{"id":146198,"date":"2025-10-26T12:36:17","date_gmt":"2025-10-26T12:36:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/146198\/"},"modified":"2025-10-26T12:36:17","modified_gmt":"2025-10-26T12:36:17","slug":"im-in-a-lull-im-trying-to-recalibrate-after-a-long-decade-of-elder-care-the-irish-times","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/146198\/","title":{"rendered":"\u2018I\u2019m in a lull. I\u2019m trying to recalibrate after a long decade of elder care\u2019 \u2013 The Irish Times"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cI\u2019m in a bit of a lull,\u201d Anne Enright<\/a> says when I ask what she\u2019s working on. \u201cYou wait for a catch, a snag to your interest.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe wonderful Annie Dillard has a story about an Inuit woman who has a baby to feed and no fish, so she slices tiny bits of her own thigh as bait. \u2018This is what a writer does,\u2019 she says. That\u2019s Annie Dillard, though, not me.\u201d<\/p>\n

But the New Yorker magazine recently published Enright\u2019s short story The Bridge Stood Fast, and Jonathan Cape a brilliant career retrospective of her nonfiction, Attention, reflecting on her life, writers and art, and Ireland and the world, so she has been not idle but taking stock.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m in a lull because of the world, probably also because my parents are both gone \u2013 and the family home. I\u2019m trying to recalibrate after a long decade of elder care for me and my siblings.\u201d <\/p>\n

Enright\u2019s mother, Cora, died in November 2023, her father, Donal, in June 2016, a few months before Donald Trump<\/a> was first elected US president.<\/p>\n

\u201cI lost a wonderful man from my life while the world gained a terrible one,\u201d she wrote<\/a> in an essay in No Authority, a collection from 2019 of her writings as the inaugural laureate of Irish fiction, in which she addressed, among other things, misogyny and male privilege. \u201cI knew many good men and very few bad ones. Was this male goodness also illusory? What, I wondered, came between these individual, well-intentioned men and the wider enactment of equality?\u201d<\/p>\n

She reprises the subject in fictional form in her New Yorker story<\/a>. \u201cEven though the story is set in the 1980s, you want to feel it is saying something relevant to now. The world is so different, you want to meet that change in some way. The story is very strongly based on me going down to Clare with my dad, picking blackberries and mushrooms. I wanted to capture that fantastic thing of having your dad all to yourself when you were 11. Any girl who is stuck on their da, I had access to that easily.\u201d<\/p>\n

[\u00a0Anne Enright: \u2018People that go around complaining they don\u2019t win prizes \u2026 I always think of Trump and Georgia\u2019Opens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n

In the story, the father suddenly has to leave, and a darker masculinity takes centre stage. It asks, if men are more or less good, how did we get saddled with such a damaged patriarchy? There is also an undercurrent of Ireland\u2019s urban-rural divide.<\/p>\n

Enright once found the New Yorker\u2019s fiction editors \u201calmost anti-voice\u201d, wanting to turn colourful sentences beige, but she has always admired its editing as \u201ca lesson in clarity, foregrounding things the reader needs to know\u201d, one she passes on to her students at University College Dublin, where she is professor of creative writing. \u201cDon\u2019t be hiding things under your jumper. There\u2019s something you\u2019re not telling.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I realised that the people who didn\u2019t like you weren\u2019t going to like you because you won the Booker: they were going to dislike you more<\/p>\n

\u2014 \u00a0Anne Enright<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Enright has enjoyed consistent critical success since her debut short-story collection, The Portable Virgin, from 1991, won the Rooney Prize for Irish Literature. Winning the Booker Prize<\/a>, with The Gathering, from 2005, made her name internationally. \u201cIt was fantastic timing. It very much did its job for me.\u201d She didn\u2019t think she had written a Booker winner. \u201cI was rearing small kids and locked away for a few hours a day in Bray. I was hauling it out of my guts and thought, No one is going to like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

The late Irish Times literary critic Eileen Battersby was unimpressed. Enright says, \u201cI realised that the people who didn\u2019t like your work weren\u2019t going to change their minds because you won the Booker: they were going to dislike your work more.\u201d<\/p>\n

