The Books: “Dubliners” – ‘A Mother’ (James Joyce)

Daily Book Excerpt: Adult fiction:

Dubliners – by James Joyce – excerpt from the thirteenth story in the collection: “A Mother”. I have heard this story referred to as “comic relief” – there are two stories left to go in Dubliners – after this one – as serious as they come – so perhaps to balance it out, Joyce put in “A Mother”, a domestic on-the-surface tale of a woman pushed to the edges of rage at being treated unfairly. I don’t know if I would call “A Mother” “comic relief” – but it certainly does act like a breather, a bit of a break, shall we say – in the tragedy – before plunging into the depths in the last two stories. “A Mother” can be read without any glossary nearby. You need no perspective, no context in order to understand it. It could be published in The New Yorker today, no problem. What you see is what you get in this particular case – and that’s rarely true with Joyce.

Mrs. Kearney is a woman of great accomplishments (for a woman of her day and age, I mean – and for a woman in Ireland). She makes things happen. She heads up committees, she knows how to get people to do things for her, to get things done. She was an excellent student as a young girl – kind of icy in her manners – so it was thought that she would never get married. But she did – to a man older than she – and from the way Joyce paints the picture, it is a good match. She is a good wife. They have a daughter, Kathleen – who, at the time of the story, is 18 years old. Mrs. Kearney makes sure her daughter has a good education, and music lessons … and also (and this is interesting) the Irish Revival is going on (the first time Joyce mentions such a thing) – and Irish language classes start popping up, Irish cultural festivals – people start to put Irish words into their speech – In its way, it is a small (and probably meaningless) act of rebellion. The Irish language had been destroyed (Ahem) – and so the Irish Revival movement (which went on when Joyce was a young man), even though it was cultural in nature – had political overtones. Language is ALWAYS political – and Joyce understood that better than anyone. The most famous scene in Portait is Stephen’s encounter with the professor in the empty classroom – where they discuss the word “tundish”. I’ll get to that later. But language is political. By saying goodbye to one another in Irish, by peppering Irish words into their speech – the Irish were asserting the freedom of their souls, their own culture … Whether or not it had any effect is not the realm of “A Mother”. Mrs. Kearney is wrapped up in the Irish Revival. Kathleen, her daughter, is made to take Irish language classes, as well as all of her other classes. You get the sense that Mrs. Kearney – an obviously intelligent woman of great organizational skills – could have been a Chairperson of the Board in another time, a CEO, a headmistress – something. But in her time, in her place … those skills are kind of at odds with what is expected of her. So she is an organizational fiend in the Irish Revival movement. There’s a lot of thwarted energy in Mrs. Kearney.

Things come to a head when a series of four concerts is planned, and she engages her daughter Kathleen to be the accompanist. Joyce was a tenor – and he performed in many of these concerts in Dublin before de-camping to Europe. He apparently had a beautiful voice. The scenes in the concert hall ring so true because Joyce had lived them. Kathleen Kearney is a nonentity in this story – her mother completely runs her life – and she signs a contract with the organizer of the concerts, that Kathleen will be paid such and such a fee for the four concerts. Mrs. Kearney helps organize the whole thing – she helps put together the programs, she helps with the order of each night – who sings first, who recites next … she understands that such nights need a balance. She is highly involved.

I’m not sure if Joyce was, in his way, criticizing the Irish Revival movement, but he certainly is saying something here about it. The concerts do not go well. Nobody shows up the first night. Mrs. Kearney, hovering backstage, begins to feel uneasy. It is not going to be the glittering night of success she had imagined. Things are dingy. The few audience members are unruly, grubby. The organizers of the concert decide to cancel the next night – and move all of the performers to the big Saturday night concert. This is when Mrs. Kearney goes over the edge. Her daughter had signed a contract for four concerts. She will be paid for four concerts – even if only two concerts occur.

She begins to lose her shit. She tries to track down who is in charge of payment. But she gets the run-around. People do not treat her well. She feels she should be given more consideration, seeing as she was so helpful in organizing everything. Where would they be without her?? But she cannot get a straight answer out of anyone, in regards to her daughter’s contract.

You suddenly realize that Dublin is an amateur town. In Berlin, her daughter would be paid properly! Do you think London would treat their artistes in such a horrible way? Nobody else seems to care … Mrs. Kearney is blazingly alone in her disappointment and rage. Everyone around her seems apathetic.

