2015

 

The Bloody Stars, That Web’s Dark Pattern:

A Comparative Analysis of Frank O’Connor’s “Guests of the Nation” and Anne Devlin’s “Naming the Names”

Frank O’Connor’s “Guests of the Nation” and Anne Devlin’s “Naming the Names” are two portraits of civil violence at different periods in 20^th century Ireland. O’Connor’s story, from his first collection titled under the same name (published in 1931) takes place during the Irish War of Independence. Devlin’s work, also from her first collection of stories The Way-Paver (published in 1981), takes place a half century later during The Troubles in Northern Ireland. Both stories strongly denounce violence, and attempt to show how it can be perpetuated in a vicious cycle which divides people who have far more in common than they have separating them, preventing opportunities across generations for peace and unity that would otherwise naturally exist.

The following essay will focus on an analysis of O’Connor and Devlin’s characterization of their protagonists in order to demonstrate their shared argument that violence (particularly violence of an intrasocietal and retaliatory nature), harms those enabling and enacting such violence in addition to those victimized by it, and contributes tragically to its bloody recurrence. After an analysis of how characterization and other literary devices are used in each story to reveal this central theme, and what other themes evolve around it, a final section will examine the similarities and differences between O’Connor’s and Devlin’s approach. The portrayal of secondary characters and the examination of other devices employed (including allusion, symbolism, imagery, setting, and narrative point of view) will also be discussed in an attempt to support this claim.

Bonaparte’s monicker (a nickname given to him by his peers) might indicate his patriotism in its allusion to Napoleon Bonaparte (Ingman, 147). He and his lads’ aversion to learning, “at that time […]foreign dances on principle,” certainly does. (O’Connor, 343) Bonaparte’s relative naivety and ignorance are also highlighted at this early point in the story when Hawkins, one of the English prisoners he is ostensibly guarding, “showed that he knew the country better than we did,” in his forwarding a local girl’s question to Bonaparte about the location of a pair of borrowed socks. (342) The comment Bonaparte refers to here is, on its surface, concerned with the more mundane aspects of the social sphere. The subtext is that Hawkins, despite being the purported enemy, is actually better informed and more aware than Bonaparte in general, and hence able to make Bonaparte and Noble, “look like fools[.]” (342) The point O’Connor is trying to make with all this is that the position Bonaparte finds himself in is due more to his, “being young [and his] natural feeling of responsibility[,]” than to any specific, well understood, or deeply held beliefs. (342) It is not until the conclusion of the story that Bonaparte has the prerequisite, and in his case traumatic and regrettable, experiences needed to form his own beliefs.

The imagery of warmth and light inside the cabin, and even the antagonist Jeremiah Donovan’s chiding of Hawkins’ card playing in the opening paragraph seems to suggest a group of men who have no interest in killing anything but time. They have differences in terms of their abilities, experiences, and beliefs, but are ultimately more alike than they are different. Belcher is quiet and helpful, making the old woman who lives in the cabin they are hiding out in, “his friend for life.”(343) He could, if he wanted to, fleece them all in their cards games. His not doing so underscores his kindness. Belcher’s doom is also foreshadowed symbolically by multiple mentions of him shifting his long legs out of the ashes, a phrase the recollects the expression “having your feet held to the fire”.

Hawkins is loud and brash, and likes to argue with anybody who will listen. His losses at the card games are due to his talking too much, as are Bonaparte’s and Noble’s, but in the end the wins and losses balance out, which also symbolically underlines the commonalities between all four men, as well as reflecting the pointlessness of the retaliatory violence that eventually occurs. The arguments about religion Hawkins engages in with Noble, whose characterization as a believer is made clear when it is mentioned that his brother is a priest, are intense, but they are not so extreme that they provoke any feelings of violence in any of their participants.

The old woman is a figure of mythical wisdom, displayed in her familiarity with the allusion to the pagan deity Jupiter Pluvius which she uses to avoid confrontation with the irritatingly argumentative Hawkins. (344) Both his and Bonaparte’s ignorance of this reference shows that none of the men who are all guests in her home are particularly aware of the impending tragedy about to befall them all, let alone passionate supporters of its necessity. Jupiter Pluvius’ association with the rain also symbolically reflects the sad state of the situation they are all entangled in. Notably, the old woman also attempts to persuade Donovan to leave Belcher and Hawkins where they are when he and Bonaparte come to collect them for their executions. O’Connor here may be pointing to the growing frustration and dissatisfaction with intrasocietal sectarian violence in Irish society in general, and their unwillingness to continue supporting it.(Ingman, 147)

So Bonaparte does have a sense of duty, however uninformed he is early on about its particulars. Due to his lack of experience he does not yet have a solid grasp of exactly what this might entail. He is not naturally prone to violence. The possibility of having to shoot Belcher and Hawkins shocks him, and stands in stark contrast to the atmosphere O’Connor presents in the first section of the story. The possibility of violence only becomes apparent to Bonaparte when he notices a change in Donovan’s attitude towards their prisoners. This, “came as a surprise to me as I had noticed nothing of it before.”(O’Connor, 344) Not knowing when Noble and Hawkins’ tedious debate about religion will be over (and bored with cottage life-rather than angry), Bonaparte follows Donovan out into the cold.

