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Saturday, January 12, 2019

Review of MILKMAN by Anna Burns

4 Stars
This experimental novel won the 2018 Man Booker Prize.  Reading it is tiring because it requires considerable concentration.  I found I had to take frequent breaks, but I couldn’t not finish it. 

An unnamed narrator looks back to her life when she was an 18-year-old living in Northern Ireland in the late 1970s and experienced what she calls “the downfall of myself.”  She is identified only as middle sister, one of a Catholic family of ten children living in a district which is home to “renouncers-of-the-state.”  She is apolitical and tries to ignore her milieu by reading-while-walking.  She even insists on reading only nineteenth-century books “because I did not like twentieth-century books because I did not like the twentieth century.” 

The narrator’s life becomes chaotic when a senior paramilitary figure, known as the milkman, takes an interest in her and starts accosting her in public places.  She does all she can to avoid him and never mentions the unwelcome encounters with him, fearing “trying to explain only to be misunderstood, or of trying to explain only not to be taken seriously.”  Nonetheless, rumours spread that she is having an affair with him.  She refuses to answer any questions, but that gains her accusations of “displaying an unamiable Marie Antoinetteness by being stuck-up.”  She chooses to ignore the gossip and innuendo but that doesn’t stop “more gossip, more fabrication, more elaboration on the deterioration of [her] character.”  She realizes that “no matter what I would have done or could have done, those gossips wouldn’t have stopped, never would they have ceased and gone away.” 

She “had never been demonstrated to in the healthy delivery of thoughts, needs and emotions,” so she internalizes her feelings, deciding “it was imperative to present myself as blank and empty.”  There are consequences to this approach:  “my seemingly flattened approach to life became less a pretence and more and more real as time went on. . . . an emotional numbness set in.”  She comes to realize she had been “thwarted into a carefully constructed nothingness by that man.  Also by the community, by the very mental atmosphere, that minutiae of invasion.” 

Her community is never specifically identified.  I assumed she lived in Belfast  in Northern Ireland which she calls a statelet oppressed by the military from ‘over the water’.  There is also the land ‘over the border’.   Her movements are restricted to her district so she can avoid the enemy, the defender-of-the-state paramilitaries from ‘over the road’.  There is no reference to Catholic and Protestant, only ‘their religion’ (the wrong religion) and ‘our religion’ (the right religion).  No one has a name; characters are identified by descriptors such as “first brother-in-law” or “third sister” or “wee sisters” or “the real milkman” or “the pious women”.  It is as if characters do not exist as individuals.

The milkman does not appear very often but he is a creepy presence.  He is “one of our highranking, prestigious dissidents” and “one of our major influential heroes” so he has a status that the young woman cannot ignore.  He appears unexpectedly when she is alone because he “operated best in cases of isolation.”   Though he says little, he does make clear what about her behaviour (reading-while-walking and running) he does not like.  He knows all about her:  the members of her family, her workplace, her routines.  Only the subject of her night class does he identify incorrectly:  “this was the only thing, ever, in his profiling of me that the milkman got wrong.”   He never directly threatens her but she knows “he had a plan, some workable agenda.”  He never directly threatens anyone else either, though he does describe a car bomb killing a car mechanic and then asks for confirmation that the woman’s maybe-boyfriend is a motor mechanic.  He doesn’t even touch her and that causes a problem too:  “having been brought up in a hair-trigger society where the ground rules were – if no physically violent touch was being laid upon you, and no outright verbal insults were being levelled at you, and no taunting looks in the vicinity either, then nothing was happening, so how could you be under attack from something that wasn’t there?”

The book shows the realities of living in a society torn by protracted civil unrest.  She lives in an “intricately coiled, overly secretive, hyper-gossipy, puritanical yet indecent, totalitarian district” in a society “overladen with heaviness and grief and fear and anger.”  Everyone is expected to conform so even something like reading-while-walking is behaviour that is considered eccentric and inappropriate.  There is a great deal of “communal policing” so people live in constant fear and trust no one.  In a lottery, the woman’s maybe-boyfriend wins a supercharger from a dismantled Bentley and he is suspected of being an informer because another part from that car would have had a flag from the country ‘over the water’ on it.  The woman describes her teen years as “paranoid times.  These were knife-edge times, primal times, with everybody suspicious of everybody.”

It is not surprising that the narrator draws some attention to the role of women in her society.  When the milkman first approaches the woman, he identifies himself:  “he knew my family for he’d named the credentials, the male people of my family.”  When he tries to slow down her running, she finds the pace too slow for her but “I could not say so, however, for I could not be fitter than this man, could not be more knowledgeable about my own regime than this man, because the conditioning of males and females here would never have allowed that.”  Women were considered insolent if “they did not defer to males, did not acknowledge the superiority of males, might even go so far as to contradict males.”  When the woman rejects the advances of Somebody McSomebody, he blames her for attracting his attention:  “You started this.  You made us look at you.  You made us think . . . ”.  A group of women who gather to discuss women’s issues becomes known as the issue women:  “These women, constituting the nascent feminist group on our area . . . were firmly placed in the category of those way, way beyond-the-pale.  The word ‘feminist’ was beyond-the-pale.  The word ‘woman’ barely escaped beyond-the-pale. . . . Awful things were said about these women with the issues in our district, not just behind their backs but to their faces as  well.”

Despite the serious subject, there is humour which is used to emphasize the absurdity of the situation.  For example, it is discovered that a woman has been murdered, and people do not know how to react:  “Ordinary murders were eerie, unfathomable, the exact murders that didn’t happen here . . . because only political murders happened in this place. . . . Any killing other than political and the community was in perplexity, also in anxiety, as to how to proceed.”  The narrator’s mother worries, “’We’re turning into that country “over the water”.  Anything happens there.  Ordinary murders happen there.  Loose morals happen there.’” 

As I mentioned at the beginning, this book presents a challenging read.  Sentences are very long, as are the paragraphs and the chapters.  Sometimes it feels as if the reader is trapped inside the narrative and I guess that is a way of emphasizing the theme.  Short sentences often employ inverted structure:  “Completely therefore, was I thrown by this new line of talk.”  The narrative is not linear but moves back and forth through time.  The narrator repeats and digresses, this disordered narration suggesting her anxiety and confusion.  There are several lists; for instance, there is a list of over 60 names that are banned in the community.  No attempt is made to include realistic dialogue:  when asking if her daughter is pregnant, a woman says, “’Have you been fecundated by him . . . Engendered in.  Breeded in.  Fertilised, vexed, embarrassed, sprinkled, caused to feel regret, wished not to have happened – dear God, child, do I have to spell it out?’” 

This is an unconventional book that demands concentration.  Some reviewer described reading this novel as a “dense reading experience” and I would agree.  I recommend this book but I advise people to have some light reading on hand to alternate with sections of Milkman.

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