I clearly remember the first time I saw the film clip for Sinéad O’Connor’s 1990 breakout hit, Nothing Compares To You. With her shaved head, those eyes, and the tears, it was as if she’d landed from another world, totally different to the one dominated by the bubblegum pop, layered synths and fluoro fashion that we’d inhabited for years. And her voice… pure, rich, no tricks.

Rememberings by Sinéad O’Connor was my first five-star read for 2022. Actually, since I read it back in February, I’ve read it once more, and I’ve also listened to the audio (Sinéad reads it herself, so if you are considering this book and can access the audio, choose that). So, why does a book warrant three readings in six months?

Firstly, to set the scene, Rememberings is a memoir focused on Sinéad’s childhood and her early music career. It pivots around what happened before and after Nothing Compares To You. Before, she struggled to be heard. After, she had her audience but they didn’t like all that she had to say about being Catholic, Irish, a woman, and a person struggling with mental health. The very public crescendo to this story was when, after performing Bob Marley’s War on Saturday Night Live, she ripped up a photo of Pope John Paul II and said “Fight the real enemy”. This was Sinéad’s way of speaking out about the sexual abuse of children by the Catholic Church, but also addressed her own abuse as a child –

My intention had always been to destroy my mother’s photo of the pope. It represented lies and liars and abuse. The type of people who kept these things were devils like my mother.

Following the photo-ripping, Sinéad was exiled from NBC for life; was booed offstage at a Bob Dylan tribute concert; and was boycotted by numerous broadcasters (with some promoting the mass destruction of her cassettes and CDs). Sinéad stood defiant in the face of the vilification –

Everyone wants a pop star, see? But I am a protest singer. I just had stuff to get off my chest. I had no desire for fame.

Rememberings is almost conversational in style, largely chronological (although by her own admission, there are gaps which she attributes to dealing with her mental health), and she writes beautifully.

Against the wall rests an old piano. The keys are yellow, like my granddad’s teeth. There are echoes in the notes, a strange sound, like the ghost bells of a sunken ship. I sneak in here often by myself because the piano summons me.

A significant part of her story relates to the physical and emotional abuse she experienced as a child. Sinéad writes about this plainly.

I’m jealous when I see the other girls walking down Merrion Avenue after school with their mothers’ arms around them. That’s because I’m the kid crying in fear on the last day of term before the summer holidays. I have to pretend I lost my field hockey stick, because I know my mother will hit me with it all summer if I bring it home. But she’ll just use the carpet-sweeper pole instead.

Sinéad’s story is unflinchingly honest, heartbreaking, and darkly humorous. You feel that you get every bit of her on the page (although she says that if you want to really know her, it’s in the songs). Here’s what stood out for me – despite the trauma that she has experienced, her willingness to stand up for what she values, triumphs. What is astounding, is that she can hold the most difficult experiences alongside the things that bring her calm or joy. I don’t underestimate the work that that took, but she did it, and is still creating.

Some people believe that you must ‘work through’ or ‘face’ traumas in order to ‘recover’. Actually, resolution of trauma memories is not necessary for ‘recovery’ but a sense of safety absolutely is. Sinéad found safety in music, describing her collection of albums as ‘…her healing journey’ and that the photo-ripping did not de-rail her career, but rather ‘re-railed’ it –

…it set me on a path that fit me better. I’m not a pop star. I’m just a troubled soul who needs to scream into mikes now and then. I don’t need to be number one. I don’t need to be liked. I don’t need to be welcome at the AMAs. I just need to pay my yearly overheads, get shit off my chest, and not compromise or prostitute myself spiritually.

I can’t review this book without mentioning Prince. If you only need one reason to read Rememberings, the story about Sinéad visiting Prince in his LA home is it. From the outset of her visit, Sinéad feels unsafe – his dim house, the creepy ‘butler’, and Prince’s menacing demeanor put her on high alert.

...there’s a swoosh sound and a sweet smell from somewhere behind me. I turn around. Prince is in the doorway. Ol’ Fluffy Cuffs. Done up like the dog’s dinner. Seems like he’s wearing literally all the makeup that was ever in history applied to the face of Boy George. Looks like I did when I went with Jerome Kearns to a school prom.
“You must ne Shine-aid,” he says.
“You must be Prance,” I reply.

I won’t reveal the outcome of the visit but it is truly one of the most bizarre things I have ever read.

Lastly, the reason that it has taken me so long to review this book is because I knew that since its publication, Sinéad’s son took his own like. I read through a lens of wondering how, when she has held her traumas from the past so ably, will she manage this unimaginable loss. I’m sure we will hear it in her music… 

5/5 Remarkable.

Sinéad tells of her first meeting with a psychiatrist –

He offers me a fig bar. What the fuck does a rocker want a fig bar for? Is he crazier than me? I tell him, “No, thank you, fig bars are for hippies.” I can see we ain’t gonna be getting along at all.