Night

by Edna O'Brien

Unable to sleep, Mary Hooligan lies in a four-poster bed and recalls her misadventures, courtships and sexual encounters. This powerful novel delivers a frank account of a womanâ€s life and desires in a poetic and original voice.

Genres: Fiction, Irish Literature, Ireland, Literary Fiction, Novels

160 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1973

About the author

Edna O’Brien was an award-winning Irish author of novels, plays, and short stories. She has been hailed as one of the greatest chroniclers of the female experience in the twentieth century. She was the 2011 recipient of the Frank O’Connor Prize, awarded for her short story collection Saints and Sinners. She also received, among other honors, the Irish PEN Award for Literature, the Ulysses Medal from University College Dublin, and a lifetime achievement award from the Irish Literary Academy. Her 1960 debut novel, The Country Girls, was banned in her native Ireland for its groundbreaking depictions of female sexuality. Notable works also include August Is a Wicked Month (1965), A Pagan Place (1970), Lantern Slides (1990), and The Light of Evening (2006). O’Brien lived in London until her death.

Reviews

[lexo philia · Rating 1 out of 5]

I was taking a course in Irish Literature which I have long had a fascination with and affection for. I thoroughly enjoyed the class and its texts, until I read Edna O'Brien's Night (1972), a short novel chronicling a single night with Mary Hooligan during which she recounts, as sleep evades her, the many exploits of her now late-middle-aged life. She writes in a stream of consciousness manner that is clearly trying to imitate Joyce and proves a poor counterfeit (this opinion arguably has something to do with my personal affinity for the man, but I don't think is based entirely therein). The book is an absolutely arduous read, simply because you keep hoping it will end and it keeps letting you down. Though it is fiction, Night seems a self-indulgent and at times even masturbatory tirade on O'Brien's part. I found the obsession with feces and defecation just, frankly, gross; Mary's several ménage à trois and frequent one-night stands may, as subject matter, just be an issue of personal taste but a taste for this I do not, personally, have. I have heard this book hailed as "a celebration of the individual" [scoff] and "worthy of Joyce" [cringe]. I have heard it praised by self-proclaimed feminists as a liberation in a hundred-odd pages. Of course, I disagree. I find few or no elements of this book that could properly be called celebratory, and Mary is a rather unhappy and quite pathetic character to the bitter end. She is locked inside herself despite frequent and debaucherous attempts to connect, and in the end is empty and flat. My professor tried to sell me on the ending being a hopeful cry of carpe diem!, but I didn't buy.

"Oh, star of the morning, oh, slippery path, oh, guardian angel
of vagrants, givvus eyes, lend us a hand, let's kip down on
some other shore, let's live a little before the awful all-
embracing dark enfolds..."

Sure, she encourages us to "live a little." But this fictional character's rehashing of her life is not of one well-lived, I think by nearly anyone's definition. This tiny hopeful excerpt is out of place in a tale that is consistently less than inspiring, and of a character I can't even imagine wanting to befriend, let alone admire. O'Brien's book is like a neatly-packaged receptacle of cerebral vomit, a collection of every thought in a single person's head that should never see the light of day. And for good reason.

[Baz · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars.

This short book is a song in prose. The language is everything. Beautiful, lush, it’s an unapologetic celebration of STYLE. The title refers to one winter night in a house where Mary Hooligan lies in bed reminiscing about her life and loves. She’s a passionate woman who had an appetite for the fruits of life, and she satisfied them, screw the consequences. She had a lot of sex, got dirty with a lot of men, met a lot of interesting people, and saw many wacky things. Life didn’t pass Mary Hooligan by.

Edna O’Brien is a beast, a writer who published a novel in 1971 about a woman talking about her cunt and her freaky sexual escapades at a time in Ireland when it just was not done. She did it. Her books were banned, she went through some crap, but she kept writing about women’s sexuality – no one was going to stop her. She started a revolution in Irish literature. If you like the flowing poetry of The Waves, you’ll like Night. It is an exuberant, sensual pleasure.

[GD · Rating 4 out of 5]

I went into this cautiously, assuming it to be some kind of feminist-heavy nonsense, but was surprised to find a very beatifully-written, reflective book. Someone once compared her to Joyce, probably because she's Irish, but it's not too far off. Early Joyce, I mean, and some trappings of Proust as well.