In my view she has reached another level with her three most recent novels, The Green Road<\/a>, Actress<\/a> and The Wren, The Wren<\/a>. But despite being up for the Women\u2019s Prize for Fiction five times, \u201cyou just know that\u2019s not going to happen. The magic is moving elsewhere,\u201d with \u201ca shift to a cooler female voice\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou outgrow ideas of fashionability. Writing the sort of book I write, which is interested in style and language, how the sentences fall, it used to be called literary, but things shift. Style in some mouths is a semi-insult. I\u2019m not second-guessing the market. That is the enemy of good writing and a sure way to fail.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are times late at night you think you\u2019re no good at all, but you learn to live with the uncertainty. Usually for me it\u2019s a structural flaw or unease. I\u2019d break it up or smooth it out a bit. In The Green Road and The Gathering, there are tensions between the book falling apart and coming together. I sometimes wish I could write a book in one style and one voice the whole way through.\u201d<\/p>\n

All this made winning<\/a> the $175,000 Windham-Campbell Prize this year a huge and welcome surprise. \u201cI thought those days were gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"AnneAnne Enright at the \u00c9tonnants Voyageurs festival in St Malo, in France, in 1996. Photograph: Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric Reglain\/Gamma-Rapho via Getty <\/p>\n

\u201cYou always finish a book too quickly,\u201d she says, although she has never worked to a deadline since her debut novel, The Wig My Father Wore, from 1995, \u201cwhich I missed by two years. I was very neurotic about it in the early days. I wrote with great difficulty. I wrote every day for 30 years. I need to. I\u2019m slightly obsessive and addicted to it.\u201d She usually has two or three nonfiction deadlines, however \u2013 work she takes on if she believes it will bring her fiction or thinking on.<\/p>\n

[\u00a0Anne Enright on Edna O\u2019Brien: She never left Ireland, yet couldn\u2019t live here eitherOpens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n

\u201cStylistically, Wig is not showing its age. Is that a very arrogant thing to say? I noticed my New Yorker story is doing what I do, moving from paragraph to paragraph faster than other writers. On one level it is naturalistic, but I can sense that old energy from the first story in The Portable Virgin is still there. <\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I want to stop doing that now, but it still is the engine that keeps me going, that movement into surprise, the way that the paragraph ends in a way that you don\u2019t expect from its beginning, so there is a bit of a dance going on. I\u2019m not writing modernism like Tom McCarthy, but I\u2019m not writing like William Trevor, either, so there is a conversation between the two.\u201d<\/p>\n

Enright recognises that some of her novels are couples: The Gathering and The Green Road; Actress and The Wren, The Wren. \u201cThey are bookends. They talk to each other. You realise at the end [of writing a novel] that you haven\u2019t done at all what you meant to \u2013 if I knew that\u2019s what I was going to do, I would have started out differently \u2013 and so you do start out differently.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I wasn\u2019t expecting to be asked about suicidal thoughts 40 years in my past, but I suppose I have always skirted around the difficult feelings of those years<\/p>\n

\u2014 \u00a0Anne Enright<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Both Actress and The Wren, The Wren \u201chave mythological, supernormal parents. They have a glow, given them by fame, which is shorthand for how we feel about our parents anyway. In The Wren, The Wren I had the advantage of being able to make [Phil the poet] real by making his work real, and so it was a completely different engagement [than with Actress], more exciting. You could give him go, let him have his say. <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a great believer in that, which is one of the reasons why my books tend to not fragment but collate, because they have a democratic impulse behind them. You can demonise Phil \u2013 he is every kind of foolish bad man \u2013 but once you get him speaking you can also experience him. Maybe 20 per cent of my readers on a good day would be male, but I\u2019ve had a good male response to the Phil chapters. My work is political but not ideological.\u201d <\/p>\n

In other words, it is polyphonic, not just one point of view.<\/p>\n

[\u00a0Anne Enright: \u2018I am a proud Dubliner, born and reared. I spurn these lyrical types yearning for the rural\u2019Opens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n

Enright reminds me that during the first pandemic lockdown she surprised me by picking a collection of poetry translated from Irish as her summer read. \u201cPoems like The Yellow Bittern and To a Blackbird were moving and also key to my writing The Wren, The Wren. Now the thickets of misogyny are being cleared from Irish letters, I\u2019ve been going back to Irish poetry, a reclamation.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor decades there was almost a hum off Irish work that was not for or about you. I became tired of having to praise it, the lie that it contains, the women\u2019s lives trapped by that sentimentality. But you can\u2019t be too cross when you sit down to write something. You have to let the feeling settle and then go back to reaccess it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I ask to see Enright\u2019s writing desk, and she surprises me by sitting cross-legged on the sofa in a basement room, where she types on her laptop: \u201cSlow slow, quick quick slow. It\u2019s more of a rhythm, a rush and a stop. Writing by hand feels like a voiceover; this is more in the moment.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dialogue, she says, shouldn\u2019t all be the same length unless you\u2019re Beckett or Pinter. There is always a power dynamic or a kind of dance going on. \u201cI am very interested in the pattern of interruptions. Women interrupt to be helpful; men interrupt as a territorial thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

