What do you think?
Rate this book
Malarky
Our Woman refuses to be sunk by what life is about to serve her. She’s just caught her son Jimmy in the barn with another man. She’s been accosted by Red the Twit, who claims to have done the unmentionable with her husband. And now her son’s gone and joined the only group that will have him: an army division on its way to Afghanistan.
Setting aside her prim and proper ways, Our Woman promptly embarks on an odyssey of her own – one that forces her to look grief in the eye and come face-to-face with the mad agony of longing.
Setting aside her prim and proper ways, Our Woman promptly embarks on an odyssey of her own – one that forces her to look grief in the eye and come face-to-face with the mad agony of longing.
225 pages, Paperback
First published April 3, 2012
23 people are currently reading
934 people want to read
About the author
Anakana Schofield
6 books134 followersAnakana Schofield is an Irish-Canadian writer of fiction, essays, and literary criticism. Her second novel Martin John was shortlisted for the Giller Prize, the Goldsmiths Prize, the Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize and more.. Her debut novel Malarky won the 2012 Amazon.ca First Novel and the Debut Litzer Prize for Fiction in the US and was nominated for the Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize. Malarky was selected for the highly competitive Barnes & Noble program Discover Great New Writers and named on 16 different Best Book of 2012 lists.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 119 reviews
November 2, 2012
There are those who want their grief, their life, their love, served up on a pristine plate with a proper napkin.
If you are one of those people, this book is not for you.
If, however, you are someone who understands that life is messy, that being a woman and a mother is never clean, that we humans are a beautiful and filthy bunch, then Malarky is the kind of book you will read once, then read again, then buy for everyone you know and love. Half of those people will look at you like you're insane (your mother, your co-worker) but the others -- the ones who are in your life because you've been through things together and you understand how things really are, down in the places where there are things we don't say -- they will come to you after and they will be holding this book in their hands and they will say, "Yes."
A lyrical treasure map of grief, humor, self-discovery, sexual awakening, and the ways we try again and again to close our eyes to the beautiful anguish of the world, Malarky is one of the best books I've read this year.
If you are one of those people, this book is not for you.
If, however, you are someone who understands that life is messy, that being a woman and a mother is never clean, that we humans are a beautiful and filthy bunch, then Malarky is the kind of book you will read once, then read again, then buy for everyone you know and love. Half of those people will look at you like you're insane (your mother, your co-worker) but the others -- the ones who are in your life because you've been through things together and you understand how things really are, down in the places where there are things we don't say -- they will come to you after and they will be holding this book in their hands and they will say, "Yes."
A lyrical treasure map of grief, humor, self-discovery, sexual awakening, and the ways we try again and again to close our eyes to the beautiful anguish of the world, Malarky is one of the best books I've read this year.
July 1, 2012
This book might not be everybody’s cup of tea and I can’t image how a copyeditor managed to tackle it with changes from present to past tense in a single sentence and the narrator speaking of herself in both first and third person, often in the same chapter (or “Episode” as a chapter is called). I struggled with this at first but quickly gave myself over to the experience of being inside the head of a woman with a wry sense of humour who has been driven quite mad with hurt, grief (she’s lost so much), regret and longing. I had to put the book down at times because the woman’s honesty was painful, almost too intimate. Since you know what’s happened almost from the beginning, I wasn’t turning the page because of a suspenseful plot. But I returned to it, after pauses, to learn how Our Woman, as the narrator refers to herself, gained her equilibrium and found her path forward; how audaciously she did so! The last two lines are masterful and moving: “It’s beautiful when it all makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it all makes sense, just for a moment.”
I applaud Schofield for portraying an older woman without resorting to stereotypes, for her empathy in understanding how betrayed this woman would feel at her husband’s infidelity after having waited fifteen years for him to marry her in the first place and having taken care of him in the way she believed she was expected to. It’s easy to judge Our Woman, as her husband did, as having coddled her son and made him “soft,” and to bristle at how dismissive she is about her daughters. But Schofield helps us see that this blind love of mother for son is the fulfillment of a need unmet in Our Woman’s marriage. I loved the author’s deft use of defining detail to let us into Our Woman’s life in the village, on the farm, among her narrow group of friends. This is a subtle book that makes you work a bit to figure out what’s going on but it’s all there if you look. One of the most original books I've ever read. I honestly don’t see how Schofield could have done it any better.
I applaud Schofield for portraying an older woman without resorting to stereotypes, for her empathy in understanding how betrayed this woman would feel at her husband’s infidelity after having waited fifteen years for him to marry her in the first place and having taken care of him in the way she believed she was expected to. It’s easy to judge Our Woman, as her husband did, as having coddled her son and made him “soft,” and to bristle at how dismissive she is about her daughters. But Schofield helps us see that this blind love of mother for son is the fulfillment of a need unmet in Our Woman’s marriage. I loved the author’s deft use of defining detail to let us into Our Woman’s life in the village, on the farm, among her narrow group of friends. This is a subtle book that makes you work a bit to figure out what’s going on but it’s all there if you look. One of the most original books I've ever read. I honestly don’t see how Schofield could have done it any better.
July 9, 2012
If Hagar Shipley met Stella Gibbons, the end result might be Anakana Schofield’s Malarky, but then again, it probably wouldn’t be, because Malarky refuses to be what you think it is. And moreover, it probably wouldn’t be because the book is meant to be chock-a-block with allusions to James Joyce and Thomas Hardy. Don’t tell anybody, but I still haven’t read Ulysses (and hence the Gibbons instead of the primary sources), but I have read Malarky, and it was brilliant, which I know for certain even with the burden of my literary ignorance. And that I can pronounce a book as wonderful even whilst unable to access its higher planes of greatness is certainly saying something for the book itself, which is mostly, “You’ll like it too.”
Schofield’s heroine, Our Woman, if she can be summed up at all, will be summed up with the explanation she gives for the period of despair she suffered after the birth of her first child: “Then I had a cup of tea and six weeks later, I felt better.” There is so much that goes unspoken of, silences to be filled with the rudiments of life as a farming wife, of motherhood, of friendship with her gang of local women (“…not a day passed when several of them didn’t meet. They were like tight ligaments in each other’s life, contracting, extending and sustaining the muscle of each other, house to house, tongue to ear”).
The bottom falls out, however, when she discovers her son up to unmentionable things with the neighbour’s boy. Our Woman’s stress is compounded by a woman she meets in town who confesses to her that she’s been doing unmentionable things with Our Woman’s husband. In response, Our Woman goes out into the world determined to do a few unmentionable things of her own to learn a thing or two, but the situation becomes more complicated– her son takes off to join the US army and local rumour has it that he did it to get away from her, and also her obsession with what she saw him doing becomes a kind of fascination, a desire to be close to him in an impossible way that suggests local rumours could be true.
But it’s hard to tell. Malarky is very much of the world– the Irish economy, wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the plight of immigrants, mental illness, grief– and yet, its interiority is impermeable. When Our Woman spies her son shirtless in the barn, she notes, “He must have been freezing, his pale body bleary and quivering, trousers at his ankles.” However perversely, she is ever a mother, urging on a sweater. But she’s not just a comic figure; Schofield evokes Our Women with remarkable sympathy: “Mainly she had wanted to hit him about the head and shout these aren’t the things I have planned for you.” Malarky is a journey beyond the limits of love, an equally sad and hilarious portrait of motherhood.