[sylvie · Rating 3 out of 5]

my mum got me this for free from some book swap place so i felt like i should read it. mostly boring and aimless but with a couple of memorable paragraphs

[nathan · Rating 3 out of 5]

READING VLOG

I'm on a negroni and she's halfway down a whiskey on the rocks.

It's one of those nights where she thinks of many nights with many different men. She's cool, a bit nostalgic, and everything comes clean off the tongue, plain theatrics.

But at some point past midnight, I'm yawning, I should go home, call that cab, but she's still talking about men upon men and now I'm confusing them all. It's beginning to sound like the same man. Until I realize it is much about her as it is about me. And I'm sitting up all night thinking about all the different men in me and I want to talk about them as well. But they conjure up in the worst ways, in all the fights and all their disgusting habits. The toilet seat up. The dumb burps, awful farts, all the little ways he and he and HE act like little children, tantrums and terrible jokes. I laugh. Not because of what she said, but about some stupid thing he or he did. They bubble up in me until I want to tell her, "Me too! You're not the only one who's loved."

I want to say it.

I want to hear myself say it.

But I know, if it ever escaped my mouth, I would regret it. Confuse myself. Because I don't think I know at all.

She doesn't know at all.

So then we're both in the same boat.

And she has got me by the last man. And I'm reminded of my recent love. Oh, for a weekend. Oh, how sweet those summer nights. I remember that whiskey isn't so bad when it's on the rocks. Soft margins of husky pleasure.

"𝘖𝘩, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦...

...𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦."

And she slams her glass on the table, cracks the tabletop, breaks dawn. Leaves her mark and mine. And we rise off out the door into the blinding sun and we're laughing and it's a new day though we've stretched the night. The present tense is a better place to be when we raise our middle fingers to the past.

Edna, oh Edna. Ms. O'Brien, the next drink is on me.

I want to remember with you.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book. I loved this book in part because it is so thoroughly over the heads of any high-schooler in the world and it made me feel like I'm smart again. It's filled with old words, Irish words and words I think O'Brien made up. This is to say it is beautiful and awesome. It is also, strangely enough, a page-turner.

[Ape · Rating 3 out of 5]

Took a little getting in to. I've previously read the Country Girls trilogy and loved it so as soon as I saw Edna O'Brien I just jumped at this book. For me I didn't enjoy it as much, although I did like it better than I thought I would when I first started it.

This is a stream of consciousness monologue by Mary Hooligan, an Irish country girl who came across to the UK - first living in Liverpool and ending up in London. She's currently house sitting for a couple and lying in bed pondering on things. So her memories and thoughts dot about all over the place and in no particular order. Gradually you get her life story, from her Irish childhood, to the people she lived with in Liverpool, various boyfriends she's had, her ex husband, her child, travels and some of the random people she's met. It's got the same charm and sense of humour as the Country Girls books, which is what won me over in the end.

[Nicholas Beck · Rating 2 out of 5]

Mary has lived quite well or quite badly depending on your perspective. She herself has ended up alone, house sitting for a couple on holiday and it seems there's no great affection on either side. A common theme in Mary's life, she's had many a relationship as well as a child and none have quite stuck so to speak except perhaps for the Irish countryside which she herself left for Liverpool and London so perhaps even that relationship is ephemeral.

Short stream of consciousness sentences/phrases and paragraphs while reminiscing about her life in addition the staggered timelines make for a disjointed reading experience but Edna's wonderfully vivid wordplay are some compensation.

[Thais Warren · Rating 3 out of 5]

Language was gorgeous and unique but really not sure what the point of this book was! Obvs historical and social context is key here!

[AC · Rating 3 out of 5]

Left me cold, frankly

[hajin yoo · Rating 4 out of 5]

pithy, sexy, with a bit of a bite 🫦

[Eoghan Conway · Rating 5 out of 5]

“The harp the once through Tara’s halls is silenced, mute. No doubt the time will come when I will think of here with liking, the big pantry, the excitement over visitors, the evenings summoned up by lamps, the spare rooms that I so faithfully aired, the one little room where I sat and heard the impending silence, the tiniest stirs, and lived, though marginally, most sweet, most whole hours”

- Poignant stream of consciousness to rival Joyce

Aside: O’Brien could be one of Ireland’s best ever writers on food

[Phrodrick slowed his growing backlog · Rating 4 out of 5]

What makes Edna O’Brien’s novella Night a worthy addition to your library is the honesty of her narrator. We enter the mind of an Irish woman, of a certain experience if indeterminate age. Ms Hooligan’s thoughts are jumbled and occasionally confused. The technique is stream of consciousness, but not as hard to follow as the term can suggest. There is no on the page violence. There is sexual content, but nothing explicit and there are words that will keep this book out of many hands.

