rested a hand on her forehead. She could remember sitting in that chair and having their mother do the same thing to her. It had felt so cool and comforting. It had always made her feel a little better, straightaway. “You don’t have a temperature, Clemmie. It must just be a bug.”

“Poor Clemmie,” Miranda said. As Sadie leaned past her to the sugar bowl, she made an exaggerated face, flapping her hands in front of her nose. “Breathing in Sadie’s alcoholic fumes would give anyone a bug. What time did you get in last night, Sadie? I really don’t think you are taking your studies seriously, young lady.”

“You’re just jealous because I have a good social life and you don’t,” Sadie said, putting three spoons of sugar into her tea.

“I have an extraordinary social life. It’s just that I also have an extraordinary working life, unlike you two layabouts. Thank God I decided against going to university. Look what it’s doing to the two of you. Turning you into hippies in front of our eyes.”

“I’m not a hippie,” Sadie said.

“What’s wrong with being a hippie anyway?” Eliza asked.

“Nothing’s wrong with being a hippie in the same way that nothing’s wrong with being a smelly old dog lying around in front of a fire. It’s just not what I want to be.”

“You think you are so perfect, Miranda,” Sadie said. “You’re not. You’re so superficial. All you care about is makeup and clothes—”

“And perfume,” Miranda said. “Don’t forget perfume. And I’m reasonably interested in magazines, fake compliments and men buying me drinks.”

Juliet stepped in. “Do you want to try some toast now, Clemmie?”

“No, thanks. I’ll skip breakfast.”

“You’re not on a diet again, are you, Clementine?” Miranda said. “The pressures of impending fame getting to you?”

She managed a smile. “Something like that.”

“Everything okay with the play?” Juliet asked. Clementine had been out late each night that week doing final rehearsals for her school play, on top of all the weekend run-throughs. She had a walk-on role as a pirate and a credit in the program as assistant set designer. Juliet had been very pleased to hear it. Clementine was usually more scientific than artistic and not usually this enthusiastic about afterschool activities. Juliet had discovered the real reason two weeks earlier, when she spotted Clementine and David Simpson, the boy playing the lead role in the play, holding hands as they walked down Elizabeth Street.

“It’s fine. Why?”

Juliet shrugged. “You’ve seemed distracted the last couple of weeks.”

“It’s all fine. Just busy. But there—”

“Juliet, are there any eggs left?” Sadie interrupted. She always went for seconds. Miranda called her the Human Scrapbin to her face, Piggly-Wiggly behind her back.

“In the pan. Help yourself.”

“Would you serve it up for me? Please?”

“No bones in your arms?” Juliet asked.

Sadie waggled her arms in a floppy way.

“Fall for that and you’re a fool, Juliet,” Miranda murmured, flicking the page of the paper.

Juliet served Sadie anyway.

“Where’s Dad?” Clementine asked.

“Shed Land,” Juliet, Miranda, Sadie, and Eliza said together.

“No, he’s not, he’s here. Morning, my lovelies.” Leo Faraday came through the side door, bringing a gust of the cool morning air with him. He was dressed in a wide-lapeled gray suit, a crisp white shirt and a blue patterned tie. His hair had been slicked back, the usual dark-red quiff smoothed over. “And yes, before you feel duty-bound to point it out, I do look extremely smart today and yes, I do have a meeting. Juliet, breakfast smells delicious. Miranda, what is that black stuff around your eyes; you look like a lady of the night. Eliza, have you been for a run already? Sadie, pick up your boots, would you? What’s up with you, Clementine? You look like a wet dishrag.”

“She’s got a stomach bug,” Juliet said.

“Poor chicken.” His concerned words rang false. He was smiling from ear to ear.

Juliet passed across the blue cup and saucer. “Everything all right, Dad? What’s going on out there?”

“Good things, Juliet. Interesting things. Unusual things.”

“In your mind, or in reality?” Miranda asked.

“We hardly see you anymore, Dad,” Sadie complained.