“Malarky is like nothing else, and what everything should be,” is something I wrote down this weekend. First, because it’s as funny as it’s dark, and also because it dares readers to be brave enough to follow along an unconventional narrative. Though the winding path is only deceptively tricky– Our Woman’s voice is instantly familiar, and the shifting perspectives remain so intimate and immediate that the reader follows. Consenting to be led, of course, which is the magic of Malarky. This is a book that will leave you demanding more of everything else you read.
Schofield’s heroine, Our Woman, if she can be summed up at all, will be summed up with the explanation she gives for the period of despair she suffered after the birth of her first child: “Then I had a cup of tea and six weeks later, I felt better.” There is so much that goes unspoken of, silences to be filled with the rudiments of life as a farming wife, of motherhood, of friendship with her gang of local women (“…not a day passed when several of them didn’t meet. They were like tight ligaments in each other’s life, contracting, extending and sustaining the muscle of each other, house to house, tongue to ear”).
The bottom falls out, however, when she discovers her son up to unmentionable things with the neighbour’s boy. Our Woman’s stress is compounded by a woman she meets in town who confesses to her that she’s been doing unmentionable things with Our Woman’s husband. In response, Our Woman goes out into the world determined to do a few unmentionable things of her own to learn a thing or two, but the situation becomes more complicated– her son takes off to join the US army and local rumour has it that he did it to get away from her, and also her obsession with what she saw him doing becomes a kind of fascination, a desire to be close to him in an impossible way that suggests local rumours could be true.
But it’s hard to tell. Malarky is very much of the world– the Irish economy, wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the plight of immigrants, mental illness, grief– and yet, its interiority is impermeable. When Our Woman spies her son shirtless in the barn, she notes, “He must have been freezing, his pale body bleary and quivering, trousers at his ankles.” However perversely, she is ever a mother, urging on a sweater. But she’s not just a comic figure; Schofield evokes Our Women with remarkable sympathy: “Mainly she had wanted to hit him about the head and shout these aren’t the things I have planned for you.” Malarky is a journey beyond the limits of love, an equally sad and hilarious portrait of motherhood.
“Malarky is like nothing else, and what everything should be,” is something I wrote down this weekend. First, because it’s as funny as it’s dark, and also because it dares readers to be brave enough to follow along an unconventional narrative. Though the winding path is only deceptively tricky– Our Woman’s voice is instantly familiar, and the shifting perspectives remain so intimate and immediate that the reader follows. Consenting to be led, of course, which is the magic of Malarky. This is a book that will leave you demanding more of everything else you read.
November 1, 2020
Honesty up front: I went into this book with a somewhat negative attitude because I don’t like prize lists that include books that require you to read previous works by the author. Schofield’s third novel, Bina, is on the shortlist for the 2020 Goldsmiths Prize shortlist, but its title refers to a character who plays a part in this, her first novel. I imagine (I haven’t read it yet) that you could probably read Bina without reading Malarky, but I made the reluctant decision to read them both (I have also read the novel that sits between these two, Martin John).
Having got that confession out of the way, I am glad to be able to start my review by saying that I actually enjoyed reading this novel a lot more than I expected to. It is an exploration of grief (and sexuality) and we spend a lot of time in the gradually unravelling mind of the novel’s protagonist mostly referred to as “Our Woman”, but also as Philomena, Phil and, oddly, Kathleen. It is told in 20 episodes and these are not arranged chronologically. This is the first challenge to any reader, but there are others. Schofield writes in a broken style where the character, the time period and the grammatical tense of the writing can change, apparently at random, in the middle of a sentence and often does so several times in an episode. This can lead to some confusion and makes the book tricky to keep straight as you read. It is, however, a very effective way to reflect the inner workings of a mind that is slowly falling apart.
The book’s title is a reference to something Our Woman sees when she comes across her beloved son, Jimmy, engaged in sexual activity with a young man. At the time, she has no idea that he is gay and this “malarky” is a shock to her system which is only made worse when she is approached by a woman who, it seems, has been sleeping with Our Woman’s husband. Our Woman, somewhat irrationally, decides that one course of action she will take is to seek out other men who can help her experience the sexual practices in which her husband and son have engaged. It is a mark of the oddity of this book that one of these men has an obsession with pregnancy and childbirth for reasons that we never quite come to understand.
Whilst several parts of the book are, indeed, quite strange and sometimes hard to follow, I found myself drawn into the story and a lot more engaged than I thought I would be with this woman’s story. It’s not a huge spoiler to say that Jimmy does not survive the book because he is killed serving in the military in Afghanistan and for me, the most emotional sentence of the book comes when Our Woman, Jimmy’s mother, who has struggled with his sexuality does this:
”She sticks pictures of soldiers on the inside of her kitchen press doors, believing some of them may have known her Jimmy, one may even have kissed him.”
3.5 stars which I have rounded up because the book exceeded my admittedly low expectations.
Having got that confession out of the way, I am glad to be able to start my review by saying that I actually enjoyed reading this novel a lot more than I expected to. It is an exploration of grief (and sexuality) and we spend a lot of time in the gradually unravelling mind of the novel’s protagonist mostly referred to as “Our Woman”, but also as Philomena, Phil and, oddly, Kathleen. It is told in 20 episodes and these are not arranged chronologically. This is the first challenge to any reader, but there are others. Schofield writes in a broken style where the character, the time period and the grammatical tense of the writing can change, apparently at random, in the middle of a sentence and often does so several times in an episode. This can lead to some confusion and makes the book tricky to keep straight as you read. It is, however, a very effective way to reflect the inner workings of a mind that is slowly falling apart.
The book’s title is a reference to something Our Woman sees when she comes across her beloved son, Jimmy, engaged in sexual activity with a young man. At the time, she has no idea that he is gay and this “malarky” is a shock to her system which is only made worse when she is approached by a woman who, it seems, has been sleeping with Our Woman’s husband. Our Woman, somewhat irrationally, decides that one course of action she will take is to seek out other men who can help her experience the sexual practices in which her husband and son have engaged. It is a mark of the oddity of this book that one of these men has an obsession with pregnancy and childbirth for reasons that we never quite come to understand.
Whilst several parts of the book are, indeed, quite strange and sometimes hard to follow, I found myself drawn into the story and a lot more engaged than I thought I would be with this woman’s story. It’s not a huge spoiler to say that Jimmy does not survive the book because he is killed serving in the military in Afghanistan and for me, the most emotional sentence of the book comes when Our Woman, Jimmy’s mother, who has struggled with his sexuality does this:
”She sticks pictures of soldiers on the inside of her kitchen press doors, believing some of them may have known her Jimmy, one may even have kissed him.”
3.5 stars which I have rounded up because the book exceeded my admittedly low expectations.
December 17, 2020
The author’s debut novel which I read after her third novel “Bina” was shortlisted for the 2020 Goldsmith Prize, her second novel “Martin John” having previously been shortlisted.
The book shows much of Schofield’s style – a lot of circularity (episodes being crucial to the book’s conception) and with time period, tense and person altering within a chapter (sometimes I think within a sentence). And also the way in which she examines a topic (here grief, in Martin John mental illness) by rather crude taboo busting.
A 2013 review of this book in the Sunday Business Post (*) also featured another innovative and provocative debut – A Girl is A Half Formed Thing – which won the first Goldsmith Prize (something which benefited the prize I think ultimately more than the book). And while the two authors are clearly fans of each other – I must admit Eimear McBride’s writing – her way of disassembling and reconstructing English is far more to my liking.