Exactly what has Mary Hooligan’s mind unsettled is not clear. Unsettled it is and in leading us through Mary’s rough night; O’Brien portrays a specific example of the universal experience of a rough night. This different from she did 'it her way' as in the song. Her recollections are about the flow of her life, Rarely does she have the ability to impress her way on events. She can be the victim, but she does not stay one.

Initially Ms O’Brien uses a formula where in Mary’s thoughts whorl though a list of words and impressions before settling on the particulars of some aspect or event in her life. There need be no particular direction in time so fairly recent events can be mixed in with events from her childhood or in parenting her now traveling, adult son.

If you have read O’Brien’s Girls Trilogy you will find that Ms Hooligan grew up in the exact same poor Irish village, here called Coose in the exact same house. As in the trilogy, her mother died young and her father is rough and course. Also like the Girls trilogy she leaves home seeking the larger world and a larger variety of experiences.

I must admit to a certain frustration at the near exact repetition of this background. Accepting that these parallels are only a context for understanding the particulars and the reader can focus back on what Ms Hooligan tells us about her life.

Night is a short book so almost any particulars here risk spoiling major plot points. For me this woman was not that sympathetic, nor does she want your sympathy. She is to be admired or not based on her merit, spirit of individuality and for having made her way, in her style.

[Ania · Rating 4 out of 5]

„I lie with my God, I lie without my God. Into the folds of sleep. Oh Connemara, oh sweet mauve hills, where will I go, where will I not go, now?
Fucking nowhere.”

Główna bohaterka, Mary Hooligan nie może spać, leży w łóżku z nadzieją, że w końcu zaśnie. A co się robi w środku nocy, kiedy sen nie przychodzi? Myśli się o wszystkim i o niczym, wspomina, przeżywa i rozpamiętuje błędy, sukcesy, porażki, miłości, przyjaźnie… po prostu całe życie. I dokładnie to robi Mary, snuje opowieść o swoich przeżyciach, opowiada o dorastaniu, o mężczyznach i kobietach i o swoich związkach (tych dłuższych i tych trwających jedną noc).
Nie będę ukrywać, w tej książce nie dzieje się zupełnie nic, opowieść bohaterki jest jednostajnym monologiem, który ma swój spokojny rytm. Mary to jedna z tych gadających, irytujących i znudzonych bohaterek, a jak wiemy, to mój ulubiony rodzaj kobiet w literaturze. Powiedziałabym, że „Night” to taka ziewająca książka, ale ja jestem wielką fanką tego typu książek, więc idealnie się w niej odnalazłam.

Edna O’Brien ma bardzo lekkie pióro, jej teksty zawsze idealnie oddają klimat i charakter bohaterów. Tu, razem z bezsennością bohaterki dostajemy monotonny język, który powoli usypia, a kiedy już myślimy, że śpimy, w tekście nagle pojawia się rym albo jakieś dziwne, niepasujące do całości słowo i bum, nagle znów jesteśmy pobudzeni.

„If again I come to love member of the opposite sex or even a member of my own sex, I shall try not to gabble.”

[Sonya · Rating 3 out of 5]

While I liked the style of this novella (a sort of rambling monologue of reminiscences from a lonely, disappointed divorcee), most of it is rather mundane and self-absorbed. There are some excellent back stories in Mary's life and you can tell that she is regretful and misses her youth; she is particularly tender about her son, even though she doesn't appear to be have been the most doting parent. The writing is full of O'Brien's signature finely observed details and comic sensibility. But ultimately, never have I read literary fiction that is more obsessed with semen than this one is.

[Jeff · Rating 3 out of 5]

Even if, like me, you were not wowed by Night, give O'Brien's other books a try.