They, “strolled down to the village together,” and the tone of narration here suggests that at this point Bonaparte is still in fairly good spirits, though that is about to change.(345) Donovan is flustered and embarrassed when Bonaparte inquires why they are holding the men at all, and eventually reveals the reality of the situation. The English prisoners he is supposed to be guarding are indeed hostages, and not the “guests” he perceives them to be, whom he and Noble have, “given up all pretext of keeping an eye on[.]” (343) The shift in setting here, particularly the mention of the village, echoes Bonaparte’s earlier pejorative description of their commander when he and Noble mock Donovan’s rural accent and dress. This also underlines that there is as much dividing Bonaparte and Noble from Donovan as there is from their English prisoners.

Bonaparte’s naivety and ignorance are further revealed when he’s finally told the grim news. The unsympathetic reply, “You might have known that much[,]” also gives the reader more insight into the callous aspects of Jeremiah Donovan’s character, whose name is an obvious allusion to the Feenian leader Jeremiah O’Donovan Rossa. (343) The analogy O’Connor employs of having to put down an old dog says a lot about Donovan’s nature, and how the willingness to kill for a somewhat abstract ideal such as duty can perpetuate the cycle of violence. Donovan may not be in any danger of getting too fond of anyone, but Bonaparte is, and indeed has already done so. He remarks as Belcher and Hawkins are being marched into the bog to meet their fate, “I never found that people who talk a lot about duty found it much of a trouble to them.”(348)

The nature of duty is another important theme in the story and ties in closely with the idea that the kind of tit-for-tat violence that occurs is not only futile, but all the more tragic when its justification hinges on something so vague. As Belcher says quite succinctly shortly before his death, “I never could make out what duty was myself.”(352) Bonaparte is torn between the duty he feels to his cause and the natural bond he has formed with, “those two soldier friends of yours[,]” to use Donovan’s sarcastic words. (347)

Bonaparte’s distaste for violence is painfully clear when he wishes that the soldiers would try to run, knowing that he would not shoot them if they did. He is not convincing when he tries to impart the seriousness of the situation to Hawkins, who says, “you don’t sound as if you mean it.”(348) This is because Bonaparte does not mean it, and is sickened into silence when Hawkins points this out. Despite being deeply conflicted about and disturbed by it, Bonaparte does play a role (though an attendant rather than principal one) in the deaths of the men he believes, “would have taken root like a native weed.”(342) The roots they end up taking are not what Bonaparte had in mind. He has made the wrong decision by adhering strictly to Donovan’s version of duty. Again the theme of violence being harmful to its victims and perpetrators alike, viciously perpetuating itself, can be seen in this.

The role of religion also ties in to the theme of the cyclical nature of violence, how it can further divisions between people, justify violence, and potentially offer comfort to those affected by it as well. When Donovan asks Hawkins before he shoots him if he wants to say any prayers, it only adds insult to the impending injury. Donovan claims he, “never said I had anything against you[,]” as Hawkins is pleading for his life, but is obliged to kill him in retaliation for the executions of, “four of your prisoners […] in cold blood[.]”(348) This strongly emphasizes the theme of violence begetting more violence, against the interests of all involved. A different perspective about the role of religion in perpetuating violence can be seen when Bonaparte remarks while they are escorting the prisoners to their deaths that he, “had the feeling it was worse on Noble than it was on me.”(349) Because of his religious beliefs, unlike Donovan who feels somewhat justified by his, Noble is more averse to violence. He and the old woman also take solace in prayer after the executions have taken place, but when Bonaparte notices Donovan about to fire on Hawkins he, “shut my eyes and tried to pray.”(350) He tries to pray, implying that he cannot do so, more evidence for O’Connor’s message that violence causes reverberating harm beyond the direct harm caused to victims.

Belcher is uncharacteristically philosophical in the moments before his death, and when Donovan asks him as well if he’d like to say a prayer, he answers, “No, chum,[…]I don’t think it would help.” (351) In the repeated use of the British idiom “chums” throughout the work (by Englishmen and Irishmen alike), O’Connor subtly reinforces the point that any cultural, religious, or political divisions that exist among them would be easy to overcome if not for the sorrowful and unnecessary killing. Donovan resorts to religion and duty in order to justify his violent action, but Belcher is past these concerns. The image of justice symbolically recalled by his blindfold (that has only been possible to tie with the help of his supposed enemy) is clearly meant to denounce violence. It further points out, somewhat ironically, that the bond that these men have formed being destroyed by it is not only unnecessary but also scarring to those carrying it out and only increasing the chances for such violence to continue.