She writes about Ireland but not for it, she says. \u201cI\u2019m very proud of the fact I had the 46A [bus] in every single book. Now it\u2019s gone<\/a>, I don\u2019t know what to do. I don\u2019t think I can put the E2<\/a> in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"AuthorAuthor Anne Enright in Lexicon Library, D\u00fan Laoghaire, Dublin, in 2023. Photograph: Dara Mac D\u00f3naill<\/p>\n

To write precisely about the imprecise, often ambiguous nature of things is one of Enright\u2019s gifts, so it is no surprise when I ask where she grew up to learn that it was on the borders of Perrystown, Terenure and Templeogue \u2013 \u201cpostally Dublin 12, religiously Crumlin, and Terenure for the estate agents\u201d \u2013 where the Dublin bus stopped and fields began.<\/p>\n

[\u00a0Goodbye to the 46A: End of legendary Dublin bus route made famous in songOpens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n

As for class? \u201cIt\u2019s an evolving space for me,\u201d she says. \u201cNo one along the Dart line, which is so class-bound, believes this, but we were, as far as I knew, indifferent to class. Possibly because we were an academic family, a lot of investment went into that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her parents were both civil servants, but with five children to raise, their house was very modest. \u201cMy mother came from a falling class \u2013 middle class with no money, because her father died just before she was born. She had a Catholic spiritual sense that people were people and shouldn\u2019t be judged for what they had. A lid would be put on notions.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe English novel of a certain decade is obsessed with class, and I\u2019m not interested \u2013 those power relations are not my concern \u2013 but I am very interested in people\u2019s notions of themselves, and notions in the Irish sense.\u201d<\/p>\n

She always does a deep dive into her characters\u2019 backgrounds. \u201cI do know where people come from, how they place themselves socially, but then I lose all that and focus on something else about their lives.\u201d<\/p>\n

Enright was a precocious child. She won a Kodak Instamatic camera for a national essay competition when she was 11. She preferred Alice\u2019s Adventures in Wonderland to The Wind in the Willows, playful and ludic like her father, but disappointing her mother. \u201cIt was news to me that reading could be the wrong sort.\u201d Had she been a boy she wouldn\u2019t have been allowed to be a writer, she has said. \u201cI did cause a lot of maternal anxiety. But my father said, \u2018I don\u2019t know what she has, but she has something.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

She passed her Leaving Cert at 16, then won a scholarship to a school in Canada, whose headmaster predicted that she would blow the world up with her writing \u2013 an unfortunate metaphor. He was not the last male critic to displease her. \u201cI had absolutely no money, and there were lots of people with lots of money, who dressed with confidence, who had travelled.\u201d <\/p>\n

\"AnneAnne Enright and Lucy Vigne-Welsh in Top Girls in 1984. Photograph: Alan Byrne <\/p>\n

She studied English at Trinity College Dublin. She tried her hand at writing monologues and acting with friends \u2013 Lynn Parker, Pauline McLynn, Declan Hughes \u2013 who would form Rough Magic Theatre Company<\/a>, and Martin Murphy, whom she would marry. She graduated with a first. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I was trying to place myself as a future writer, I wasn\u2019t thinking of Irish writers at all, but once you go out in the world you are obliged to talk about nothing else. I read all the Frank O\u2019Connors as a child, just reading for pleasure what was in the house, Robert Coover, Donald Barthelme, Marguerite Duras, the modernists.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was in a state of contention with writers like John McGahern<\/a>, a kind of argument which is also a very strong connection. I felt he became a little too like his father even while rejecting him, that he was quite paternalistic. For the most part he rose above his damage with considerable grace, but I have an issue sometimes with how his language is laid on the page.\u201d<\/p>\n

Enright then started writing fragments, a form that the French literary theorist Roland Barthes writes about as having the constant pleasure of beginnings, without arc or resolution. \u201cIt works by juxtaposition. It\u2019s a scrap. Wig narratively relied on collage, the feeling that things are either making new meanings or breaking down.\u201d<\/p>\n

In 1986 she won a scholarship to the University of East Anglia, or UEA, in Norwich, \u201cthe back of beyond, middle-class to the max\u201d, for a master\u2019s degree in creative writing taught by Angela Carter and Malcolm Bradbury.<\/p>\n

Carter nourished the work but was a little condescending. \u201cShe asked why I wanted to go back to Ireland \u2013 clearly, for her, a very backward, provincial place. If you wanted to be a writer, go to London. I was a bit too Irish for them, unrepressed, a bit of an alien species. But when I fell apart they were very nice.\u201d<\/p>\n