Two metaphors. 1) Mary Hooligan's mind is alien to mine. 2) Mary Hooligan emits a magnetic field repellent to my own. Perhaps a xenopsychologist could shrink my head? or a literary technician could reverse my polarity? at least in relation to this book? If so, i would welcome the sudden irresistible attraction. For now, though, i remain a man who can't quite pick up most of what Mary Hooligan is layin down.

3 stars feels like i'm calling this little book a disappointment (a big disappointment would be 2 stars), but my tepid reaction is a let-down compared to my deep admiration of everything about In the Forest.

I'm tellin it straight: you ain't gettin a narrative, folks. I read it in one long, quiet, dreary day. So, obviously, it didn't lack an internal drive, but for about the first quarter, i kept waiting for the flitting to end and the story to begin. Ulysses has more plot.

Speaking of which, i respectfully disagree with fellow reviewers who cite the derivative / attempted / inadequate similarities to James Joyce as the reason for their dis/like of Night. Let's not imply Joyce is the only one allowed to write stream of consciousness. If we do, aren't we denying the equal genius of Virginia Woolf?

[Jack Deighton · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mary Hooligan has trouble sleeping. The usual remedies - counting sheep or apples, pills – have no effect. The novel is a rendering of her thoughts during one night of such sleeplessness, involving memories of her upbringing in Coose in Connemara, various odd encounters, sometimes scatological, and a multitude of sexual (mis)adventures.

Though I have read neither and so cannot comment, the narration apparently reflects Molly Bloom’s soliloquy from Ulysses and prefigures Eimear MacBride’s A Girl is a Half-formed Thing. I’ll take their word for it.

With its focus on one person’s life experience, the novel stands in contrast to O’Brien’s “Country Girls” trilogy. There is no doubting, however, the author’s technical skill as a writer nor her proficiency with words; the book is peppered with Latinate derivations, Irishisms and seeming neologisms (gaimbeaux?) but even so is easy enough to read. Fifty years on from first publication what is striking about the book is its brevity. Nevertheless it says what it needs to say. Economy is a welcome attribute in a writer.

Fair enough it’s only 120 pages worth, but also revealing is the cover price of the edition I read. 75p! Those were the days.

[A. Mary · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found this book so perplexing that I'm not even sure that I want to give three stars. Much of it is so dismal and despairing that it verges on, maybe outright becomes, self-indulgent. The narrator has had a rough go, no doubt, but she is a loveless person, with nothing to give her appeal for a reader. Whether it be family, acquaintances, or lovers, they are all treated dismissively, disrespectfully. Mary, the speaker, is catastrophically depressed and, although relatively young (middle-aged), she's just waiting for, even longing for, the end. It's a very dark, disjointed book, but there are sections with humour and sections with something to ponder. Even the most difficult passages have plenty of visual images. Maybe reading this, my least liked O'Brien, coincidentally right after my most favourite O'Brien, has caused me to be harsh. But, I don't think so.

[Daniel · Rating 3 out of 5]

Mary Hooligan lies in bed, recollecting in a high modernist stream of consciousness the various incidents of her life. Most of those incidents are sexcapades of some sort, but there is also her family, her home town, her musings on her final resting place. Growing up in Coose, in rural Ireland, she flees to England after being caught in the act with a "jackeen", that is to say some city boy, after the fancy dress parade on St Peter and St Paul's day. Hooligan's proclivities mean that Ireland might not be the best place for her. She crosses the sea to England where her various liaisons see her engaging with the full range of society, from a Duke who wants to make an honest woman of her, to a penniless waiter who ruins his chances with his moaning. She has lived a rich life, if you are to judge by the breadth of her romances, even if not the depth. "I can't cavil. I've had my share, even a lumberman from Scandia with a very radical thrust. A motley crew, all shades, dimensions, breeds, ilks, national characteristics, inflammatingness, and penetratingness."

It is Hooligan's bracing openness to all manner of encounters, and her particular way of words that give her story its charm."...I even had a bit of a yen for a Black Mass, which as I understood it, entailed semen in the belly, a great gout of demon's shampoo." she muses when the Duke propositions her for something a little beyond the ordinary. It is not merely stream of consciousness we are getting here, but O'Brien's full creative drive to play with language. But the reader will do well to keep up. Hooligan is not much concerned with the usual business of table-setting or introducing the guests as they arrive. Reviewers have been ready to compare Hooligan to Joyce's Molly Bloom, and it is hard not to imagine that O'Brien had her in mind, and wrote hoping to claim her place in that tradition. You don't write a novel like this by accident.

