I really enjoyed your lecture on Claire Keegan’s “Foster”. I first read the book back in early spring of this year when I learned that the film version, “An Cailín Ciúin” - “The Quiet Girl” - was about to be released in North America. Listening to this presentation, I realized I didn’t know the story as well as I thought I did, and I’m glad to have the chance to air my own comments concerning your lecture. With regard to the little girl’s age, I think of her as a younger child about the age of seven or eight. I also see her as small for her age, by which I mean undernourished. Speaking of his children to the Kinsellas, their father Dan says, “It’s the feeding them that’s the trouble”, and I notice the child takes careful note of what the Kinsellas eat at mealtimes and what groceries Edna buys on the trip to Gorey, as if she’s now enjoying a much improved diet to what she has at home. Short and wiry, with knobby knees, scraped elbows and bruised shins, unkempt hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks is how I visualize her. To me, the idea of her being a younger child fits in well with the way in which she readily submits to having Edna bathe her; I think an older child would baulk at that. She’s also small enough to sit on John’s lap at the wake, and during the nighttime scene at the shore of the Irish Sea, John readily hoists her up onto his shoulder to carry her, a much easier task with a younger, smaller child. The reference to Edna asking for “Aunt Acid” at the chemist during the shopping trip to Gorey also suggests a younger and less knowledgeable little girl. It's a minor point, but I’m inclined to think Claire Keegan was mistaken when she has her child narrator refer to “red spiky dahlias” on p. 18. Dahlias really aren’t spiky looking plants; however, gladiolus flowers certainly are. The name gladiolus has its root in the Latin word “gladius”, referring to a type of ancient Roman sword, and I’ve read that gladiolus plants are sometimes referred to as “sword lilies”. So dahlias would seem to be out and gladioli in, unless we’re to take this as another misunderstanding on the part of the child. On the question of whether Keegan’s little heroine is the victim of physical-including sexual-abuse as well as neglect, I’m inclined to think not. I admit my Spidey sense was activated when I came to passages such as the one on p. 15 where the little girl sees the Kinsellas’ bedroom and says, “I’m glad, for some reason, that they sleep together.” Or when she asks Edna if going to the well is “a secret”, and, for a moment, Edna reacts as if she knows exactly what kinds of ugly secrets little girls might be asked to keep by certain adults. There is also the moment on p. 43 when John speaks sharply to the little girl about her father not bothering to teach her to wash her face and hands before going into town: “I freeze in my chair, waiting for something much worse to happen, but Kinsella does nothing more …” This sounds like the reaction of a child who is used to being the target of occasional cuffs and swats from her parents. As for the child’s bedwetting problem, this could also be the result of physical/sexual abuse. Nevertheless, there is more evidence against the idea of the little girl being the victim of regular physical abuse, including sexual abuse. Her bedwetting, for example, seems more likely the result of the stress and insecurity she feels at home because of the arguing between her parents. After she and her father have lunch with the Kinsellas on the day of her arrival, the child assesses her new surroundings in favourable terms: “Here there is room, and time to think. There may even be money to spare.” She doesn’t say anything about being granted a reprieve from abuse from her father, which you think she might say if it were happening. Shortly afterwards, Edna gives the little girl a bath and apparently finds no suspicious bruises or injuries on her body. There’s also the fact that Dan seems content to have his daughter stay with the Kinsellas “as long as they like.” If Dan were really sexually abusing his little girl, wouldn’t he want her at home, especially now that school is out and she’d be more available to him over the summer? And wouldn’t he worry that his daughter would disclose her abuse to John and Edna once she felt safe and settled in with them so far from the dangers of home? For the purposes of the plotline, it’s sufficient for the child to be neglected and deprived of love and attention by her parents; there is no need for her to be a victim of physical/sexual abuse as well. If she were in such a dire situation, it would leave us feeling horrified at the ending of the story, as it would mean the kind and gentle Kinsellas unwittingly returning their beloved summertime daughter to the clutches of her predatory father. But that’s not the emotional reaction we have to the final scene. Rather than leaving us feeling shocked and aghast, the story’s conclusion leaves us with mingled feelings of joy and sadness: joy, that John, Edna, and their little girl have finally and openly acknowledged their love and what they mean to each other; and sadness, because the family of three that they grew into over the summer is now to be broken up, at least for the time being. And ultimately, the ending is hopeful, if only because the child narrator has “learned enough, grown enough” to be able to survive and even flourish in her dismal family home, thanks to the shared love between her, John, and Edna and the memories of their summer together. So I don’t think that the trauma of physical/sexual abuse is a burden that our little heroine will have to carry into her future.