(*) a review which actually inspired the writing of Bina 5-6 years or so later as the reviewer picked out Bina as a memorable character in this novel.
The book shows much of Schofield’s style – a lot of circularity (episodes being crucial to the book’s conception) and with time period, tense and person altering within a chapter (sometimes I think within a sentence). And also the way in which she examines a topic (here grief, in Martin John mental illness) by rather crude taboo busting.
A 2013 review of this book in the Sunday Business Post (*) also featured another innovative and provocative debut – A Girl is A Half Formed Thing – which won the first Goldsmith Prize (something which benefited the prize I think ultimately more than the book). And while the two authors are clearly fans of each other – I must admit Eimear McBride’s writing – her way of disassembling and reconstructing English is far more to my liking.
(*) a review which actually inspired the writing of Bina 5-6 years or so later as the reviewer picked out Bina as a memorable character in this novel.
May 29, 2012
Anakana Schofield's debut novel is a beautifully crafted exploration of grief, age, family, and sexuality. The story begins almost at the end, with Our Woman recently widowed. The narrator moves back and forth in time to piece together the story of the loss of her husband and son. As the story is drawn out, she discovers her husband's infidelities and her son's sexuality, and deals with it by taking a lover. Though she goes about it in an unusual way, she comes into her own just as she's being overtaken with grief. Schofield delivers these weighty subjects with just enough humor to make this an unforgettable, multi-layered story that will stay with you for a long time.
Disclaimer: I won an ARC of this book through First Reads. This did not in any way affect my review.
Disclaimer: I won an ARC of this book through First Reads. This did not in any way affect my review.
June 5, 2018
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.
Reviewed for Whichbook.net
Reviewed for Whichbook.net
January 17, 2020
Anakana Schofield’s Malarky is her remarkable debut novel, with a voice and a style as distinctive and memorable as Martin John and Bina.
Malarky introduces Our Woman, AKA Philomena, AKA Phil, AKA Kathleen. Our Woman farms in rural Ireland, together with her husband Himself. Our Woman lives her life with a clear eyed vision about herself, Himself, her two daughters, her son, and ”her gang”. ”I never worried about my girls. Especially the eldest, I knew she’d be grand. I raised them that way. I raised them strong and indifferent and they knew they’d only have my attention when they practiced it and neither of them let me down.” (p. 115) And here’s Our Woman on marriage prospects for her children: ”If, though, you were to ask me which daughter you should marry, I would say my son, but failing that this daughter, for the older one has a vicious streak I’d be keen you avoid.” (p. 107)
Our Woman recognizes but resists her limits. Learning of Himself’s unlikely affair with Red the Twit, ”Our Woman settles on a slow cooker of mutiny.” (p. 76) ”She hadn’t been trained for this. She’d been trained for marriage and funeral and baptism and weeding and shifting and turning, but not wondering. This wondering was new for her. The wondering of why she didn’t understand how to wonder. She did wonder but she was not officially certain how to do the wondering. Should she wonder passively, quietly, while stuffing a chicken in the quiet enclaves of herself? Or should she wonder loudly, spewing and cajoling him for information and revelation to try to trap his fingers in a door until he’d tell her all of it? (p. 34) But then, ”There came a moment when I gave up on my husband. / When I decided I was no longer married to him mentally and it was time to do my own thing. / I lost all hope when he told me he’d be home and not to save any dinner for him. If I could no longer be certain he’d come in from the fields to my table, I had lost it all.” (p. 64) Wonderfully, Our Woman starts to park herself at the library: ”Not much to boast of this library, but like the train comfortable as long as you get a seat. Four hours can pass in the company of a sniffing farmer or a factory worker, in on her tea break, to borrow the novels everyone wants to read. Except Our Woman. Plagued with query she is, yet when she sinks herself into the chair, her anxiety settles until she departs. It‘s regretful that she ever has to leave the library at all, many’s the day she’d like to stay put and be allowed to mould away to her own finality.” (pp. 77-78) She meets and embarks on an unlikely affair the much younger The Syrian, AKA Halim.
One of the many enjoyments of Malarky, as with Bina, is the slightly cockeyed but thoroughly believable assessments of assorted caregivers. After the deaths of Himself and her beloved son, Our Woman visits a counselor who calls Our Woman ”Kathleen” and who Our Woman calls ”Grief”. Our Woman realizes that ”It is important to reassure Grief, to let her know that I am behaving in my widowhood.” (p. 114) Then Our Woman receives a visit from at home. ”She asked an awful lot of questions I became confused about what I was answering and answered yes to every single one so she would go home and leave me in peace. / This was a bad sign. When they’re in your house, they’re coming for ya, Bina said.” (pp. 148-9)
The strengths of both Bina and Malarky lie less in their plots and more in Schofield’s talent at bringing alive independent hardscrabble women who refuse to accept being battered by their lives and circumstances and emerg, if not triumphant, then with their cores intact, surprising us with their openness and ability to adapt. Schofield treats Our Woman with respect and compassion, leaving the reading some optimism. ”It’s beautiful when it all makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it makes sense, just for a moment.” (p. 217)
Schofield deserves much more readership in the U.S., and the absence of U.S. publishers for Malarky and Bina befuddles me.
4.5 stars
Malarky introduces Our Woman, AKA Philomena, AKA Phil, AKA Kathleen. Our Woman farms in rural Ireland, together with her husband Himself. Our Woman lives her life with a clear eyed vision about herself, Himself, her two daughters, her son, and ”her gang”. ”I never worried about my girls. Especially the eldest, I knew she’d be grand. I raised them that way. I raised them strong and indifferent and they knew they’d only have my attention when they practiced it and neither of them let me down.” (p. 115) And here’s Our Woman on marriage prospects for her children: ”If, though, you were to ask me which daughter you should marry, I would say my son, but failing that this daughter, for the older one has a vicious streak I’d be keen you avoid.” (p. 107)
Our Woman recognizes but resists her limits. Learning of Himself’s unlikely affair with Red the Twit, ”Our Woman settles on a slow cooker of mutiny.” (p. 76) ”She hadn’t been trained for this. She’d been trained for marriage and funeral and baptism and weeding and shifting and turning, but not wondering. This wondering was new for her. The wondering of why she didn’t understand how to wonder. She did wonder but she was not officially certain how to do the wondering. Should she wonder passively, quietly, while stuffing a chicken in the quiet enclaves of herself? Or should she wonder loudly, spewing and cajoling him for information and revelation to try to trap his fingers in a door until he’d tell her all of it? (p. 34) But then, ”There came a moment when I gave up on my husband. / When I decided I was no longer married to him mentally and it was time to do my own thing. / I lost all hope when he told me he’d be home and not to save any dinner for him. If I could no longer be certain he’d come in from the fields to my table, I had lost it all.” (p. 64) Wonderfully, Our Woman starts to park herself at the library: ”Not much to boast of this library, but like the train comfortable as long as you get a seat. Four hours can pass in the company of a sniffing farmer or a factory worker, in on her tea break, to borrow the novels everyone wants to read. Except Our Woman. Plagued with query she is, yet when she sinks herself into the chair, her anxiety settles until she departs. It‘s regretful that she ever has to leave the library at all, many’s the day she’d like to stay put and be allowed to mould away to her own finality.” (pp. 77-78) She meets and embarks on an unlikely affair the much younger The Syrian, AKA Halim.
