Don’t be fooled by the comic eccentricities of Irish rural life depicted in the narrator’s inner monologues. Referring to herself as 'Our Woman' and her dull clod of a husband as 'Himself', this middle-aged Irish farmer's wife has her resilience worn away by grief and disappointment, tripping the narrative over into much darker and surreal territory. A modern day Molly Bloom, 'Our Woman' is a character whose voice you won’t easily forget.
Discretion. Our Woman settles on a slow cooker of mutiny.
All everything she plots while making jam and cleaning cupboards. In every sweep of crumbs to the floor, she feels herself nearer to victory. A pony, a Connemara, the future, all in a pony. She continues to chime on about the pony to Himself. Her husband looks blank but curious. Who is it she’s talking to about this horse stuff?
- Ah people who know about these things.
- Right. He says
- Whenever he says right he’s never listening. That’s a fact.
