Sumaiya Matin Interviews Hollay Ghadery

​(Palimpsest Press, 2026)

Hollay Ghadery

​Sumaiya Matin: Thank you for taking the time to chat with me about The Unravelling of Ou, a fascinating debut novel about a new grandmother, Minoo, who is given an ultimatum by her daughter, Roya, to either lose her (and her granddaughter) or her beloved sock puppet companion, Ecology Paul.

For readers unfamiliar with the novel, this is the description from Palimpsest Press:

​Moving on is hard. Even harder when it’s from a make-believe friend—someone, or in this instance, some thing—who’s been your strongest source of support. On what should be one of the happiest days ever, the day her granddaughter is born, Minoo is faced with a terrible choice: make a clean break from her constant companion, a sock puppet named Ecology Paul, or lose her daughter and granddaughter, and maybe all of the people she loves. On an emotional drive home from the hospital, Ecology Paul shares the story of how Minoo got to this point, recalling Minoo’s early teenage pregnancy in Iran, her exile to Canada, her questions about her sexuality, and how a ragtag sock puppet came to her when she desperately needed to be seen. Full of imagination, whimsy and heart, The Unravelling of Ou follows Minoo’s struggles to justify the puppet’s existence and untangle herself from her dependence on it, and reconnect with the people she loves.

I deeply appreciate this story for its tenderness yet frankness, its holding of many parts and its wholesomeness. With both insight and humour peppered throughout the narrative, this book caught me by surprise in its ability to rip me apart (particularly when I think about the letdowns and deep abandonment Minoo endures). I thought a lot about Minoo, even after putting the book down.
 
One of the notable themes in this book is the complexity of motherhood and the impact of childhood experiences in shaping what we believe about ourselves. We see Minoo being dismissed by an overly critical mother over and over again, prioritizing the judgments of others, and cultural and gender expectations over Minoo's basic emotional needs. Minoo is taught that her body is a source of shame, and this affects how foreign it feels to her. At the end of the story, Minoo (as a middle-aged woman now) faces a choice to prioritize her own daughter's needs. She must put aside her crutch, her sock puppet, to be truly present for her. The Unravelling of Ou does an incredible job of capturing cycles of shame, how they’re inherited and disrupted.
 
As Reed's review in The Seaboard Review of Books states, “The flashes of motherly attachment underscore that the ultimatum driving the plot is not merely about a puppet; it stems from Roya’s desire to connect with Minoo and experience her motherly affection, unfiltered by a prop.”
 
Would you be able to speak to your exploration of these themes of motherhood and cycles of shame? Did you know if/how you wanted to approach them prior to writing or did the themes unravel as you wrote?
 
Hollay Ghadery: What a great question! Thank you, Sumaiya.
 
While I definitely have my own feelings about the act of mothering (which I love and feels like a natural extension of who I am) and the institution of motherhood (which I don’t love so much, and can often feel oppressive), I was not consciously thinking about these opinions when I was writing this novel. Rather, I prioritized the puppet’s voice and gave myself over to it: what did Ecology Paul witness? How were those things internalized by Minoo?
 
I did not have a mother like Minoo: my mother was supportive and comparatively open-minded. But I am interested in how women uphold the patriarchy: the ways we subtly, overtly, and insidiously oppress other women. The things we say and do. The things we don’t say or do. The times we fail to support or believe one another. Growing up and well into my adulthood, I heard countless stories of girls and women who have memorable experiences with misogyny stemming from encounters with other women: notably, though not always, their mothers. Their stories detailed experiences that weren’t always intentionally malicious. Mothers often said things to their daughters with the aim of protecting them, not hurting them. When a mother tells her daughter she is dressed like a whore, for instance, that’s damaging. But the comment is often made because a mother is worried about her daughter: her safety, perhaps her reputation as judged by an archaic standard. Still, comments like this are made, and they keep being made, not only by our mothers and other women, but of course by men. It’s engrained into our societal messaging. There’s nowhere we are safe from the shame. So, girls grow into women who loathe and distrust themselves and their bodies. This is the cycle that Ecology Paul, the narrator of my novel, witnesses. It’s the cycle readers of the novel see played out in the life of Minoo.
 
SM: Ng writes in The Ottawa Review of Books, “Ghadery collapses the distance between beauty and ugliness, shame and desire, sanity and madness. Everything is tangled, knotted together…Ou insists on multiplicity. It claims the right to be contradictory, unresolved, alive. The novel’s form becomes a declaration: that fragmentation, too, can be a kind of wholeness.”
 