Leo put down his cup and rubbed his hands together. “Something hot is a-cooking out there, my girls. Something is nearly at boiling point. This time I really think—”

“Good heavens, is that the time?” Miranda said in an overly dramatic tone. They’d all had too many years of his invention talk. The revolutionary motor oil that put their old car off the road for three months. The device designed to repel spiders that had done exactly the opposite. The electronic rain gauge that burst into flames on its first test run. “I’d better finish getting ready or I’ll be late.”

Clementine stood up and ran to the bathroom again, clutching the washcloth to her lips. They all heard the door slam.

“My word, she’s a sensitive soul,” Miranda remarked, looking after her. “Clemmie, it’s all right, I’ll be back after work.”

Clementine returned a few minutes later, pale-faced. “Sorry.”

“Have you been sick again?” At Clementine’s nod, Juliet felt her sister’s forehead once more. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Leo felt her forehead too. “You’re not hot, but you are a bit clammy.”

“Clemmie’s clammy,” Sadie said.

Miranda gave a bark of laughter. Sadie looked pleased. She liked making Miranda laugh.

“Have you eaten anything unusual?” Leo asked. “It’s not food poisoning, is it?”

“No, I’m sure it’s not.”

“Too many late nights, that’s what it is,” Sadie said. “The sooner that romance—oh, I’m sorry, Clementine—the sooner that play is over, the better.”

“What will I wear on opening night?” Miranda asked. “My blue gown or that amusing little lace number my couturier sent over from Paris last week? What about you, Sadie? Will you wear that sweater made of yak hair or perhaps that simply darling little patchouli-steeped handweave I saw you prancing about in last week? How many small rodents died in the making of that, I wonder?”

Leo was still concerned. “Clementine, I’m not sure you should go to school today. You really do look peaky.”

“I think she should go to the doctor. That’s the third morning this week she’s been sick,” Sadie said.

“Third time this week?” Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t realize that. Uh-oh. It’s morning. She’s sick. Put ’em together and what do we see? P-r-e-g-n-a-n-cee.”

There should have been a laugh from one of her sisters. There should have been a denial from Clementine. There should have been a rebuke from Leo, and a smart answer back from Miranda.

Instead there was silence.

Juliet knew, right then. Was it Clementine’s expression? The fact that her forehead hadn’t actually felt that clammy or hot? The knowledge that this David of the play was all that Clementine had talked about for weeks? Whatever it was, Juliet wasn’t able to stop the words.

“Clementine? Is Miranda right? Are you pregnant?”

Leo laughed. “Juliet, for heaven’s sake. She’s sixteen years—”

“Yes, I am.”

“—old.” He swallowed. “Tell me you’re agreeing to the fact you are sixteen, Clementine, not—”

“I’m pregnant, Dad.”

“Oh Holy God.”

The room fell quiet. No cups being picked up, no cutlery being used, no newspaper being read. Just Clementine at one end of the table and her four sisters and father in the other chairs, staring at her, dumbstruck.

Her expression was calm, even if her hands were clenched. In her pink-and-white-striped pajamas, she looked even younger than sixteen. Her long hair had come out of its ponytail and was now in a tumble around her shoulders. “I’m three months pregnant. I went to the doctor yesterday.”

An intake of breath. Juliet didn’t know if it had come from her or one of her sisters.

Leo’s voice was very low. “Who, Clementine? How?”

She gave her father a withering look. “Dad, please. It’s David’s.”


“David Simpson. Her boyfriend,” Sadie said.

“Since when did you have a boyfriend?” Leo was staring at Clementine as if she was a stranger at the table.

Juliet answered for her. “She’s been going out with David for months. He’s in the play with her.”

Leo stared around the table. “Why don’t I know any of this?”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Oh, I think that might have been worth a little visit to Shed Land. ‘Excuse me, Dad, we think you should know that your sixteen-year-old daughter is sleeping around—’ ”

“Dad!” Juliet and Miranda spoke as one.

Clementine was still calm. “I wasn’t sleeping around. I slept with David. Only David.”

