PHOTO: Lacy Fewer, Irish author of the award-winning debut novel Yankeeland, photographed at her home in Meath.
Unpacking Family Secrets Through Historical Fiction
Lacy Fewer discusses the inspiration behind Yankeeland, blending family history with emotional authenticity and tackling themes like patriarchy, mental health, and forgotten women in historical fiction.
Lacy Fewer’s journey into the literary world began with an act of discovery—two mailbags brimming with century-old family letters, forgotten for decades and untouched until they found her. Within those fragile pieces of correspondence lay a history that demanded to be heard, a poignant unfolding of secrets, struggles, and silences. There is something profoundly human about the way unexpected artifacts from the past refuse to remain buried, insisting instead on compelling new questions, new understanding. It was in this act of bearing witness that Yankeeland was born—a novel that is as much an excavation of identity as it is a tender exploration of memory and meaning.
In the poignant lines of Yankeeland, Fewer brings forth the voices of women negotiating lives shaped by expectations and limitations they could hardly control. Through Brigid and Molly’s letters, we feel the pulse of their worlds—the yearning for connection despite barriers of land and ocean, the battles with mental illness, and the constriction of societal norms. Yet, alongside the hardships lies something luminous: an insistence not just to endure but to affirm, an act of resilience that transcends time. Above all, Yankeeland reminds us that while history may forget voices, literature can retrieve them, crafting stories that illuminate rather than obscure.
Fewer’s graceful style mirrors the complexity of her themes: lyrical yet grounded, deeply empathetic yet unafraid to confront pain. She has drawn on extensive resources—old letters, archival records, and lived experience—transforming them into a narrative filled with truth, though woven in fiction’s delicate threads. The tenderness with which she honours Brigid and Molly’s humanity is a testament to the ethical care she brings to storytelling, a care that is essential when untangling lives that unfolded under the pressures of family, country, and patriarchy. Through her work, Fewer bridges the distance between yesterday’s struggles and today’s reflections, offering readers both catharsis and clarity.
In Yankeeland, Brigid’s quest for motherhood leads to profound mental health struggles—how did you balance historical accuracy with emotional authenticity in portraying her ordeal?
Brigid’s sense of self is deeply tied to motherhood because, in her time and culture, a woman’s worth was often measured by her ability to bear and raise children. Infertility was not merely a private sorrow but could become a source of social shame, marital strain, and, in some cases, institutionalisation for “nervous ailments” or “hysteria.” I researched medical records, asylum case notes, and medical journals from the period to ensure that Brigid’s experiences were rooted in the realities of how women’s mental health was pathologised when they diverged from societal norms.
Discovering your grandaunt’s letters inspired Yankeeland—can you describe the moment you realised their potential to become a novel?
When I first read those letters, sent across an ocean and penned a century ago, I was both humbled and ecstatic. I can vividly recall sitting on the floor, piecing together their journey with the excitement of an avid sentimentalist—until I began to uncover the depth of the tragedy and the secrets within. The moment I realised how many lives had been affected, never to understand the truth in their lifetimes—and the agony of it—was the moment I knew that I would tell this story. I had an undeniable sense that the keepers of those letters wanted future generations to know their story. I felt it was my responsibility to undertake this journey—not just for them, but for everyone who has walked this path.
As a former financier, how did your corporate background influence your depiction of immigrant aspirations and disillusionment in early 1900s America?
My experience in corporate settings made me attuned to the quiet resilience behind success stories—and importantly, to the despair that arises when dreams are deferred. I wanted readers to feel both the optimism and the betrayal inherent in the immigrant journey. My background allowed me to explore these economic and emotional truths with depth, showing that while the context changes, the struggle for dignity and belonging remains universal.
Letters between cousins Brigid and Molly form the emotional centre of the narrative—what challenges did you face translating epistolary material into dramatic fiction?
Translating Brigid and Molly’s letters into dramatic fiction was challenging because letters are inherently static—they capture thoughts but lack real-time action or dialogue. To ensure the narrative voice retained momentum while preserving the intimacy of their voices, I wove their letters into scenes showing the emotional consequences of what they wrote. Ultimately, I treated each letter not just as information but as a revelation of character, using their words to drive the drama and anchor the emotional heart of Yankeeland.
Your prose has been described as “lyrical” and “quietly radical”—how do you cultivate that lyrical tone while tackling heavy themes like patriarchy and mental health?
My writing comes from a place of deep listening—to history, to language, and to my own lived experience supporting family members with mental health. I know how heavy these themes can feel, so I use lyrical prose to create space for tenderness and beauty alongside pain. When writing about patriarchy or mental illness, I focus on the quiet dignity within struggle. For me, lyricism isn’t decorative; it’s a way of honouring human resilience and complexity.
Ireland and America both feature as characters—how did you research and evoke the sensory differences between rural Ireland and urban Yankeeland?
I approached Ireland and America as living, breathing presences in Yankeeland. I drew on my own memories and in particular the oral histories of my parents and grandparents. For America, I researched from newspapers, and books from the period; however, it was on-the-ground research, meeting with people who had known the real-life characters, which provided invaluable insight and depth to my writing.
Feminist critics have praised Yankeeland for giving voice to forgotten women—what do you hope readers take away about female agency in historical fiction?
Brigid faced systemic challenges, including societal expectations, patriarchal oppression and the rigid constraints placed on women of her time. Yet, despite these hardships, she persists, asserting her independence and resilience. Brigid’s journey highlights the struggles of many women in history who were often overlooked or dismissed, yet found ways to carve their own identities and destinies. Brigid’s ability to navigate these difficulties, maintain hope and push forward against adversity. Through Brigid, Yankeeland captures the strength, sacrifice and determination of women who, despite adversity, refused to disappear.
What key advice would you give aspiring authors seeking to transform family history into compelling, respectful fiction?
Honour the truth of what you find, whilst understanding that fiction demands emotional honesty over strict factual accuracy. Readers will connect with the deeper human questions your family story raises. Be respectful, write with care, compassion, and courage. It is important to understand the impact and the power of intergenerational stories; if we look closely enough, quite often there is repetition.