As a reader, I agree with this observation. Even the existence and spontaneity of Ecology Paul (the sock puppet) is an example of how we’re made of many parts that are sometimes unpredictable in how and when they appear. Why was it important to you to capture the holding of oppositions, of contradictions, of multiplicity in this narrative?
 
HG: I enjoy Ng’s observation too. As someone who is mixed-race, lives with various comorbid mental illnesses, and who is in a heteronormative-presenting relationship but who is not straight, I feel that recognizing our multitudes is the most natural thing we can do. Unnatural is shoving yourself—your abundant and miraculous contradictions—into a box. Unnatural is denying your complexities. Sanitising yourself to preserve the sanctity of a societally-constructed status quo. None of us are just one thing, or even a palmful of things. We are innumerable ever-changing things, and as a multifarious whole, we are made up of countless different moments in our lives. I wanted to show this as best I could. In the case of Minoo, she is not shaped by a single moment of devastation, just as she does not subsist on a single moment of joy. Ecology Paul helps readers glimpse how Minoo became who she is, and why she is the way she is, over the course of many years and many moments.
 
SM: It is fascinating that despite Ecology Paul narrating the entire story and the reader not having direct access to Minoo’s interior world (although Ecology Paul is very much a part of Minoo), I felt like I knew Minoo somewhat intimately. Could you speak to your decision to have Ecology Paul narrate the story? How/if do you think the narrative would shift if Minoo told us the story directly?
 
HG: I am so glad you felt like you knew Minoo! You do, after all. I didn’t begin writing this novel with the intention of Ecology Paul being the only narrator, but relatively quickly, EP’s voice became the only one I was interested in following. The puppet felt like the most authentic and reliable access point to Minoo. Minoo, after all, is stymied by too much shame and doubt to tell her story directly. But Ecology Paul, who has unfettered access to Minoo’s experiences and deepest, darkest thoughts, has no such obstacles. Like puppets throughout the centuries, EP can talk about things that are too taboo or too painful for a person to voice.
 
I think allowing Minoo to tell the story wouldn’t add anything to it, and would, in fact, detract from the immensity and intensity of what Minoo has endured and is enduring by allowing her to deny it. We don’t need Minoo’s voice, directly, to show us she is in denial. That she is unable to confront parts of herself and her history. The existence of Ecology Paul is proof of that already.
 
What’s more, I feel that asking the reader to stay with Ecology Paul and learn to trust this admittedly unconventional narrator encourages them to consider the value of neurodivergent stories, told without neurotypical scaffolding, like an omnipresent narrator. Or even the perspective of another character who one might deem more mentally stable. I believe neurodivergent people are the most reliable narrators of their own lives. No interference necessary.
 
SM: I very much agree that the existence of Ecology Paul is proof that Minoo is unable to confront parts of herself and her history. Minoo doesn't need to explain her pain to the reader; Ecology Paul’s existence as a means to coping is enough. To me, this is one of the most powerful aspects of this book.
 
In your interview with Ramraajh Sharvendiran on CBC's Ontario Morning, you mentioned using ‘absurdity as a clarifying agent,’ in a world where there are many opinions but very little listening. Using a sock puppet for example, is a way to clarify what matters and what doesn’t. Could you expand on the use of this device in writing about/from pain and trauma? What informed this approach of using humour and compassion in tackling challenging subjects in your writing?
 
HG: I think the approach is fundamentally me: my approach to my everyday life. I live with existential obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and am frequently overwhelmed with dread and fear. It’s hard to take seriously the things that many people (myself too, on occasion) take seriously when one is in a state of bowel-quickening fear. From this state, it is also hard for me not to find amusement in the trivial things many people take seriously: keeping up with the latest trends, worrying about gaining a few pounds, someone’s opinion on a movie, or a hot take on celebrity gossip—it’s all too absurd. What else is there to do but laugh? When we can use absurdity to strip away what doesn’t matter, it’s easier to focus on what really does.
 
SM: More on Ecology Paul (because I am obsessed with this sock puppet)—What was your approach in developing it as a character, and its distinct voice? How would you describe the relationship between Minoo and Ecology Paul? What are your thoughts on how Ecology Paul can be both good and bad for her?
 
From what I understand, Ecology Paul is a part of Minoo, yet it stands out as distinct from her. Minoo uses it as a crutch (in a sort of codependent way), but it is also freeing for her, and it has her best interests at heart.
 