“Who is this David?”

“He’s the pirate king in the play.”

Leo stood up abruptly. “That makes it better. That makes it okay. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum; by the way, I’ve made your daughter pregnant, Mr. Faraday.”

“We did it together, Dad. David didn’t make me do anything.”

“But you’re just children.” Leo was now behind the chair, his hands on the backrest. His knuckles were white. “I can’t believe this. Just when I thought things were getting better for us. Two of you with jobs, two of you at university, you showing such promise at school, Clementine. Good times ahead for us again as a family at last—”

Clementine stood up too. “We’re talking about a baby, Dad, not a nuclear war.”

“You’re sixteen, Clementine. Sixteen. Have you any idea what lies ahead of you? Years of nappies and no sleep. It’s hell having babies. I should know, I had five of them.”

“Thank you very much.”

“There were two of us, your mother and I. We loved each other and we wanted all five of you, don’t try and twist my words. But it is hard. Very hard when there’s two of you, let alone one.”

“You’ve managed alone the past eight years.”

Leo’s face hardened. “You will not compare my situation to yours. What’s got into you, Clementine?”

“David, it seems,” Miranda said.

Leo pushed the chair. It clattered against the table. “That’s enough, Miranda. Outside.”


“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“No, I’m not going to miss this. We need to hear it together. I’ll go if Clementine wants me to go, but otherwise I’m staying.”


“Stay, Miranda. I want everyone to stay. I was going to tell you all soon, I promise. Tonight. Or tomorrow. After I’d told David—”

“You haven’t told David yet?” Leo was incredulous.

“I was waiting until after the play.”

Miranda snorted. “In case it puts him off his performance?”

“Miranda, I’m warning you. Shut up.” Leo reached for his coat. “Right, Clementine. Go and get dressed. We’re going to go and tell him now. You and me. See what he’s got to say for himself. His parents too.”

“I’m not telling him in front of you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fair has nothing to do with this.” The conversation was only between Leo and Clementine now. He ran his fingers through his hair. The dark-red quiff stood straight up. “You’ll tell him in front of me, and we’ll set a wedding date today if we have to. You’re three months, you said. If we move quickly, we can go and see Father Cavalli this afternoon, get everything underway before—”

“Dad, I’m not marrying him.”

“No daughter of mine is going to live in sin.”

“I’m not going to live with him either. I’d miss you all too much.”

“Are you telling me—”

“No, I’m not going to have an abortion.”

“Then what the hell are you going to do? Give the baby up for adoption?” He sat down again abruptly. “I didn’t even think. Of course that’s what you’re going to do.”

“I’m not doing that either. I’m going to keep it. Keep him or her.”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Of course you are. Sixteen-year-olds make wonderful mothers. You’ll get a few nannies as well, I suppose? To mind the baby while you go off to discos with your friends?”

“No. I’ve got other ideas. I was going to talk about it with you tonight. I’ve had some news.”

“More news? I can hardly wait.”

“The university course I wanted to do is going ahead.”

“The environmental science one?”

“I found out yesterday.”

“But that’s wonderful. That’s really wonderful.” It was clear in his face, his pride at her news. Then his expression changed. “But you can’t possibly go to university now.”

“Why not?”

“Why can’t she?” Juliet asked.

He threw out his arms. “Can’t you see? She’s having a baby. She can’t just put it in a bassinet and head off to lectures.”

Juliet moved then. She went over and stood behind Clementine, and put her arm around her. “Yes, she can. I’ll help her.”

Miranda didn’t hesitate. “Me too.” She moved and stood on Clementine’s other side.

Sadie and Eliza followed. All five were at one end of the table, Clementine in the middle, facing their father at the other end. Clementine reached for Juliet’s hand and squeezed it.

“You can’t all help her. You’ve got work and study too. When are you going to find the time?”

“We’ll take it in turns, like we do with the housework.”

“I’d rather not change its nappy,” Miranda said.

“I’ll do all of it,” Clementine insisted.