Thank you so much for this really thoughtful response! There are so many excellent really astute observations here. I probably mentioned in these lectures that I have a terrible memory haha. That means that I can't really dig in too deeply at this point without going back and rereading/listening. But I DO remember the feeling of being unsure about her age. Another listener brought this up as well. She seemed satisfied (the other reader) after hearing my rationale about impending menarche, but I also remember being ambivalent about the age question. One of the best lessons I learned in graduate school had to do with stepping back when there is an ambiguity that makes you start drawing elaborate family trees (100 Years of Solitude...?). I think there is likely a rather clear answer here, and you bring up such good points (riding on the shoulders, sitting on the lap etc.). But maybe part of this is to think of the little girl as also being forced toward early maturation given her situation? Or maybe she's able to be infantilized here (the bathing etc) because she is no longer in the older sister role etc. The fact that we are so interested is such a compliment to Keegan. She's soooo good! I also agreed with your thoughts about the abuse. I think the novella is all the more COMPELLING for its subtlety. The difficulties this child faces--hunger, mild neglect, a somewhat scattered father--are so universal and interesting. I love this kind of subtlety. I am in the process right now of removing the 1st lecture and posting the one with audio. SO sorry about that. Thank you so much for listening. And for writing! Kimberly
It has been brought to my attention that I was in error in making my earlier comment about Claire Keegan's use of the description "red spiky dahlias", for while dahlia plants themselves may not be spiky, certain types of dahlia blooms definitely are, and I'm now certain that's what the author was referring to. Sorry for the mistake.
Oh my gosh no need to apologize. I have lots of dahlias in my life and know both the spiky and non-spiky varieties. I'm just glad you are reading so closely and are really engaging!! @@user-bn9kr6nz5h
I agree! I just finished this book today and in the end, I concluded that she was not beaten or sexually abused at home. I thought the point was that she was emotionally neglected and lacked stability and parental support. Beautify story. I cried at the end.
I really enjoyed your lecture on Claire Keegan’s “Foster”. I first read the book back in early spring of this year when I learned that the film version, “An Cailín Ciúin” - “The Quiet Girl” - was about to be released in North America. Listening to this presentation, I realized I didn’t know the story as well as I thought I did, and I’m glad to have the chance to air my own comments concerning your lecture.
With regard to the little girl’s age, I think of her as a younger child about the age of seven or eight. I also see her as small for her age, by which I mean undernourished. Speaking of his children to the Kinsellas, their father Dan says, “It’s the feeding them that’s the trouble”, and I notice the child takes careful note of what the Kinsellas eat at mealtimes and what groceries Edna buys on the trip to Gorey, as if she’s now enjoying a much improved diet to what she has at home. Short and wiry, with knobby knees, scraped elbows and bruised shins, unkempt hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks is how I visualize her. To me, the idea of her being a younger child fits in well with the way in which she readily submits to having Edna bathe her; I think an older child would baulk at that. She’s also small enough to sit on John’s lap at the wake, and during the nighttime scene at the shore of the Irish Sea, John readily hoists her up onto his shoulder to carry her, a much easier task with a younger, smaller child. The reference to Edna asking for “Aunt Acid” at the chemist during the shopping trip to Gorey also suggests a younger and less knowledgeable little girl.
It's a minor point, but I’m inclined to think Claire Keegan was mistaken when she has her child narrator refer to “red spiky dahlias” on p. 18. Dahlias really aren’t spiky looking plants; however, gladiolus flowers certainly are. The name gladiolus has its root in the Latin word “gladius”, referring to a type of ancient Roman sword, and I’ve read that gladiolus plants are sometimes referred to as “sword lilies”. So dahlias would seem to be out and gladioli in, unless we’re to take this as another misunderstanding on the part of the child.
On the question of whether Keegan’s little heroine is the victim of physical-including sexual-abuse as well as neglect, I’m inclined to think not. I admit my Spidey sense was activated when I came to passages such as the one on p. 15 where the little girl sees the Kinsellas’ bedroom and says, “I’m glad, for some reason, that they sleep together.” Or when she asks Edna if going to the well is “a secret”, and, for a moment, Edna reacts as if she knows exactly what kinds of ugly secrets little girls might be asked to keep by certain adults. There is also the moment on p. 43 when John speaks sharply to the little girl about her father not bothering to teach her to wash her face and hands before going into town: “I freeze in my chair, waiting for something much worse to happen, but Kinsella does nothing more …” This sounds like the reaction of a child who is used to being the target of occasional cuffs and swats from her parents. As for the child’s bedwetting problem, this could also be the result of physical/sexual abuse.