HG: I developed the voice of Ecology Paul by making a sock puppet and talking to it for a year. The voice of the puppet is a voice in my head: one that became clearer as the weeks unspooled. I did a rough outline of the novel, and in that outline, the puppet originally was harsher with Minoo. I intended EP to impart more tough love. But that’s not how the sweet and squeaky (and sometimes exasperated) voice in my head rolled. Ecology Paul can become frustrated with Minoo, but ultimately always wants what’s best for her. The puppet loves her immensely. Thus, Ecology Paul’s existence is an act of radical self-love, against convention and criticism. Ecology Paul is not me, but it is my hope for the world: how we can better care for each other, and ourselves.
 
As you have noted, however, Ecology Paul is not all good for Minoo—a fact the puppet is aware of and speaks to. The puppet understands that part of its job is to make itself obsolete. It’s bittersweet for EP, but necessary. Urgent even, by the time the readers are dropped into the story. Unfortunately, relinquishing the puppet, who has become her most trusted and constant source of support, hasn’t been easy for Minoo. And it may cost her dearly. I think many of us have crutches like this: things that maybe were good for us at one time, but cease to serve a function as time goes on.
 
SM: What were your biggest challenges in bringing this book to life? What did you enjoy the most about writing it?
 
HG: The biggest challenge in writing this novel was the all-consuming nature of the process. I had only written shorter forms before this: poems, short stories, personal essays. I was not prepared for how writing a novel would absorb me into another world for a prolonged period, which might be fine for some people, but I felt it took me away from my children and the rest of life. Granted, this ended up being fitting because the book is about someone who creates something that takes her away from the important people in her life. Life imitates art, etc., etc.
 
SM: Are there any aspects of your real-life experiences that inspired this story (and I ask this simply to satisfy readers’ curiosity)?
 
HG: Unlike a lot of my other writing, most of this book is not based on my life. Minoo is not based on me or any one person I know. My delayed realization of my queerness certainly informed some of the story, but I eventually realized I was not straight, while Minoo never does. Not herself and not even through the puppet. Minoo’s feelings are undeniable, but undefined.
 
The reaction of Minoo’s daughter, Roya, to the puppet—that was drawn from the reactions of my children. So, there is a bit of my life woven in there as well. My children thought my talking to a puppet was silly and fun at first, but it got old, fast. They were sick of the whole method-writing by the end—especially my two older kids, who would hide the puppet when friends came over. It became a source of annoyance and embarrassment. I let this reaction inform the story.
 
SM: How do you understand the relationship between this story and your previous works/body of work? What are you working on next?
 
HG: I am always writing about being a woman and the way people—all people—are warped and crushed by patriarchal systems. So, this falls in line with my memoir, my poetry, and my short fiction collection.
 
As for what I am working on now, I am finishing some edits on a children’s book I have coming out next year with Guernica Editions. I am also working on a collection of travel essays that centre around lesser known and strange places I’ve visited in Ontario. Slowly but steadily, I have a collection of poems I’m writing too. Poems always take me a long time to write, but they are also a pursuit of pleasure since they are patient. I cannot rush a poem. Or I can, but it won’t be very good.
 
SM: This was an engrossing, humorous, tragic, yet hopeful narrative about survival. It’s whimsical, fantastical, but sharply realistic. Despite being addicted to a sock puppet, Minoo is relatable and her pain is something I believe we can all recognize, in some shape or form. I am fascinated by the artistic risks you took with this story and its themes. Thank you for the opportunity to pick your brain on craft. I can’t wait to read your next long-form work (if you plan to write any)!
 
HG: Thank you so much for these thoughtful questions, Sumaiya!

Hollay Ghadery lives and writes in Ontario on Anishinaabe land. Her memoir, Fuse (Guernica Editions), won the 2023 Canadian Bookclub Award for Nonfiction/Memoir. She is the author of the poetry collection Rebellion Box (Radiant Press, 2023), the short fiction collection Widow Fantasies, (Gordon Hill Press, 2024—long-listed for the Toronto Book Award), the chapbook the blades of grass are dreaming (Anstruther Press, 2025), and the novel The Unravelling of Ou, (Palimpsest Press, 2026). Hollay is a host on The New Books Network and HOWL on CIUT 89.5 FM. She is also the Poet Laureate of Scugog Township.

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Sumaiya Matin wears many hats as a writer, social worker, educator and public policy professional. She holds a Master of Social Work and is currently working toward her Master of Fine Arts (in Creative Writing) at the University of British Columbia. She is the author of a literary memoir titled The Shaytan Bride: A Bangladeshi Canadian Memoir of Desire and Faith (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 2021) and a forthcoming children’s picture book. She lives in amiskwacîwâskahikan (Edmonton), but you can also find her online at @sumaiya.matin on Instagram or www.sumaiyamatin.com