One of the many enjoyments of Malarky, as with Bina, is the slightly cockeyed but thoroughly believable assessments of assorted caregivers. After the deaths of Himself and her beloved son, Our Woman visits a counselor who calls Our Woman ”Kathleen” and who Our Woman calls ”Grief”. Our Woman realizes that ”It is important to reassure Grief, to let her know that I am behaving in my widowhood.” (p. 114) Then Our Woman receives a visit from at home. ”She asked an awful lot of questions I became confused about what I was answering and answered yes to every single one so she would go home and leave me in peace. / This was a bad sign. When they’re in your house, they’re coming for ya, Bina said.” (pp. 148-9)
The strengths of both Bina and Malarky lie less in their plots and more in Schofield’s talent at bringing alive independent hardscrabble women who refuse to accept being battered by their lives and circumstances and emerg, if not triumphant, then with their cores intact, surprising us with their openness and ability to adapt. Schofield treats Our Woman with respect and compassion, leaving the reading some optimism. ”It’s beautiful when it all makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it makes sense, just for a moment.” (p. 217)
Schofield deserves much more readership in the U.S., and the absence of U.S. publishers for Malarky and Bina befuddles me.
4.5 stars
June 26, 2017
Before she moves quietly off, she takes another look. She has to see it again. They're still at the same malarky. It's her son, her boy, and he's shaking himself stronger against that young fella. He cannot bury himself deep enough in him. Flagrant; he's got him by the hips, rattling in and out of them, almost like he's steering a wheelbarrow that's stuck on a stone, going no place.
Our Woman (Phil, or Philomena, or even, if you prefer, Kathleen) is a sixty-year-old Irish farmwife who is delivered some mind-rattling shocks in her life. In addition to witnessing that scene I opened with (and although there is quite a bit of malarky in this book, it never gets more graphic or lewd than that; if that offends you, read no further), her son has more shocks for her, as does Red the Twit who accosts Our Woman in the city. As Malarky begins, Our Woman is a recent widow, and as her grief-stricken mind attempts to sort itself out, she recalls and analyses recent events, leading the reader on a fractured romp through confusion and despair. And what a ride it is.
I have a great fondness for Irish Literature, and although author Anakana Schofield wrote and published this book in Canada, Malarky is firmly set in the Ireland of her youth, complete with bogs and churches and many cups of tea. The dialogue is pitch perfect, and although there isn't too much scene-setting beyond briefly describing the farm and towns, Our Woman herself can explain:
I don’t know why people talk about the sky and trees in books. I find very little to say about them myself. It’s a bit like talking about the wallpaper. They’re there.
That's fitting because Malarky is about interiors: shifting from first-person to third-person (which feels like Our Woman simply referring to herself in the third-person) and time-shifting from present to the past (even within the same paragraph); what we're seeing is inside the mind of someone who is going over the brink; a place where the wallpaper doesn't matter. Not only did I admire the fitting structure, but sentence-by-sentence the writing was so interesting, with Irish brogue and evocative metaphors:
• She always sounds impatient with me, even when wishing me Happy Birthday she sounds like she wishes it had less letters.
• They commenced their emotionless speech delivered like they were brushing their teeth and avoiding the gums.
Now to the spoilers: After Red the Twit describes to Our Woman the strange affair she's been having with the latter's husband (referred to only as “Himself”), Phil obsesses over the betrayal until she decides to reenact the affair with some stranger. When that is unsatisfying, Our Woman realises that what she really wants is to reenact the gay sex acts she has witnessed her beloved son engaged in; a fantasy that will only feel real if she reenacts them with a similarly young and handsome man. While I can't imagine my future sixty-year-old self presenting a sagged and wrinkled nudity to any young buck, Our Woman does just that. Happily for her, she finds Halim: a non-adjusting Syrian immigrant who has issues of his own he'd like to work through an accommodating female anatomy. This leads to the following type of bifurcated interior monologue:
Is there anything as lovely as a nimble, young man the way that sweet Halim is nimble? I thought as I put the butter onto my husband's bread. He loves his butter thick. The pristine condition of Halim's skin, all flat and elastic and not swinging and flopping and clouting ya with the remnants of every pint he's ever downed.
With the affairs and the constant obsessing about her son (with rare consideration given to the two daughters who have grown and gone away), Our Woman is obviously behaving erratically, but it doesn't really alarm the reader until she has episodes of “slipping” that land her on the psych ward. (It's here that Our Woman meets Beirut, the main character from Martin John, and I'm happy to report that it doesn't matter which order you read these two books in.) When first her husband and then her son Jimmy dies, Our Woman descends into a more constant state of grief-induced confusion:
All her Jimmy moments feel like they've rolled under a cupboard and she cannot quite reach them, even with the handle of the broom extended. Whenever she can't find a story she cries and she doesn't like this, she wants the story for herself, rather than the inconvenience of a wet face needing swift repair when knuckles knock against the window, the way knuckles do knock, or a voice calls out, so regularly around here. Hello within. God bless all here. Hello. Come in. It can feel like there is a set of teeth in through the back door every hour. Rap tap tap tap. All the different knocks she has come to identify. She'd love to roll under a cupboard and just wrap herself around the molecules of the story she cannot quite trace.
And that's pretty much where Our Woman is left in the end – addled and communing with her dead son's ghost – but the book ends on a hopeful note:
It's beautiful when it all makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it makes sense, just for a moment.
I wanted to grab quotes off of nearly every page of Malarky (and know that I've shared more than usual here), so it's hard for me to see if I've chosen the right ones to demonstrate what's so wonderful and unique about this read. I hope that the attention Martin John is garnering will expand Anakana Schofield's readership because, honestly, she's just that good.
February 16, 2014
Sometimes there’s nothing for it but to admit defeat. I spent weeks pouring over this one and can’t bring myself to say that it was enjoyable. Actually I felt angry having finished it (and not because I don’t know how to go about getting my three weeks back). I’m angry because its another Irish writer who thinks she’s the next James Joyce. It reminded me of the Emperor’s New Clothes. She’s so brilliant, her style so revolutionary that she actually crossed to the other side and God dang it she’s going to prove her superiority by making sure not one of us have a clue what she’s writing about. The readers, however, are benched on both sides and you’d better be with the team that’s lauding Anakana Schofield’s genius. ‘Its elusive’. ‘Its so elusive its brilliant’. The main character’s brilliancy is her slide into lunacy, they say but that’s ok because nobody can rationalize with a lunatic. Staccato phrases and words are the bread and butter of mental depravity and we get to enjoy it all. We have the privilege of bearing witness to episodes that have no sequence and get to translate it all. We scramble to find some lucidity (which is a style I’ll give her credit for) in the dialogue so that we can understand the story, but as it progressed this lucidity became less and less frequent.
This is Ballina.
our woman is reporting to you from Ballina, where she is walking boldly into the PJ section of Pennys wtih one thing in mind. I want to find The Syrian, if he is to be found. I want to make it clear today I am officially looking for him. if I should die crossing the road, it should be known I was searching for him. I am deliberate in this action. I am not seeking revenge. I am absolute in what i see. I seek The Syrian. I seek the Syrian for my own purposes. I seek the Syrian to give me an answer.
It didn’t have to be an Irish landscape. I didn’t feel anything identifiable in the dialogue. Colloquialisms were somewhat forced and the lack of sympathy from everybody made character redemption impossible. Its lonesomeness added to the tragedy of the situation after Jimmy (Our Woman’s son) dies in Afghanistan. Her descent into depravity was heady while her sexual adventures seemed forced and unexplainable. If the attempt was depicting a middle aged woman, who’s lived a life emotionless, as sexually free, it failed for the simple reason that she’s nothing other than mad!