“No, Clemmie, Miranda has to help,” Juliet said. “You can’t pick or choose, Miranda. What does the poor little creature do if its nappy’s full? Wait for one of its less-squeamish aunts to arrive home?”

“It will just need to learn a bit of self-discipline.” Miranda’s tone was matter-of-fact. “I’ll make bargains with it. ‘Listen here, sonny, you hold it in until your mother gets home and I’ll take you to the park tomorrow.’ ”

“Girls, you’re not being realistic about this. You’ll lose interest. You’ll be like children getting a puppy for Christmas—bored with it by New Year’s Day.”

“Of course we won’t,” Juliet said. “We’ll make a pact now. We promise to help you, Clementine, until your baby is at school. You all agree, don’t you?” She looked at Miranda, Eliza, and Sadie.

“Of course,” Miranda said. “I’m sure the school won’t mind admitting her as an early-age student. Six months old, say.”

“Until he or she is five,” Juliet said firmly. “Miranda? Eliza? Sadie?”

Eliza and Sadie nodded.

“Five, did you say?” Miranda looked alarmed.

“It won’t be in nappies for five years.”

“All right, but if we’re going to help look after it, do we get to choose the name?” Miranda asked.

“You can make suggestions,” Clementine said. “If it’s a girl, I want her to have Mum’s name as her middle name. If it’s a boy, Dad’s name. The tricky thing is Faraday; it’s hard to get a name to go with it.”

“I’ll pick up a book from the library and we could—”

“Excuse me.”

“—take votes on some of—”

“Excuse me.” It was their father, knocking on the tabletop. They stopped talking and looked at him. “So that’s it, is it? Clementine calmly tells all of us that she is having a baby, that this entire house is going to be turned upside down for the next umpteen years, and you all just accept it? Start bickering already over who gets to call it what and who changes its nappy?”

Five nods.

“As if it’s as simple as that? As straightforward as that?”

Juliet spoke on behalf of them all. “It is as simple as that, Dad.”

Clementine moved toward him. Not right up to him; halfway. “I’m sorry I disappointed you. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing. It’s a wonderful thing. Don’t you think?” She smiled, the great open smile that all five of his daughters had. “A baby in the house. It will be fun, won’t it?”

“It will be, Dad.” Juliet’s voice was soft. “It’ll be okay. We’ll manage. We know how to.”

He shut his eyes. They waited. They had each walked into the kitchen or the living room in the past eight years to the sight of their father having silent conversations with their mother. They knew he wasn’t just sending up a prayer to his wife now. He was sending up an emergency flare. Less than a minute later he opened his eyes.

“On one condition.”

Clementine waited.

“I never want to change its nappy either. I saw more nappies with the five of you than I ever want to see in my life again.”

Clementine stepped forward and held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

They shook on it.
Monica McInerney|Author Q&A

About Monica McInerney

Monica McInerney - The Faraday Girls

Photo © Michael Boyny

Monica McInerney is the author of the international bestseller The Alphabet Sisters. She lives in Ireland.

Author Q&A


RC: With its themes of family estrangement and betrayal, The Faraday Girls is more emotionally intense than your previous novels. Did you set out to write a more serious book, or did it naturally evolve this way?

Monica McInerney: I let the subject matter lead me, in many ways. My starting point for The Faraday Girls was simple–I wanted to explore the relationship between nieces and aunts and the impact that particular bond can have on our lives. As I began to write the story of Maggie and her four aunts, though, I found myself stepping out into deeper water, thinking and writing about not just the idea of aunts but the whole theme of motherhood and children–the idea of good mothers, bad mothers, those who want to be a mother but discover it’s not possible, those who choose not to be mothers. The more I wrote, the more questions I found myself facing. What would it be like to feel like a stranger in your own family? Is it possible to reinvent yourself? Can you ever leave your family behind? When–if ever–is it right to lie to your family? I’m also intrigued by the impact of past events on present-day life in families, how decisions made years ago can resurface and cause great ripples or damage, or sometimes lead to greater understanding and closer relationships. Those ideas are at the heart of The Faraday Girls, and I also explored them in Family Baggage and The Alphabet Sisters. I find family life such rich material for fiction–every family, real or fictional, is an emotional ecosystem, each member reliant on one another in some way.