Nevertheless, there is more evidence against the idea of the little girl being the victim of regular physical abuse, including sexual abuse. Her bedwetting, for example, seems more likely the result of the stress and insecurity she feels at home because of the arguing between her parents. After she and her father have lunch with the Kinsellas on the day of her arrival, the child assesses her new surroundings in favourable terms: “Here there is room, and time to think. There may even be money to spare.” She doesn’t say anything about being granted a reprieve from abuse from her father, which you think she might say if it were happening. Shortly afterwards, Edna gives the little girl a bath and apparently finds no suspicious bruises or injuries on her body. There’s also the fact that Dan seems content to have his daughter stay with the Kinsellas “as long as they like.” If Dan were really sexually abusing his little girl, wouldn’t he want her at home, especially now that school is out and she’d be more available to him over the summer? And wouldn’t he worry that his daughter would disclose her abuse to John and Edna once she felt safe and settled in with them so far from the dangers of home?
For the purposes of the plotline, it’s sufficient for the child to be neglected and deprived of love and attention by her parents; there is no need for her to be a victim of physical/sexual abuse as well. If she were in such a dire situation, it would leave us feeling horrified at the ending of the story, as it would mean the kind and gentle Kinsellas unwittingly returning their beloved summertime daughter to the clutches of her predatory father.
But that’s not the emotional reaction we have to the final scene. Rather than leaving us feeling shocked and aghast, the story’s conclusion leaves us with mingled feelings of joy and sadness: joy, that John, Edna, and their little girl have finally and openly acknowledged their love and what they mean to each other; and sadness, because the family of three that they grew into over the summer is now to be broken up, at least for the time being. And ultimately, the ending is hopeful, if only because the child narrator has “learned enough, grown enough” to be able to survive and even flourish in her dismal family home, thanks to the shared love between her, John, and Edna and the memories of their summer together. So I don’t think that the trauma of physical/sexual abuse is a burden that our little heroine will have to carry into her future.
Thank you so much for this really thoughtful response! There are so many excellent really astute observations here. I probably mentioned in these lectures that I have a terrible memory haha. That means that I can't really dig in too deeply at this point without going back and rereading/listening. But I DO remember the feeling of being unsure about her age. Another listener brought this up as well. She seemed satisfied (the other reader) after hearing my rationale about impending menarche, but I also remember being ambivalent about the age question. One of the best lessons I learned in graduate school had to do with stepping back when there is an ambiguity that makes you start drawing elaborate family trees (100 Years of Solitude...?). I think there is likely a rather clear answer here, and you bring up such good points (riding on the shoulders, sitting on the lap etc.). But maybe part of this is to think of the little girl as also being forced toward early maturation given her situation? Or maybe she's able to be infantilized here (the bathing etc) because she is no longer in the older sister role etc. The fact that we are so interested is such a compliment to Keegan. She's soooo good!
I also agreed with your thoughts about the abuse. I think the novella is all the more COMPELLING for its subtlety. The difficulties this child faces--hunger, mild neglect, a somewhat scattered father--are so universal and interesting. I love this kind of subtlety.
I am in the process right now of removing the 1st lecture and posting the one with audio. SO sorry about that.
Thank you so much for listening. And for writing!
Kimberly
Thanks, Kimberly, for taking the time to read and reply to my reply. @@thefoxedpage
It has been brought to my attention that I was in error in making my earlier comment about Claire Keegan's use of the description "red spiky dahlias", for while dahlia plants themselves may not be spiky, certain types of dahlia blooms definitely are, and I'm now certain that's what the author was referring to. Sorry for the mistake.
Oh my gosh no need to apologize. I have lots of dahlias in my life and know both the spiky and non-spiky varieties. I'm just glad you are reading so closely and are really engaging!!
@@user-bn9kr6nz5h
I agree! I just finished this book today and in the end, I concluded that she was not beaten or sexually abused at home. I thought the point was that she was emotionally neglected and lacked stability and parental support. Beautify story. I cried at the end.