Small Things Like These

Wonderfully cosy yet powerful short story that was very pleasant to read approaching the festive season. Addressing and condemning the ability of people to ignore the suffering of those less fortunate, through the misguided belief that they are a "different" kind of people compared to themselves.

The writing is the star of this book above all, highlighting the beauty in simple everyday things and people in ways that invoke vivid imagery that forces you to feel. I particularly enjoy the use of weather throughout the book, the pervasive cold of the Catholic church contrasted with the empathetic warm coal merchant.

A good history lesson on a topic I had little knowledge of prior, but ended far too quickly. I was genuinely shocked when there wasn't at least a final chapter after the last page which left me feeling a tad bit dissatisfied toward the end.

Absolutely still worth a read and the writer is an extraordinary talent and I look forward to exploring her other work.

Favourite lines (pretty spoil free)

"Before long, he caught a hold of himself and concluded that nothing ever did happen again; to each was given days and chances which wouldn't come back around. And wasn't it sweet to be where you were and let it remind you of the past for once, despite the upset, instead of always looking on into the mechanics of the days and the trouble ahead, which might never come."

"Furlong did and did not know, he found himself asking was there any point in being alive without helping one another? Was it possible to carry on along through all the years, the decades, through an entire life, without once being brave enough to go against what was there and yet call yourself a Christian, and face yourself in the mirror"

"his fear more than outweighed every other feeling but in his foolish heart he not only hoped but legitimately believed that they would manage."

Novela curtia costumista ambientá n'Irlanda nos años ochenta. Tenía toles papeletes pa encantame y convertise nun favoritu, por embargu, decepcionóme un poco. Non porque fore malu, nin mucho menos, sinón porque esparaba salgo más. Quizá tenía espectatives demasiao altes...

En fin, la novelina sigui a Bill Furlong, un mercaer de carbón. Ye un paisanu corriente y moliente con muyer y fíes (cinco, concretamente). El llibru céntrase nel conceptu de “muyer caía”, términu que s'usaba pa referise a muyeres que perdieren la virxinidá enantes de casase, madres solteres, muyeres vioales, prostitutes... cualquier muyer que nun siguiere les normes marcaes pola ilesia.

La madre de Furlong yera una d'estes “muyeres caíes”, pues yera madre soltera y nun se sabía, nin tampoco ella quería confesar, la identidá del pá. Cuando esto pasó echáronla de casa, tul mundu dexóla de lláu y abandonóla. Tos excepto la señora pa la que trabayaba, Mrs. Wilson. Nun la echó del puestu nin-y quitó'l sueldu, sinón que dio-y un hogar, un sitiu seguru nel que criar al so fíu. Mrs. Wilson nunca lu trató de menos por ser un “bastardu”. Non obstante, nun yera na mesma situación na cai: la xente mirábalu mal, como si llevare la marca de la vergoña y el pecáu na frente, em colexu metíense con él... por algo que nin siquiera yera realmente culpa suya. Por embargu, gracies a l'ayuda y sofitu de Mrs. Wilson y la so propia integridá y trabayu “escaló” na sociedá y entamó a ser un paisanu respetable.

N'Irlanda esistíen unes instituciones católiques ampares pol estáu llamaes “Llavanderíes de la Madalena” onde estes muyeres facíen dellos llabores en condiciones deplorables ya insalubres. Les monxes robáben-yos los bebés a les moces que veníen con ellos o entraben yá embarazaes. Taben totalmente apartaes de la sociedá.

Furlong entabla contactu con una d'estes moces y siente la obligación y deber morales de sacala d'ehí, d'ayudala, anque tul mundu-y tuviere diciendo que siguiere a lo suyo y que nun se metiere nesos percales. Fala de la hipocresía d'algunos cristianos, d'aquellos que son quien a ver miseria y sufrimientu, xirar la cara, facer como si nun pasare na y tirar pa misa.

Resumiendo, un bon conceptu, un ambiente navidiegu y una gran escritora. Aun teniendo tos estos elemento, faltóme salgo, nun sé mui bien el qué. Encantaríame ver esti conceptu más densendolcáu nuna novela más llarga.

“As they carried on along and met more people Furlong did and did not know, he found himself asking was there any point in being alive without helping one another? Was it possible to carry on along through all the years, the decades, through an entire life, without once being brave enough to go against what was there and yet call yourself a Christian, and face yourself in the mirror?”