RC: The Faraday sisters’ relationships are so realistically and vividly drawn. Did growing up with a number of siblings help you create these characters and shape their interactions? Is any part of this novel autobiographical?

MM: Growing up in a big family (I’m one of seven children) has definitely made its mark on me as a person and as a writer. I’m the middle child, which I think helped me become an observer–I had people above and below me to watch and interact with, and I could easily go unnoticed, too. I do try hard not to use any elements from my own family life in any recognizable way in my novels, though, to keep it as fiction not memoir. That said, I know firsthand what it’s like to be in a room with many siblings and feel the snip-snap of conversation, the teasing, the quick remarks which can also turn from light into shade in an instant. All of those experiences fed into the scenes between the five Faraday sisters. The actual events in the book aren’t autobiographical, but the emotions behind them are. I know how it feels within–and outside–a family to share times of great fun, happiness, camaraderie, but equally, I’ve experienced loss, pain, jealousy, anger, grief and sadness. I wanted to portray all the different ways we interact with the people in our families, from the older members to the youngest, and how one event years before can impact on family members many years later.

RC: The novel shifts between many different points of view. Which character do you personally identify with most? Which was the easiest to create, and which the most difficult?

MM: I actually identified with all of them. I enjoyed Miranda very much, though I did wince sometimes at her wit and casual cruelty. I related to Juliet’s tendency to mother, Eliza’s need to keep herself separate and private, Clementine’s self-sufficiency, and even Sadie’s hurt and feeling of isolation. I really liked Maggie, too–her earnestness, her courage, and her loyalty. In a big family–in all families–the landscape shifts and changes and so do the relationships and personalities within that group. I wrote many scenes involving the Faradays which didn’t end up in the final book but which helped me understand each of their characters. Once I’d done that, each of the sisters, as well as Leo and Maggie, felt so real to me that I knew exactly how each of them would react or behave in any situation I placed them. There were times in the writing where I felt like I was watching it all unfold, rather than being the person making it happen.

RC: The Faraday Girls takes place in many far-flung areas of the world, including Australia, Ireland, Singapore, and the United States, and travel is an important part of all of your novels. Can you explain why this is?

MM: A quick version of my biography is probably the best answer here! Since I left my hometown in the Clare Valley of South Australia as a seventeen-year-old, I’ve moved nearly twenty times, living and working all around Australia, in London, and in Ireland. For the past sixteen years my Irish husband and I have moved back and forth between Australia and Ireland and we’ve also traveled extensively through Asia, Europe, and the United States. I know so well the feeling of arriving in another country, either to start a new job or life, or just on holiday: There’s excitement, fear, anticipation, and so many other feelings at the same time. It’s rich emotional ground for fictional characters, too– taking a person out of their usual surroundings and dropping them into a new city or country and seeing what unfolds and how they react. As a child growing up in a small town in South Australia, my first experience of other countries was through the pages of books. I read about English villages, American cities, imagined myself in snow (even while I was experiencing scorching Australian summers); I loved being taken into other landscapes through the pages of a book and I love to do that with my own writing now.

RC: You spent last summer touring Australia as the keynote speaker for the Books Alive campaign. Can you tell us a little about this program and your experience? What was the most rewarding element for you?

MM: The Books Alive campaign is an annual Australian government initiative to encourage all Australians to read more. As the “ambassador” for the 2006 promotion, I wrote a short novel called Odd One Out which was used as a giveaway book in conjunction with a selection of 50 Great Reads–a terrific selection of Australian and international books: thrillers, fiction, crime, history, science, memoirs, fantasy and children’s stories. During the five-week campaign I traveled to every state and territory of Australia, visiting more than twenty-five cities and towns to give talks in bookshops, libraries, and schools about the importance and especially the joy of reading. It was a wonderful experience–I met and did talks with many other authors and had the opportunity to talk about books and share reading tips with people of all ages all over the country. That was the most rewarding element for me–to be in a position to share my love of books and all they offer, and to be part of a campaign designed to encourage a love of reading.