I think, however, I’m most likely and honestly angry at myself because I tried really hard to ‘get it’. I don’t like a book to get the better of me and Schofield won this round.
I’ll conclude with the only memorable line, which happens to be the very last one:
It’s beautiful when it all makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it makes sense, just for a moment.
This is Ballina.
our woman is reporting to you from Ballina, where she is walking boldly into the PJ section of Pennys wtih one thing in mind. I want to find The Syrian, if he is to be found. I want to make it clear today I am officially looking for him. if I should die crossing the road, it should be known I was searching for him. I am deliberate in this action. I am not seeking revenge. I am absolute in what i see. I seek The Syrian. I seek the Syrian for my own purposes. I seek the Syrian to give me an answer.
It didn’t have to be an Irish landscape. I didn’t feel anything identifiable in the dialogue. Colloquialisms were somewhat forced and the lack of sympathy from everybody made character redemption impossible. Its lonesomeness added to the tragedy of the situation after Jimmy (Our Woman’s son) dies in Afghanistan. Her descent into depravity was heady while her sexual adventures seemed forced and unexplainable. If the attempt was depicting a middle aged woman, who’s lived a life emotionless, as sexually free, it failed for the simple reason that she’s nothing other than mad!
I think, however, I’m most likely and honestly angry at myself because I tried really hard to ‘get it’. I don’t like a book to get the better of me and Schofield won this round.
I’ll conclude with the only memorable line, which happens to be the very last one:
It’s beautiful when it all makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it makes sense, just for a moment.
July 9, 2012
Despair and Dignity: Anakana Schofield’s inaugural novel, Malarky
Darkly humourous, Malarky is about the struggle to understand this thing called life. Set in rural County Mayo, Ireland, the story concerns Our Woman, Philomena as she reels from a blender of shocks: her son’s homosexuality, being told that her husband’s having an affair by his God-fearing mistress, and the death of the two most important men in her life.
The book is about grief, longing, the closeting of sexuality—any sexuality—and how imagination can overcome the limits that life puts on it. Surprisingly, the book is quite funny. It’s all about the very Irish voice: “The eejit was out cold.” I can absolutely hear my mother-in-law say that. Even though the narration moves from first person to third person, behaving much like close-ups and wide shots in film, the shifts are seamless and almost unnoticeable.
I love the complex structure of the book. Time rolls back and forth and revelations are reserved until more appropriate moments. Schofield has commented that in narration, “chronology is just such a falsehood... We don’t remember things in sequence and we don’t live chronologically.” http://arts.nationalpost.com/2012/06/...
To immerse yourself in the atmosphere of the book, read and listen to this playlist by Anakana Schofield:
http://www.largeheartedboy.com/blog/a...
I recommend Malarky to people who aren’t afraid to read a book that takes risks.
Darkly humourous, Malarky is about the struggle to understand this thing called life. Set in rural County Mayo, Ireland, the story concerns Our Woman, Philomena as she reels from a blender of shocks: her son’s homosexuality, being told that her husband’s having an affair by his God-fearing mistress, and the death of the two most important men in her life.
The book is about grief, longing, the closeting of sexuality—any sexuality—and how imagination can overcome the limits that life puts on it. Surprisingly, the book is quite funny. It’s all about the very Irish voice: “The eejit was out cold.” I can absolutely hear my mother-in-law say that. Even though the narration moves from first person to third person, behaving much like close-ups and wide shots in film, the shifts are seamless and almost unnoticeable.
I love the complex structure of the book. Time rolls back and forth and revelations are reserved until more appropriate moments. Schofield has commented that in narration, “chronology is just such a falsehood... We don’t remember things in sequence and we don’t live chronologically.” http://arts.nationalpost.com/2012/06/...
To immerse yourself in the atmosphere of the book, read and listen to this playlist by Anakana Schofield:
http://www.largeheartedboy.com/blog/a...
I recommend Malarky to people who aren’t afraid to read a book that takes risks.
July 13, 2013
It's like she's got this thing dancing inside her, rattling the words right out of her. You see this chaos of material flying forth toward you, but you can't see through the chaos to the force that animates it. You love the chaos, but it's the force that is the soul of the thing, the driving power that attracts you, draws you in and makes you well over with love again. It's what you can't ever know that you want so desperately to encounter, and now here it is concealed in plain sight behind Anakana's prose and it's difficult not to want to put a character on it, not to want to attribute it, but its the resistance to attribution that gives Malarky its lovely appeal. The best writers know not to try to touch directly the force that animates the chaotic dance they present in their work.
A lot of her approach consists in solidifying nothing. And you want to be taken on this trip most of the time, and I think her real job, as she conceives it anyway, is to disrupt this impulse in you, but most people don't want to wake up from that trip too often. Once in a while it happens, you wake up, and you're equal to it, to really be awake, but most of the time it involves a lot of pain, so you avoid it. Anakana struggles with this, you can feel that struggle, and you love her for getting in there and doing this for you.
A lot of her approach consists in solidifying nothing. And you want to be taken on this trip most of the time, and I think her real job, as she conceives it anyway, is to disrupt this impulse in you, but most people don't want to wake up from that trip too often. Once in a while it happens, you wake up, and you're equal to it, to really be awake, but most of the time it involves a lot of pain, so you avoid it. Anakana struggles with this, you can feel that struggle, and you love her for getting in there and doing this for you.
May 21, 2013
Oh, be still my heart this book. THIS BOOK. It's a dense novel but every word seems carefully chosen, it swells, how it swells the heart. Our Woman, a widow, having to come to terms with the malarky her son, her one son (she has two other children, daughters), gets up to with other men (he's gay; she's finding it hard to come to terms with), must face something even more heartbreaking when he goes off and joins the US army. Schofield's way with words consistently amazed me, and even the non-linear narrative made sense--especially in terms of how the mind deals with grief. What a book.
June 4, 2013
Strange, very strange, but brilliant for the honest, unforgettable, and occasionally very funny voice of Phil ("Our Woman") as she meanders through twenty "episodes" of grief-induced confusion. This is difficult reading, confusing at times because the narrative moves backwards and forwards without warning and the narrator refers to herself regularly in the third person, but the story is emotional and achingly honest. A brave little book. Worth reading and worth re-reading.
September 2, 2013
I loved this book. I was astounded by the voice of Our Woman - her thoughts about life stream out of her - uncontrollably at times. This novel is funny and tragic - it is aggressive yet loving. The last sentence brought tears to my eyes . Thank you Anakana Schofield for a beautiful reading experience
June 9, 2022
I heard this author being interviewed on the Otherppl podcast. She was mostly talking about her latest novel, Bina. I fell in love with her comedic personality, her command of language, her feminist ranting, and her self parody.
(Because I read so much, it is an especial joy to find a new voice.)
I also learned that Bina is her third novel but that Bina is a character who appears initially in her first novel, Malarky. I decided to go to the source.
Now, "malarky" is one of those words I love, both for the sound of it and its meaning: foolish talk intended to deceive. If that doesn't describe what passes for news these days, I don't know what does.
The heroine of Malarky is no one's fool. She is the wife/widow of an Irish farmer. I am not going to say much more. I am just going to dare you to read the first chapter and then try to put it down.
The story is sad in parts, as any Irish story is, but mostly it is hilarious, outrageous and an unflinching look at being a woman and a mother in the 21st century.
(Because I read so much, it is an especial joy to find a new voice.)
