Skip to main content

Claire Keegan: "Small Things Like These"

 "Small Things Like These" is an unusual story with links to "Spotlight" and "Philomena." It's about how an entire town can be complicit in the evils of the Catholic Church.


Bill Furlong works with coal, in Ireland, in the 1980s; he delivers coal to various businesses and houses. One of his clients is a local convent, which is also a Magdalene laundry. These laundries existed from the 1700s all the way through the 1990s, in Ireland; unwed mothers were sometimes incarcerated, separated from their children, forced to contribute labor, made to fear early deaths. (Some died very young; infants were also allowed to die.)

Bill visits the convent once and meets a woman who asks to be escorted to the river, "just so I could drown myself." Women plead to know anything about their babies, whom they can't see.

But routines are routines; the laundry does a really nice job with bedclothes and with shirts. Also, it's rumored that the nuns at the laundry hold power over the nuns at the local girls' private school--and if you want to advance in the world, you need to get your daughters into that private school.

This is a horrifying setting, and it yields unforgettable scenes. The Mother Superior warns Bill, indirectly, about holding one's tongue: "It's just that you have five daughters, and I'd hate to see one turned away from the Catholic school..." Bill came from very little, and he worries when his youngest daughter hides away from the local Santa; some people might think this is cute, but Bill sees signs of an impending "failure to thrive." Bill sits with his wife and argues about Margaret Thatcher. "You say people must pull themselves up by the bootstraps, but what if that's not always an option?"

The writer, Claire Keegan, is ambitious and authoritative; it feels like you're watching a documentary film, not reading a novel. The tension builds until the final scene, Bill's last choice, feels thrilling. And the sympathetic portrait of Mrs. Furlong, who is shrewd and small-minded and frightened, stands out (even among other stand-out portraits).

Claire Keegan almost won the Booker Prize for this book, and her next one, also celebrated, will arrive in America later this month.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...