RC: What authors or books have influenced your work? Are there any authors you admire and emulate?

MM: I’m sure that every book I read influences me in some way. I read a great deal and have done since I was a child. I average three books a week, from all genres. I’ve many favorite authors and books, including Laurie Graham, John le Carre, Patricia Highsmith, David Sedaris, Tim Winton, Joanna Trollope, Garrison Keillor, Adriana Trigiani, Rosamunde Pilcher, and classic books like Jane Eyre, Anna Karenina, and Little Women. I don’t think I can say that one particular author has influenced me, or that I try to emulate any one writer, either. With each book I write I feel more confident that I am finding my own voice. As a reader, I love it when I feel like I am part of the book, in the rooms with the characters, hearing their dialogue, feeling and seeing what they are going through. I want to care about the characters. As a writer, I want to create that same mood, by writing fast-moving, entertaining but also emotionally charged stories with recognizable characters. The loveliest feedback is when I hear from someone who has read my books and felt that they were part of the family in the story, and that they missed them after they’d finished the book.

RC: What are you working on next?

MM: I have three or four ideas for my next book bubbling away and I’m waiting to see which one wins. I’ve also had an idea for a TV series that I’d like to explore, and an idea for a children’s book that I’d like to write. My husband and I want to do lots more traveling too–one of the ideas I have for the next book involves several different countries so our next trip is going to be more research than holiday, I suspect. . . .

Discussion Questions

Discussion Guides

1. The five Faraday sisters have very distinct personalities. Which did you get to know best through the course of the novel? Whom did you identify most with?

2. Why do you think Sadie has so much trouble fitting in with her family? Is she simply a lost soul, or does her family situation exacerbate her problems? Do you think her drastic action at the end of Part One was at all justified?

3. Early in the narrative, when discussing Leo with her sisters, Miranda states “Sometimes I think he enjoys it, you know. It’s like he’s been cast in a lead role, as the eccentric brave father of five little motherless girls” (page 19). Do you think her assessment of Leo is correct and fair? Does Leo, as Gabriel later states, exert an unhealthy control over his daughters, even with the best intentions?

4. Why do you think Leo idolizes Tessa so greatly? Do you agree with Gabriel that her beauty may have played a large part in his attraction? Have you ever found yourself in love with a person who may not be the best match?

5. Do you believe each of the five Faraday sisters would have turned out differently if their mother had been alive to raise them through adulthood?

6. The traumatizing events Maggie experiences send her into a huge tailspin. Anyone would be traumatized, but why do you think she is so extremely affected by what happened? Do you think her reaction has anything to do with how she was brought up?

7. Family rituals, such as the Faraday Christmases in July, play an important role in this novel. In which ways do these traditions strengthen the Faraday family relations, and in which ways do they strain them?

8. Maggie makes the important decision to keep the family secret she’s discovered to herself. What would you have done under the same circumstances? Do you believe the truth is sometimes better left unknown?

9. Nearly every character in The Faraday Girls romanticizes their past. In each case, how has this process hampered a sense of reality? Does sentimentality ever help any members of the Faraday family?

10. Aside from the way she was raised, how is Maggie’s relationship with her mother unconventional? How is Maggie similar to Clementine, and how is she different? Explore the breakthrough they have in their emotional conversation toward the end of the novel.

11. As an outsider, Gabriel is the only person who can point out and clarify the Faraday family dynamics to Maggie. Have you ever been in the situation of gaining new perspective on your family? How have your own family dynamics changed over the course of your life?

12. How has the Faraday family as a whole changed by the end of the novel? Do you think Leo, the sisters, and Maggie are closer? How do they understand one another better?

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