In a Nutshell: A brilliant novella that throws a powerful punch at some misguided members of the Catholic religious.

Story:

1985. A small Irish town grappling with the cold weather and the dead economy. Bill Furlong, a coal and timber dealer, is facing a busy season with the dip in temperature. While on his coal delivery rounds to various locals, his past comes back to confront him and he is faced with a dilemma: should he allow his faith or his feelings to dictate his decision?

The entire story centres around the character of Bill, and there couldn’t have been a better hero for such a story. A loving husband, an involved father who wants to provide the best education to his five daughters, a practical businessman who is hands-on about his work, and most of all, a human being who doesn’t allow religious loyalties to blind him from their abuse of power. If you need only one reason to read this book, it should be for Bill, and to see how even one person can make a change if he/she is willing to. But that’s not the only reason to go for this read.

The book is a revelation on the abuse of power by some members of the Catholic Church. It is sad that some of the so-called religious consider themselves the right hand of God and hence free to do as per their will. Even though Jesus himself told us to pray "thy will be done", these zealots twist scriptures as per their own requirements and work to rectify the “flaws” in the society, blind to everything except their own ideologies. The book throws light on what deplorable things these people did under the guise of religious laws. No religion teaches hatred; it is human misinterpretation and ego that results in such shameful occurrences.

I loved how the book tackled the topic sensitively and honestly. The content doesn’t go over the top and yet packs a powerful punch. The writing is subtle yet impactful. The ending might feel a bit abrupt but I feel it ended on a beautiful note, at the right juxtaposition of hope and courage.

I’ve never been to Ireland, nor have I interacted with any Irish citizen (as far as I know. My GR friends are from all over the world!) All I have heard of the country is from books and newspapers. And every source confirms it to be strongly Catholic. As a Catholic myself, I liked this connection. Until the day I discovered how rigid the imposition of their Catholic beliefs could be. On 28th October 2012, Savita Halappanavar, a 31 year old dentist of Indian origin living in Ireland, died of septicaemia when medical staff at a local hospital denied her request for an abortion (following an incomplete miscarriage) on legal grounds. I couldn’t believe the idiocy of this rule. How could a “pro-life” law not consider that the mother’s life was at risk and the foetus had already crossed the point of death? Thankfully, that’s a thing of a past and the only good thing to come out of that sad incident was that the Irish laws with respect to abortion were modified. (Only partially, but it's a step in the right direction.)

The Savita Halappanavar case showed me that religious dogma rules over common sense and humanitarian feelings for some Catholics, especially for those in the church and the government. (The recent Texas abortion law confirms the same thought.) But much before this 2012 incident, there existed the Magdalene laundries. (These were not restricted to Ireland alone; these “safe houses” existed by different names in various countries including England and USA.) If you think that this was an old system, you won’t be entirely wrong. The Magdalene laundries came into existence around the mid-18th century, ostensibly to house “fallen women”, but actually catering to any girl who were found guilty of engaging in sexual activities or becoming pregnant outside of wedlock or even for girls unwanted by their families. These girls were required to work in harsh conditions for their food and board, and their babies were given away forcibly. What is sad is that they existed, even thrived, right up to the late 1990s. What is even more shameful is that these were mostly run by nuns belonging to the Roman Catholic order, and quietly supported by the state. The irony of calling them “Magdalene” laundries isn’t lost on me. The “laundry” obviously referred to the washing loads that the inmates did as part of their work. And the “Magdalene” in the name comes from Mary Magdalene, Jesus’s disciple who is known in Christianity as a reformed prostitute though the Bible never refers to her as such. Just like Mary Magdalene wasn’t a whore, the inmates of these “Magdalene laundries” were innocent.

As we have just entered the season of Advent, it is a right time to take stock of things that matter. And this book shows, in multiple ways, what matters the most. We must not lose our humaneness, and we must not use scriptures as a way of imposing our beliefs on others, rather as a way to be united with others in this journey of life. Jesus’s beautiful adage of “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is something long forgotten by many Christians; high time we resurrect that thought and implement it with vehemence in our lives. This isn’t a Christmas book at its core, and yet in many ways, it is the best Christmas book to read.

4.5 stars for the writing, the historical relevance, the plot, and for making me think so much that it took me three days to review this.

My thanks to Grove Atlantic, Grove Press and NetGalley for the ARC of “Small Things Like These”. This review is voluntary and contains my honest opinion about the book.




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A gentle, powerful Christmas-set novella about an Irish man struggling to meet his family’s needs...amid the reality of men’s power over women and authorities’ power over men. It's short but beautifully layered and re-readable. ( )

Furlong…the irish coal vendor in a small town with Kathleen his daighter at Christmas time; great writing ( )

I enjoy Claire’s quiet understated writing. However, with this book skirting such a heavy topic, I felt like it wasn’t satisfying. I understand that everyone in that town was also “skirting” the issue and pretending not to see what was happening, but in a book, I’d like a bit more. I also felt like it could have cut down the extraneous “regular life” bits in favour of shining more of a light on the insidious goings on. ( )

A year after Cathy posted her enticing review of Claire Keegan's novella Small Things Like These for Novellas in November 2021, I read it for Novellas in November 2022. The book was shortlisted for the 2022 Booker Prize and the 2022 Rathbones Folio Prize, and won the 2022 Orwell Prize for Political Fiction.

Since Cathy's review covers everything you need to know about the the Magdalene laundries which are the background to the novella, I'm going to focus on unpacking the title, and why I think the book won the Orwell Prize for Political Fiction.

All countries have shameful periods in their history. Some are more egregious than others, it is true, but what matters is how the history is acknowledged, how redress is managed, and how steps are taken to prevent any recurrence. Germany's shameful period under the Nazis is an obvious example, but their postwar transformation is salutary. Australia is currently embarking on coming to terms with its treatment of its First Nations with the implementation of the Uluru Statement from the Heart.

Small Things Like These tackles a shameful period in Ireland's internal history, its treatment of unmarried mothers, and Keegan's powerful novella shows the importance of individuals stepping up and making a difference. Her central character Bill Furlong — whose unmarried mother was the recipient of unusual kindness and acceptance — has by 1985 made a good life for himself despite being illegitimate in conservative Ireland. Content with his family life, he's a coal merchant who becomes aware of appalling cruelty to girls sequestered at the local convent.

To drive home the hypocrisy, Keegan makes subtle allusions to the spiritual signifiance of Christmas which is meant to be a time of hope. Making a delivery during the Christmas rush, Furlong hears voices singing the carol 'Adeste Fideles'. He sees a falling star. And a baby has been born.

When he let down the tail board and went to open the coal house door, the bolt was stiff with frost, and he had to ask himself if he had not turned into a man consigned to doorways, for did he not spend the best part of his life standing outside one or another, waiting for them to be opened. As soon as he forced this bolt, he sensed something within but many a dog he'd found in a coal shed with no decent place to lie. He couldn't properly see and was obliged to go back to the lorry, for the torch. When he shone it on what was there, he judged by what was on the floor, that the girl within had been there for longer than the night.

'Christ,' he said.

The only thing he thought to do was to take his coat off. When he did, and went to put it round her, she cowered. (p.61)

To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2022/11/03/small-things-like-these-2021-by-claire-keega... ( )