I also learned that Bina is her third novel but that Bina is a character who appears initially in her first novel, Malarky. I decided to go to the source.
Now, "malarky" is one of those words I love, both for the sound of it and its meaning: foolish talk intended to deceive. If that doesn't describe what passes for news these days, I don't know what does.
The heroine of Malarky is no one's fool. She is the wife/widow of an Irish farmer. I am not going to say much more. I am just going to dare you to read the first chapter and then try to put it down.
The story is sad in parts, as any Irish story is, but mostly it is hilarious, outrageous and an unflinching look at being a woman and a mother in the 21st century.
February 28, 2013
Initially when I read this book, it bothered me. It was uncomfortable. It felt dismal. It was almost too real. These are real characters. They feel like "real people" Not glamorized characters that appeal to a movie set. These characters are "regular" people with some surprises. Our Woman has courage but she is also tragic in her loneliness, and her striving to make sense of it. In this way, she is not typical at all. I initially gave this book two stars, because it is not a book I "enjoyed". It was "uncomfortable" and left me feeling depressed; however, it was masterfully written, artful, thoughful, creative, and intelligently orchestrated. It deserves more than two-three stars, for its art and its heart; however, at this point in my life, I did not love it..only because of the complexity of how it made me feel. (that makes it a very good book in that sense) --just not one that I "enjoyed" at this point. It certainly struck cords enough in me, though, to even write a review! My reaction, I expect may evolve later and I may alter this review yet again.
(earlier reactions below):
This is an initial review of a gut reaction I had to the book. I did not like the main character or her husband or her son. I thought it was a bit "icky" I understand the protagonist was going against the grain of what was expected of her and she was surprising in the way her mind worked and that she was not entirely in her right mind. Still, most of the time I was reading this book I felt like I was wasting my time. This book was doing nothing for me in any good way at all. I did not even enjoy reading it. Perhaps I did not "get it"..but I didn't really even want to "get it" because the characters were so blah to me.
(later) after a book discussion: I figured out why this book bothered me. I like books generally that have a heroine that comes out of the adversity empowered somehow. Books where the protagonist is stuck and barely find insight leave me feeling disheartened. This protagonist is quirky, daring, rebellious, unconventional in her pain, but she is still stuck at the end..and it seems she was perhaps quite disillusioned. It is unclear that she views her own reality clearly. I do find myself doubting her interpretation of her reality, which I am sure I am supposed to doubt. I feel empathy for her, because she is so lonely, but I feel pity for her for she seems to me to be so lost. This must have been a very difficult book to write. creating these characters does not seem simple at all. the point of view and complex literary conventions are quite remarkable. It is just not a story I enjoyed reading and I walked away feeling let down.
Later February review: I think I was unfair rating this book so negatively.. It is a book that needs to be digested and can feel uncomfortable. It is sad. It is very emotional, but it is real too. It is not a light read. It made me feel sad. I did not LOVE the book so I can't rate it highly, but it was definitely not a bad book. It is very well written and it brings awareness to a life struggle that I am sure is very real to many people. I think I just wanted a book with a happier ending at the time I was reading it. I wanted more hope. I didn't want to think about life being that dismal for anyone. (that is where my discomfort came from)
(earlier reactions below):
This is an initial review of a gut reaction I had to the book. I did not like the main character or her husband or her son. I thought it was a bit "icky" I understand the protagonist was going against the grain of what was expected of her and she was surprising in the way her mind worked and that she was not entirely in her right mind. Still, most of the time I was reading this book I felt like I was wasting my time. This book was doing nothing for me in any good way at all. I did not even enjoy reading it. Perhaps I did not "get it"..but I didn't really even want to "get it" because the characters were so blah to me.
(later) after a book discussion: I figured out why this book bothered me. I like books generally that have a heroine that comes out of the adversity empowered somehow. Books where the protagonist is stuck and barely find insight leave me feeling disheartened. This protagonist is quirky, daring, rebellious, unconventional in her pain, but she is still stuck at the end..and it seems she was perhaps quite disillusioned. It is unclear that she views her own reality clearly. I do find myself doubting her interpretation of her reality, which I am sure I am supposed to doubt. I feel empathy for her, because she is so lonely, but I feel pity for her for she seems to me to be so lost. This must have been a very difficult book to write. creating these characters does not seem simple at all. the point of view and complex literary conventions are quite remarkable. It is just not a story I enjoyed reading and I walked away feeling let down.
Later February review: I think I was unfair rating this book so negatively.. It is a book that needs to be digested and can feel uncomfortable. It is sad. It is very emotional, but it is real too. It is not a light read. It made me feel sad. I did not LOVE the book so I can't rate it highly, but it was definitely not a bad book. It is very well written and it brings awareness to a life struggle that I am sure is very real to many people. I think I just wanted a book with a happier ending at the time I was reading it. I wanted more hope. I didn't want to think about life being that dismal for anyone. (that is where my discomfort came from)
August 3, 2012
I picked this book up because of the good reviews I saw and heard from others, I rarely (almost never) buy a paperback book, especially a debut novel. But I did, and I think I made a good move.
This is a hard book to rate. It took me a relatively long time to finish a book of this length - due to the style, slang, etc. For this, I want to rate it 1 star, but. I am so amazed by the characters in this book, how real they are, as if they are people I've known, or people being copied from my brain behaving the way I expect them to. I especially love how Anakana names her characters - Grief, Beirut, Himself, Spain etc, very clever. They linger in my mind and will probably stay there for a long time. For this, I think this book deserves a 4-star rating.
I look forward to reading Anakana's new book (she has been commissioned to write a new one, methink).
This is a hard book to rate. It took me a relatively long time to finish a book of this length - due to the style, slang, etc. For this, I want to rate it 1 star, but. I am so amazed by the characters in this book, how real they are, as if they are people I've known, or people being copied from my brain behaving the way I expect them to. I especially love how Anakana names her characters - Grief, Beirut, Himself, Spain etc, very clever. They linger in my mind and will probably stay there for a long time. For this, I think this book deserves a 4-star rating.
I look forward to reading Anakana's new book (she has been commissioned to write a new one, methink).
March 25, 2017
I dipped into this book a few years ago, and I thought I wasn't going to enjoy it, so I never finished. But I read it for Canada After Reads, and really got into it. I loved the character's voice, her challenges, the structure and the humour. I had to pay close attention to some of it because of both the slang and the structure, but I thought it was incredibly well done.
Planning to read Martin John now. :)
Planning to read Martin John now. :)
November 24, 2020
I really enjoyed this book, it show raw emotions of greif and it's very honest in it's depiction. It a little odd at times but that just made me like if even more.
November 20, 2016
"- Men, I said. Naked men. At each other all the time, all day long. I can't get it out of my head.
- Well now, she said and fell silent.
She had to have been asking the Almighty for help, until finally she could think of no explanation and her recommendation was to scrub the kitchen floor very vigorously and see would a bit of distraction help."
Anakana Schofield's Martin John was a well-deserved shortlistee for the 2016 Goldsmiths Prize and the eponymous subject of that novel features as a minor character towards the end of this, her debut novel (indeed a footnote reads, appropriately, "See Martin John: a Footnote novel").
Schofield's experience in writing and, particularly, promoting Malarky is set out in this wonderful Guardian interview: https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
Set in the early 2000s, the novel is narrated by Philomena (but "only Our Woman's husband calls her by her full name. Nobody since 1956 has used it.") an Irish mother of three, married to a farmer. Her two daughters have left home, her eldest Aine being a particular source of grievance:
"Aine"s my eldest, she's a divil for interfering, but won't interfere when interfering is necessary
[...]