[\u00a0\u2018It\u2019s a phenomenon – we\u2019re very privileged\u2019: Contemporary Irish women writers celebrated at symposium in MexicoOpens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n

What went wrong? \u201cYoung people nowadays know staying up all night is not a good idea. I lived in an evil little room, never went for a walk. There was a lot of student depression. I worked from 8pm to 4am. I lost words. I had no idea what I was writing.\u201d<\/p>\n

It sounds a bit like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, I say. She laughs. \u201cThere was a bit of Barton Fink going on. I was very isolated. I didn\u2019t go down to London. I had no money \u2013 \u00a33,000 to get through the year, totally scraping by. Someone offered me a lift to London, then, like a nice English person, turned round and asked me for petrol money, after leaving me in the wrong part of town.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was increasingly unwell. There were other difficulties. I wasn\u2019t particularly in touch with my family at the time. I do remember people thought you were funny and therefore couldn\u2019t be sad. My counsellor just laughed and laughed. A lot of my 20s were rocky, one way or another.\u201d <\/p>\n

Ten pages from the end of Making Babies, her memoir of early motherhood from 2006, she quietly drops the bombshell that on Easter Monday 1986 she attempted suicide.<\/p>\n

\n

People had been living a false life. Denial makes people strange<\/p>\n

\u2014 \u00a0Anne Enright<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\u201cThe older I get the more political I am about depression, or less essentialist \u2013 it is not because of who you are, but where you are placed,\u201d she writes. \u201cIreland broke apart in the eighties, and I sometimes think that the crack happened in my own head. The constitutional row about abortion was a moral civil war that was fought out in people\u2019s homes \u2013 including my own \u2013 with unfathomable bitterness. The country was screaming at itself about contraception, abortion, and divorce. It was a hideously misogynistic time. Not the best environment for a young woman establishing a sexual identity.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother was very conservative, Catholic,\u201d Enright says; \u201cI was very oppositional, very strong in my own opinions.\u201d Her parents had had four compliant children and didn\u2019t know what to do with her, an overachiever in the wrong way, clever but maverick. \u201cMy mother was, or became, hard to please. That relationship didn\u2019t thrive for a number of years until, reluctantly, she came to an accommodation.<\/p>\n

\u201cIreland was changing underneath but not on the surface. I wasn\u2019t the only person who had difficulty in that generation. The stories were legion. People had been living a false life. Denial makes people strange.\u201d<\/p>\n

Suicide is a sensitive topic, and we leave it there, but the author follows up the next day with an email that clarifies things further.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t expecting to be asked about suicidal thoughts 40 years in my past, but I suppose I have always skirted around the difficult feelings of those years. I moved in with Martin after college and my mother took very poorly to our \u2018living in sin\u2019, so by the time I left for UEA I wasn\u2019t speaking to my family, and then, for reasons that must have made sense at the time, I broke up with Martin too. I had the feeling I was embarking on my writer\u2019s life completely alone, and when the writing did not come good, everything seemed to fall apart for me. That is the scoop, right there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"AuthorAuthor Anne Enright in D\u00fan Laoghaire, Dublin, in 2023. Photograph: Dara Mac D\u00f3naill <\/p>\n

I wonder how this trauma fed into her writing, the early work experimenting with fragmentation, that falling-apart impulse. Her debut novel features Stephen, an angel who has died by suicide. The Gathering\u2019s eponymous family reunion is triggered by the suicide of a sibling, Liam. A death wish hangs over her short story Night Swim. Difficult mother-child relationships are a recurring feature in her best work. The fault line in families is often generational as much as gendered. It is no wonder her writing is so charged as she captures this.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s great to be asked after a million years of no one asking,\u201d she says. \u201cThe Gathering has a suicide in it, and I had written about suicide a few years prior to that. Journalists were not reading the same book I had written. The [Booker] prize skewed their idea of what they wanted to talk about. Nobody asked: that\u2019s the exercise of taboo right there. We will talk about everything else and not even notice it. It\u2019s like Poe\u2019s purloined letter: it\u2019s right there in plain view.\u201d<\/p>\n

That said, \u201cif I was writing The Gathering as a book about suicide, I would have done it differently. Your questions are more personal and my answers are more social: I talk about the environmental, social factors in my life at the time, in a way because the personal is too personal and also, in a way, not fully true, or not enough. You can become unhinged for any number of reasons.<\/p>\n

[\u00a0Honing the craft of the Irish Writers Centre: \u2018It\u2019s a great story to tell, as we are a nation of storytellers\u2019Opens in new window<\/a>\u00a0]<\/p>\n