Things come to a climax at the Saturday night performance. The first act happens. There’s a packed house. Finally, one of the organizers comes up to Mrs. Kearney backstage and hands her some money for her daughter – telling her she will be paid the rest after the show. But it’s already short. They are short-changing her daughter. Mrs. Kearney, who has been slowly building up to a huge rage (you really feel for this woman, even though she is kind of silly and you want to shout at her, “CHILLAX!”) suddenly pulls her daughter from the second act. Her daughter will not play for the artistes in the second act until she is paid in full. This causes an enormous embarrassing brou-haha – the audience gets restless, the singers stand around backstage, waiting … and you get the sense that Mrs. Kearney, in one night, loses her social standing in Dublin. For good. You get her point – she is being treated unfairly – but she is also over-reacting, to some degree. This goes back to the whole “Dublin is a town of amateurs” critique. Mrs. Kearney, to truly be who she is, needs to not be in Dublin, where her great powers of organization cannot be appreciated. Instead, she is suddenly seen as a loony-tunes. Kathleen is mortified. The organizer of the concert has finally had it with Mrs. Kearney and says, “Fine – Kathleen will NOT play for the second act – we consider her contract broken – and we have someone else who can play for the second act …” A second accompanist goes onstage, and Mrs. Kearney hears the piano start up – and that is the end for her. She has been replaced. Her daughter is dispensable. The way Joyce describes Mrs. Kearney’s disintegration over the course of the story is devastating. She begins it as a calm cool collected woman, sure of her place in the world, confident. At the end, she is a ragged mess, full of such rage that other people become afraid of her.

Although I have just described the plot, there is another level to all of this. Joyce felt that Dublin paralyzed its occupants. There is no room to maneuver. Anyone who has any excellence, or eccentricities … is doomed. One becomes paralyzed. Joyce felt that he couldn’t love Nora properly – in Ireland. They had to leave. He felt that people couldn’t “touch each other” in Ireland. Not just sexually, although that was a huge issue for him. He meant souls touching … he meant communion of souls. Mrs. Kearney had thought all along that she was fine, that her world suited her … and in a matter of 4 days everything falls apart for her. The lie she has been living is revealed.

Here’s an excerpt. (Interesting coincidence that Mrs Kearney respects her husband “as she respected the General Post Office” – considering what was to come in 1916.)

EXCERPT FROM Dubliners – by James Joyce – “A Mother”.

The concert on Thursday night was better attended but Mrs Kearney saw at once that the house was filled with paper. The audience behaved indecorously as if the concert were an informal dress rehearsal. Mr Fitzpatrick seemed to enjoy himself; he was quite unconscious that Mrs Kearney was taking angry note of his conduct. He stood at the edge of the screen, from time to time jutting out his head and exchanging a laugh with two friends in the corner of the balcony. In the course of the evening Mrs Kearney learned that the Friday concert was to be abandoned and that the Committee was going to move heaven and earth to secure a bumper house on Saturday night. When she heard this she sought out Mr Holohan. She buttonholed him as he was limping out quickly with a glass of lemonade for a young lady and asked him was it true. Yes, it was true.

— But, of course, that doesn’t alter the contract, she said. The contract was for four concerts.

Mr Holohan seemed to be in a hurry; he advised her to speak to Mr Fitzpatrick. Mrs Kearney was now beginning to be alarmed. She called Mr Fitzpatrick away from his screen and told him that her daughter had signed for four concerts and that, of course, according to the terms of the contract, she should receive the sum originally stipulated for whether the society gave the four concerts or not. Mr Fitzpatrick, who did not catch the point at issue very quickly, seemed unable to resolve the difficulty and said that he would bring the matter before the Committee. Mrs Kearney’s anger began to flutter in her cheek and she had all she could do to keep from asking:

— And who is the Cometty, pray?

But she knew that it would not be ladylike to do that: so she was silent.

Little boys were sent out into the principal streets of Dublin early on Friday morning with bundles of handbills. Special puffs appeared in all the evening papers reminding the music-loving public of the treat which was in store for it on the following evening. Mrs Kearney was somewhat reassured but she thought well to tell her husband part of her suspicions. He listened carefully and said that perhaps it would be better if he went with her on Saturday night. She agreed. She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed; and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male. She was glad that he had suggested coming with her. She thought her plans over.

The night of the grand concert came. Mrs Kearney, with her husband and daughter, arrived at the Antient Concert Rooms three-quarters of an hour before the time at which the concert was to begin. By ill luck it was a rainy evening. Mrs Kearney placed her daughter’s clothes and music in charge of her husband and went all over the building looking for Mr Holohan or Mr Fitzpatrick. She could find neither. She asked the stewards was any member of the Committee in the hall and, after a great deal of trouble, a steward brought out a little woman named Miss Beirne to whom Mrs Kearney explained that she wanted to see one of the secretaries. Miss Beirne expected them any minute and asked could she do anything. Mrs Kearney looked searchingly at the oldish face which was screwed into an expression of trustfulness and enthusiasm and answered:

— No, thank you!

The little woman hoped they would have a good house. She looked out at the rain until the melancholy of the wet street effaced all the trustfulness and enthusiasm from her twisted features. Then she gave a little sigh and said:

— Ah, well! We did our best, the dear knows.