She always sounds impatient with me, even when wishing me Happy Birthday she sounds like she wishes it had less letters."
But her world goes awry when she catches her son up to "malarky" with a male school friend, and then is approached by a lady, Our Woman dubs her Red the Twit, who claims to be sleeping with her husband. Our Woman had already noticed her husband had been increasingly physically as well as mentally absent, although he claims merely to be looking for a trailer "I believe there may not be a satisfactory trailer to be found in the length and breadth of this country by God."
Her friend warns her about her husband's behaviour:
"Joanie said men who went that way, thinkin', should be careful. They often kill themselves she said. I would phone her and say oh God he's thinkin'. Tell him not to go thinkin' that way she urged me, tell him it's no good to anyone. I couldn't tell her what I thought he was thinkin'. I couldn't tell her what I was thinkin'. Well now Joanie I am thinkin' of plunging my two hands into the same hot water. She would have had a Mass said for me, even now I couldn't say it to her.
What Our Woman can't say is that she has decided to explore the sexual practices in which her husband and son have indulged, doing so firstly with a travelling salesman and later with a Syrian security guard, who himself has a bizarre fixation with the mechanics of conception and childbirth:
The novel is told in Episodes not chapters, and the story emerges in a rather confused fashion. Indeed the novel starts with her discussing her situation with her counsellor, called appropriately Grief (the opening quote to my review is taken from this exchange) as it becomes clear that both her husband and later her son, Jimmy (who died in military service in Afghanistan) were dead at the time the novel is set, and much of the story is told from the past, and that Our Woman herself has become physiologically disturbed. Indeed she meets Martin John, who she names Beirut, a city he is obsessed with, in a hospital where they are both undergoing physical and psychological care, only to find out his real name (and the delusional nature of his obsession) when his mother visits: "Our Woman decides its not a good name for him."
Ultimately an interesting work, and a moving exploration of grief and sexuality, but less well developed than Martin John and at times it dragged a little. The concluding words of the novel rather write the review:
"It's beautiful when it makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it makes sense, just for a moment."
- Well now, she said and fell silent.
She had to have been asking the Almighty for help, until finally she could think of no explanation and her recommendation was to scrub the kitchen floor very vigorously and see would a bit of distraction help."
Anakana Schofield's Martin John was a well-deserved shortlistee for the 2016 Goldsmiths Prize and the eponymous subject of that novel features as a minor character towards the end of this, her debut novel (indeed a footnote reads, appropriately, "See Martin John: a Footnote novel").
Schofield's experience in writing and, particularly, promoting Malarky is set out in this wonderful Guardian interview: https://www.theguardian.com/books/201...
Set in the early 2000s, the novel is narrated by Philomena (but "only Our Woman's husband calls her by her full name. Nobody since 1956 has used it.") an Irish mother of three, married to a farmer. Her two daughters have left home, her eldest Aine being a particular source of grievance:
"Aine"s my eldest, she's a divil for interfering, but won't interfere when interfering is necessary
[...]
She always sounds impatient with me, even when wishing me Happy Birthday she sounds like she wishes it had less letters."
But her world goes awry when she catches her son up to "malarky" with a male school friend, and then is approached by a lady, Our Woman dubs her Red the Twit, who claims to be sleeping with her husband. Our Woman had already noticed her husband had been increasingly physically as well as mentally absent, although he claims merely to be looking for a trailer "I believe there may not be a satisfactory trailer to be found in the length and breadth of this country by God."
Her friend warns her about her husband's behaviour:
"Joanie said men who went that way, thinkin', should be careful. They often kill themselves she said. I would phone her and say oh God he's thinkin'. Tell him not to go thinkin' that way she urged me, tell him it's no good to anyone. I couldn't tell her what I thought he was thinkin'. I couldn't tell her what I was thinkin'. Well now Joanie I am thinkin' of plunging my two hands into the same hot water. She would have had a Mass said for me, even now I couldn't say it to her.
What Our Woman can't say is that she has decided to explore the sexual practices in which her husband and son have indulged, doing so firstly with a travelling salesman and later with a Syrian security guard, who himself has a bizarre fixation with the mechanics of conception and childbirth:
The novel is told in Episodes not chapters, and the story emerges in a rather confused fashion. Indeed the novel starts with her discussing her situation with her counsellor, called appropriately Grief (the opening quote to my review is taken from this exchange) as it becomes clear that both her husband and later her son, Jimmy (who died in military service in Afghanistan) were dead at the time the novel is set, and much of the story is told from the past, and that Our Woman herself has become physiologically disturbed. Indeed she meets Martin John, who she names Beirut, a city he is obsessed with, in a hospital where they are both undergoing physical and psychological care, only to find out his real name (and the delusional nature of his obsession) when his mother visits: "Our Woman decides its not a good name for him."
Ultimately an interesting work, and a moving exploration of grief and sexuality, but less well developed than Martin John and at times it dragged a little. The concluding words of the novel rather write the review:
"It's beautiful when it makes sense, so it is. Occasionally it makes sense, just for a moment."
August 5, 2012
When I first read the summary for this book, I thought it sounded interesting. Not something that I usually would go for but I am willing to go outside of my box and try new authors and books. This is how I have discovered some good ones. Sadly, I found myself not being able to get into this book. The first person talk, I did a little bit of an issue with in the beginning but then I got used to it. I kind of found it intriguing like thought bubbles. Like I was reading the woman's thoughts. This is what I struggled with. Not that the woman was nameless or faceless as this again was part of the mystery about this book. The woman could be anyone, so the reader is not just set on that one particular woman but can imagine any woman. The problem I had with this book and why I could not finish the book was because of how bitter, self-centered and how the woman wanted to be naive. This goes back to the self-centeredness.
The woman knew her son was gay but yet she would tell him, don't bring it into my house. Also, if there is an event, bring a female date. Ok, so I admit that I do not think of women in that way and I have nothing aganist people who do live their lifestyle differently from me. In fact, I used to hang out with several types...guys and women. who were friends of mine and they were very nice but the way that the woman spoke to her son like she was ashamed of him turned me off. Especially when the woman was seeing a younger man soon after the death of her husband. Plus, all the different characters who jumped into the story was hard to keep track of. I did not know who was who. The story felt a little disjointed.
The woman knew her son was gay but yet she would tell him, don't bring it into my house. Also, if there is an event, bring a female date. Ok, so I admit that I do not think of women in that way and I have nothing aganist people who do live their lifestyle differently from me. In fact, I used to hang out with several types...guys and women. who were friends of mine and they were very nice but the way that the woman spoke to her son like she was ashamed of him turned me off. Especially when the woman was seeing a younger man soon after the death of her husband. Plus, all the different characters who jumped into the story was hard to keep track of. I did not know who was who. The story felt a little disjointed.
October 29, 2012
Although relatively short, this was a challenging read due to the unique voice of Our Woman. Some lines were so marvelous they had to be reread- "Aine's questions arrive like blood sausage on plates for hungry men." I became fascinated by Our Woman because of her strength and personality. Sometimes I drop books because the characters are flat, I fail to "buy in" to their hopes, dreams, and the things that make them tick. I was sold when it came to Our Woman, she was almost too real. As I sat on her back during her journey through the book, I experienced so many emotions: happiness, excitement, delight, sadness, and anger.....................Malarky is powerful, memorable, and simply an example of good writing. And for a Brit living in New York, the reference to some of my favorite things like "Quality Street" made me feel comforted and momentarily at home as I read. Thank you Anakana!
