In her haunting debut novel, Saoirse, Charlene Hurtubise weaves a "literary jigsaw" where art becomes both sanctuary and threat. Through paintings, memories, and the rugged Irish landscape, she explores how a woman living under a stolen identity must confront her past when her authentic artistic voice threatens to expose her truth.
Tricia Ford: The name change from Sarah to Saoirse (meaning "freedom") is so symbolic and beautiful. How did you choose this particular transformation, and what role does the Irish language play in your character's psychological journey?
Charlene Hurtubise: There is a scene early on in my novel Saoirse, set on a beach, where Sarah and Daithí discuss the meaning of his Irish name and its English equivalent. They have only met days before, yet the reader senses the undeniable attraction between them. The tension is carried in the waves rolling onto the beach, the tactile press of sand, and the shells and stones she rolls between her fingers, but mostly in the playful conversation passing between them. The moment Sarah asks for, and is given, her new name—Saoirse, meaning freedom in Irish—is the moment their desire transforms into action. It is also the moment the stakes are raised—once they kiss—and the irony of the scene lies in the idea that for all the freedom she has sought in Ireland, she now has even more to lose.
Art becomes both Saoirse's salvation and her potential downfall when success brings unwanted attention. As a writer, what draws you to exploring how creativity can simultaneously heal and expose us?
For me, creating art is about bringing order to chaos. In both my writing and visual art practices, I am drawn to how the creative process can take the raw materials of trauma and rage and shape them into something that confronts, rather than avoids, unsettling experiences. For Saoirse, her practice becomes not only an act of self-soothing, but a kind of private confession, a way to release everything that happened to her within the solitude of her studio. It was never intended to be performative.
I was interested in exploring the idea that Saoirse did not have adults in her life who taught her how to process emotion through language. Instead, she had to invent her own means of expression, developing a visual language through which to process grief and trauma. By throwing herself into her art, she learns to enter her work with an authenticity, absorbing the influence of other artists while creating something distinctly her own. It is precisely this authenticity that draws critics to her work, and in doing so, places her in danger. As her trajectory unfolds, it becomes clear that her art can both expose and exonerate her. Living with a lie pours her truth into her painting, and it is that truth which ultimately reveals her identity.
"For me, creating art is about bringing order to chaos."
You've created this gorgeous contrast between the fear and silence of the house in Michigan versus the rugged, liberating coast of Donegal. How important was the Irish setting to the story, and did you draw from personal experience with that landscape?
It is interesting to me that both houses Saoirse inhabits are dilapidated. The farmhouse in Michigan is rented by her stepfather, one of many temporary properties they have passed through; places occupied but never invested in. The instability of the farmhouse reflects the instability of her childhood. In Donegal, however, the metaphor shifts. The old land agent’s house is also in ruins, but Daithí is actively restoring it, bringing it slowly back to life, as though bringing back a loved one. This contrast between the properties felt important. I also draw on my own experience in transitioning from Michigan to Ireland—this is reflected in the sense of calm Saoirse experiences, a steady predictability. There is this same sense of liberation, for a time, when I leave the busy city of Dublin for a quiet rest in Donegal.
Saoirse has built a family and "safe home" while living under a stolen identity. What interested you about exploring motherhood and partnership when your protagonist's entire foundation is built on lies?
Saoirse is a survivor. Her entire foundation is built on hyper-vigilance, always needing to get herself and her sister to safety. From a young age, she learns safety is not a given—it is something you struggle for. That survival instinct does not disappear when the antagonist of the past disappears. There is enough distance, for a time, from her past to feel relatively safe. Paul appears steady and from a good family, which equals stability in her eyes. As she is on shaky ground and in survival mode, it is easy to ignore the signs, because she needs his support.
When she meets Daithí, she is still in survival mode, but with him, there is an emotional safety which she has never experienced before and it catches her off guard. Her reaction with him isn’t about being rescued, it is about being recognized. What they have is on a much deeper level, which means, now, she has everything to lose. The paradox is, having Daithí and her children in her life only deepens this sense of her life unraveling and the burden shifts from "Will I confide?" to "They must never find out."
Critics are calling this a "literary jigsaw" where readers and listeners piece together the story from memories, paintings, and confessions. What was your approach to revealing Saoirse's past; how did you decide what to show and what to keep hidden?
I used the paintings in the gallery as a way of looking back at Saoirse’s past, and these sections are constructed in the first person. This gives the sense that she is alone with her thoughts, her fears, and her memory. This construct is meant to isolate her from living her current life in Ireland to the full. The fragments of memory and sensations are like layers on a canvas, each adding an element, whether it is a shape, color, or shadow, until the entire picture emerges. Saoirse’s past transferred this way, is the energy of her trauma rendered onto the canvas.
I aimed to intermingle her experiences in the present with something that might trigger fear from her past, fear of getting caught, fear of the past repeating itself. In her day-to-day life, especially in Donegal, she needs to forget who she was so she can remember who she has become. In the way that the completion of a puzzle happens at a swifter pace once the borders are in place and certain elements are clear, the construction of this novel reflects the ghosts of her past emerging at pace, to overwhelm her with such a force she has no choice but to turn and face the truth. This is how I intended all the elements to come together at once.