The back of my copy describes Mary Hooligan as "memorably unhinged", "compelling", and "garrulous". I find the idea of Mary as memorable interesting. In fact I think the contradiction about both people and characters like Mary is that however striking their arrival in other people's lives, they are a gone soon after. For many of the men she encountered, I suspect the memory of her would be as slippery as Mary's own recollections. There are those who she has a more lasting bond with: an unsympathetic ex-husband, a solitary father, a son who we learn of mostly through his mail. But these relationships put Mary in a bind. They are shadows of a more perfect love that has eluded her. After declaring her desire to be buried alone, early in the novel she asks, "Do I mean it? Apparently not."

[Peter K · Rating 3 out of 5]

A difficult read for me , I chose this book from my local public library shortly after the passing of the author, the wonderful and passionate Edna O'Brien. It had been a long time since I had read a book from this author ( three decades or more ? ) and this book was challenging - I'm confident it was intended to be so. and so it proved.

This book is a single train of thought , a series of rememberances from the main , and in many ways , only character , Mary Hooligan as she passes a sleepless night. The language flows , torrents as one thought collides with the next and memories are recounted. This reminded me of Shakespeare's English where I find I need a few minutes for my ear to attune to the rhythms. I almost but never really got there completely with this text and I'm sure I missed many valuable nuances as the flow or the particular vernacular left me behind.

This was still an enjoyable experience reading this book and the character Mary is clearly a force of nature with a life fully lived I would enjoy encountering

[Eamonn · Rating 1 out of 5]

I got little out of this book. A rambling, random, stream of consciousness night of reminiscences of a life spent growing up in rural Ireland, moving to Dublin, emigrating to England, peopled with unsympathetic characters, family included, petty squabbles and grievances, some female friends, various lovers, etc. The only beauty coming from nature. A common enough story but here told with some degree of bawdiness and some amusing language, but including some incomprehensible (to me) turns of phrase. Ultimately I just became bored with it, my attention wandered as I read it, and I struggled to finish it (it's a fairly slim volume).
On reflection, I consider it one of those books which was very much of its time and has dated badly.

One and a half stars.

[Rachel · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 stars. Though easily readable in one sitting, I recommend taking time to savour this book. Every sentence hangs in the air after it is read, challenging the reader. At times confusing, I had to go back and re-read, and all the better to experience certain sections twice. It is a good book to read before bed.

[Saga Skeppström · Rating 3 out of 5]

Har alltid haft svårt för stream of conciousness, särskilt på engelska. Därför blir väl snarare känslan som infinner sig när jag läser boken viktigare än själva innehållet. Mycket kaotisk, destruktiv och romantiserande, ganska mörk och framförallt känns hon likgiltig på ett sätt. Vackert språk, svår bok.

[Gurldoggie · Rating 3 out of 5]

One woman’s eloquent and raunchy internal monologue over a single sleepless night. No story as such, but Mary Hooligan’s character comes vibrantly to life via her earthy voice, her emotional candor, her memories of uninhibited escapades.

[Klaas Roggeman · Rating 2 out of 5]

Parts are hilarious, but this long monologue of a woman reminiscing about her past, mainly her lovers, is so hopscotch and hard to follow that it eventually becomes a drag. I had expected a lot after seeing the great biopic about the author, but was letdown.

[John Healey · Rating 2 out of 5]

A noble experiment that doesn't work very well but you have to admire her for it. Apparently she was deep into LSD therapy with RD Laing when writing it and it shows.

[Duncan Vicat-Brown · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ultimately didn't punch in the gut as much as I was hoping (save for a fairly firm jab right at the end), but the sentences! The sentences! They're very good.

[Orlaith · Rating 4 out of 5]

A gorgeous, lovely, warm blooded book.

[Margaret · Rating 1 out of 5]

My sister sent me this book and warned me it was “really weird “. She’s right. I confess I’ve been speed reading it. Not a clue what was going on.

[Rae's Reading Corner · Rating 3 out of 5]

Pretty interesting. Read for college but honestly would be interested to read more of her work after this.