\u201cThe novel, as a form, is really interested in causation. Liam\u2019s sister Veronica looks for a cause in The Gathering and doesn\u2019t find one, except for the fact that Liam very clearly has been abused as a child. But suicide is absolute, death is so absolute, there is no cause big enough to explain it.<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter the Booker, some of the journalistic antagonism was so extreme I woke up 20 years later thinking that [abuse] must have happened to them. Though the book is not about the brother\u2019s abuse so much as Veronica\u2019s problem of witnessing it. All that is one of the slowest burns in Irish life. It is only two years since the Blackrock [College sex abuse] scandal surfaced.\u201d<\/p>\n

Stephen in The Wig \u201cowes a lot to gay Catholic iconography, Latinx gay culture. It\u2019s more a queer reading.\u201d Again, she follows up the next day: \u201cTwo things though. The post-suicide angel in The Wig owes something to the feeling that I was in a \u2018second\u2019, somehow magical life now.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am not sure if the writerly impulse towards fragmentation maps absolutely onto the psychological, though I see how you might want to make the connection. Working with fragments is not so limited as linear fiction when it comes to capturing experience \u2013 it mimics the way consciousness works, so is a lot more like life. Joyce used fragments. I am fed up saying I have a problem with authority, and that is why I do not write realism. Naturalistic fiction is a lie \u2013 and a dull one at that. This is me changing the narrative from your \u2018broken\u2019 to my \u2018honest\u2019 or even \u2018smart\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

Miraculously, despite everything that had happened and not happened in Norwich, Enright came home that summer and spent six weeks at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre<\/a>, the artists\u2019 retreat at Annaghmakerrig, in Co Monaghan, during which she wrote three stories, which were published in a Faber anthology (alongside Hugo Hamilton). Her mother sent her a clipping of an RT\u00c9 ad: \u201cProducer-director wanted\u201d. She got an amazing reference from Malcolm Bradbury, and next thing she was a trainee director at Montrose, alongside Jim Sherwin and Moya Doherty.<\/p>\n

\"Nighthawks:Nighthawks: continuity announcer Bl\u00e1ith\u00edn Keaveney (Michelle Houlden) on a 1990 edition. Photograph: RT\u00c9 <\/p>\n

At a time in Ireland when most young people didn\u2019t even have a job, she was directing live TV shows such as Nighthawks, making great television with the likes of Kevin McAleer and Arthur Riordan, but it was 85 shows a year with no holidays. It was high cortisone, living on her nerves, anarchic. It ended in a breakdown, \u201cwhich I would now call a burnout\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much time and young energy and talent did I throw into that effing organisation,\u201d she wrote. She quit and became a writer full-time.<\/p>\n

What sort of creative-writing tutor is she?<\/p>\n

\u201cI feel we are moving towards the American consumer model of education, the idea that you\u2019re going to get doled-out information that will teach you how to write. I feel that is an illusion; it makes the student satisfied with the service but not good on the page. I\u2019m interested in reversing the polarity. I read the students\u2019 work. They will be read, not taught, and be given line edits, as well as a broader response and editorial guidance. There is nowhere else you can get all of that in one place.<\/p>\n

\u201cI tell them the structure of a sentence is the structure of the writer\u2019s mind. I show them what they are doing on the page and how to see what the work is requiring of them. Getting a conversation going between the page and the artist. Writing as an act of discovery. I love a fresh text: it makes me recognise the provisionality of everything you are doing on the page, because we are all in the same boat, writing badly and then making it better and, finally, good.\u201d<\/p>\n

Attention: Writing on Life, Art and the World, by Anne Enright, is published by Jonathan Cape on October 30th<\/p>\n

You can contact Samaritans<\/a> on freephone 116 123 or by email at jo@samaritans.ie<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\u201cI\u2019m in a bit of a lull,\u201d Anne Enright says when I ask what she\u2019s working on. \u201cYou…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":146199,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[75],"tags":[65571,18196,18,117,19,17,36093,86263,86264,36095],"class_list":{"0":"post-146198","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-entertainment","8":"tag-anne-enright","9":"tag-booker-prize","10":"tag-eire","11":"tag-entertainment","12":"tag-ie","13":"tag-ireland","14":"tag-john-mcgahern","15":"tag-michelle-smith","16":"tag-rough-magic-theatre-company","17":"tag-tyrone-guthrie-centre"},"share_on_mastodon":{"url":"https:\/\/pubeurope.com\/@ie\/115440503139275208","error":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/146198","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=146198"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/146198\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/146199"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=146198"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=146198"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=146198"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}