May 20, 2012
Set in modern day Ireland, Malarky is a story told in episodes of one woman's attempt to deal with grief. Our woman — or Phil — transitions from a traditional house wife, whose only ambition is to please her husband and children, to a woman on a mission to achieve independence. Told in a variety of different voices, the reader is subject to the desperation and confusion Our Woman faces on her journey.
Quirky, and at times laugh-out-loud funny, Malarky gives an interesting perspective to a story that's ultimately about sorrow and grief. It is a remarkable first novel for author Anakana Schofield.
Quirky, and at times laugh-out-loud funny, Malarky gives an interesting perspective to a story that's ultimately about sorrow and grief. It is a remarkable first novel for author Anakana Schofield.
July 18, 2012
This book was aptly named, it was pure malarky, intact, it stunk. I know many people from Ireland and not one of them speaks the way Ms. Schofield writes. The book was unbelievable, incoherent, confusing and very hard to follow. I can't believe it won any awards or made it to any best-seller list.
Read
April 16, 2013This book sings with humanity. It is unexpected. I look forward to reading it again. I will definitely buy anything Anakana Schofield writes from now on.
unread
February 11, 2017I like this article, and she's quite funny: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2013/...
August 3, 2013
At times laugh aloud funny, at others quietly poignant. Real characters, some of whom I felt I'd met.
January 6, 2019
One of those books that hangs loose in your head, rattled around a bit, then shoots a shaft of light through your heart. The tale is of a woman and her family- she is an unreliable narrator and so fascinating- she is lonely and destroyed by her loneliness but rather than wallow, she takes a sort of mad control of herself and those about her. She does not go quietly.
I loved all the expressions that come out of her mind, “our woman”, and the thoughts. I felt for her as she becomes unhinged, loses the thread. I won’t forget her.
A great read. Like the author’s Martin John, a wee bit disturbing, unsettling. I’m impressed with the author’s ability to dance around madness.
I loved all the expressions that come out of her mind, “our woman”, and the thoughts. I felt for her as she becomes unhinged, loses the thread. I won’t forget her.
A great read. Like the author’s Martin John, a wee bit disturbing, unsettling. I’m impressed with the author’s ability to dance around madness.
October 15, 2012
In the first episode, Our Woman is newly widowed and also has a freshly dead son. She’s meeting with a counselor referred to as Grief. She’s having dreams, Our Woman confesses. Naked men having at each other. Grief’s response: Clean the kitchen floor. The next best thing, turn to God.
Ankana Schofield’s debut novel “Malarky” is told in 20 non-chronological periods of change in Our Woman’s life. She’s living in rural Ireland and married to a chilly, awful, maybe attractive man who counts on her for his creature comforts and the occasional screw. They have three children: Two girls that are barely mentioned and Our Woman’s pride, Jimmy, who she has seen getting all up in a neighbor boy down by the barn. This is not information that is going to sit well with Our Woman’s husband and she she asks him to keep it quiet. The realization that he is gay coincides with Our Woman getting intercepted by a woman, Red the Twit, who tells her she was sleeping with Our Woman’s husband but now she’s gone religious.
Then everything changes. Our Woman is shaken from complacency and begins a quest for experiences that match those of her husband and son. She finds a stranger to engage in an awkward one-night stand, considering her husband and Red the Twit and how this bumbly fumbly matches what they have done. She spends time at the library studying places she’s never been -- like Syria. She meets a young security guard and begins a slow seduction that will lead up to recreating the different romantic episodes she has seen Jimmy engaged in. Meanwhile, Our Woman’s husband has stopped funding Jimmy’s schooling and their son comes home to stay for awhile before jetting off to the United States to join the Army and eventually go to Afghanistan and eventually die.
This is a complicatedly woven story led by an unreliable narrator whose vision of herself doesn’t always sync to the ways others see her -- especially her husband and a gaggle of girlfriends -- or even the way a reader sees her as the perspective shifts from first to third person and back again. The third-person view of the revelation of her son’s homosexuality is chillier than the the oozing affection she maintains for him in first person. Red the Twit describes her husband in a way that is opposites-ville from the way Our Woman sees him. And the scenes from a hospital are a constant contradiction between what is jotted in her file and how she remembers the events unfolding.
Considering Our Woman spends so much time reeling about confused and sick with grief and mentally clouded, this book is darkly funny. In a scene with the card salesman, her first dalliance with infidelity, she goes back to his room and begins stripping and it all catches him off guard.
“He commented on the remaining bits of clothes on her, that’s a good quality skirt, rather than the body she’d unwrapped. He then remarked, somewhat absently, he’d been thinking of going on a day trip to Wales. Had she ever been to Wales?”
Schofield is one of those writer-writers and colorful sentences that flip from funny to heavy seem to come naturally to her. She’s really captured the layers of a woman who has conflicting emotions about the series of events she’s faced. This puzzle of a plot must have been a bugger to sort through and arrange.
Ankana Schofield’s debut novel “Malarky” is told in 20 non-chronological periods of change in Our Woman’s life. She’s living in rural Ireland and married to a chilly, awful, maybe attractive man who counts on her for his creature comforts and the occasional screw. They have three children: Two girls that are barely mentioned and Our Woman’s pride, Jimmy, who she has seen getting all up in a neighbor boy down by the barn. This is not information that is going to sit well with Our Woman’s husband and she she asks him to keep it quiet. The realization that he is gay coincides with Our Woman getting intercepted by a woman, Red the Twit, who tells her she was sleeping with Our Woman’s husband but now she’s gone religious.
Then everything changes. Our Woman is shaken from complacency and begins a quest for experiences that match those of her husband and son. She finds a stranger to engage in an awkward one-night stand, considering her husband and Red the Twit and how this bumbly fumbly matches what they have done. She spends time at the library studying places she’s never been -- like Syria. She meets a young security guard and begins a slow seduction that will lead up to recreating the different romantic episodes she has seen Jimmy engaged in. Meanwhile, Our Woman’s husband has stopped funding Jimmy’s schooling and their son comes home to stay for awhile before jetting off to the United States to join the Army and eventually go to Afghanistan and eventually die.
This is a complicatedly woven story led by an unreliable narrator whose vision of herself doesn’t always sync to the ways others see her -- especially her husband and a gaggle of girlfriends -- or even the way a reader sees her as the perspective shifts from first to third person and back again. The third-person view of the revelation of her son’s homosexuality is chillier than the the oozing affection she maintains for him in first person. Red the Twit describes her husband in a way that is opposites-ville from the way Our Woman sees him. And the scenes from a hospital are a constant contradiction between what is jotted in her file and how she remembers the events unfolding.
Considering Our Woman spends so much time reeling about confused and sick with grief and mentally clouded, this book is darkly funny. In a scene with the card salesman, her first dalliance with infidelity, she goes back to his room and begins stripping and it all catches him off guard.
“He commented on the remaining bits of clothes on her, that’s a good quality skirt, rather than the body she’d unwrapped. He then remarked, somewhat absently, he’d been thinking of going on a day trip to Wales. Had she ever been to Wales?”
Schofield is one of those writer-writers and colorful sentences that flip from funny to heavy seem to come naturally to her. She’s really captured the layers of a woman who has conflicting emotions about the series of events she’s faced. This puzzle of a plot must have been a bugger to sort through and arrange.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 119 reviews