The imagery and symbols in the closing paragraph of the story, “Noble and the old woman mumbling behind me, and the birds, and the bloody stars[,]” all strongly condemn the violence that has taken place.(353) The birds unnatural shrieking in the bog underline the perversity of the violence that has taken place. The stars description as bloody accomplish much the same effect. In reversing the associations with symbols that are typically employed to connote positivity and optimism, O’Connor highlights the backwardness of the unfolding violence. Bonaparte’s comparison with a child lost in the snow evokes the feeling that any insight granted from his experiences leave him more cold and distant than he was as, “anything that happened to me afterwards, I never felt the same about again”(353)

Devlin offers more information about Finnula’s intelligence, education, and formative experiences than O’Connor does about Bonaparte’s, though the comparatively complex narrative structure in “Naming the Names” does not reveal much of this information until fairly deep into the plot. At the start of the story, set around 1980, Finn is described as, “the Irish specialist[,]” and her familiarity with, “every book in the section[,]” testifies to her interest in the subject. (Devlin, 94) She is able to offer insight in her conversations with the judge’s son, and impresses him with her knowledge of politics and history, most of which is self-taught. He remarks that, “he’d never heard of Parnell until he went to Oxford[,]” and, at least to Finn’s ear, mispronounces his name. (95) In her long recounting of her story during her interview in the police station, she also mentions that when she first meets Jack McHenry she, “had six O-levels and nothing else[,]” and after meeting him, “never went back to school again.” (108) Devlin uses all of this to help show that despite Finn’s intelligence, the outbreak of violence and her eventual involvement in it derail what could have been promising opportunities for her future, romantically and otherwise. This highlights the theme of violence being harmful not only to its victims but also to those who partake in it.

Finn is not a violent person herself. When she first becomes active politically she is a peaceful demonstrator. While not explicitly stated in the story, she is probably a member of the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association, protesting police violence and other civil rights infringements on the Catholic minority in Belfast to which she belongs. When a Protestant car dealership is burned down she, “actually tried to stop it happening.”(106) This is one of many references in the story to actual historical events during the West Belfast riots, which along with rioting in Derry in the preceding days marked the start of The Troubles. Even after Finn joins the IRA, her role is at first an entirely non-violent one, handing off money to wives of members who have been interned. When she says, “What organization? There were half a dozen guns and a lot of old men who couldn’t even deliver the United Irishmen on time[,]” it might be read as a denunciation of an initially peaceful (or indeed, largely non-existent) movement being hijacked by violent forces, and the spiraling bloodshed caused by this.(106)

Despite her aversion to violence, Finn is none the less ensnared by it. In part this is due to circumstances over which she has no control. Her father having married a Protestant woman and her grandmother’s consequent disowning of him creates a division in her family which never heals. The childhood friend being shot in the back by police, whom she remembers fondly for his helping her cross the road in her youth, adds to her eventual willingness to lure the man to his death. “Let’s just say it was historical[,]” is her unvoiced answer when Jack McHenry asks what could have motivated such a reversal of her character.(112) In all of this the theme of the cyclical nature of violence trickling down through generations and condemning them to repeatedly perpetuate it can be clearly seen.

Finn’s relationship with both Jack McHenry and the Judge’s son contain important moments in her life that contribute to the development of her character. Both of them being Englishmen highlights opportunities for unification lost due to violence, and demonstrate that Finn herself does not harbour any ill-will toward people based on their nationality. Neither Jack nor the judge’s son are motivated by politics or ideology. Jack is a newsman more concerned with reporting on the conflict than weighing in on either side of it. Finn’s description of him being, “a very good journalist[,]” highlights his objectivity. Despite this, the fact that, “somehow I never talked to him about anything important[,]” exposes the damage that her embroilment in these events have caused her, yet another chance at peaceful expression missed, eventually replaced by her misguided actions. (99) The dream she has of her grandmother symbolically pulling at her hand further suggests her inability to escape the circumstances her history have damned her to repeat. When Jack misinterprets Finn’s nightmarish cry to let her go as intended for him, he breaks his promise moments before to never do so, “Whatever happens.”(111) Again this elaborates on the theme of violent cycles complicating and disrupting even well established connections between people.

The judge’s son interests in the events depicted in the story are likewise non-ideological. This is most obvious when he shares part of his graduate thesis that, “the Protestant opposition to Gladstone and Home Rule was a rational one.”(95) These allusions contrast with Finn’s motivations, which are due more to the emotional scars her experiences have inflicted on her than the somewhat aloof academic perspective his ivory tower views represent. Finn does love him (just as she loves Jack), evidenced most strongly in the moments leading up to their final interaction in the park before she walks away leaving him to be ambushed. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you[,]” she tells him, even though she has just finished consoling herself with the fact that she has not up until now shared this with him. Her self-directed question, “Was it something to be glad about?” indicates her significant self-doubt. (101) When she weeps over the loss of her, “last link with life[,]” the senseless though complex nature of violence, and the harm it causes to both victims and perpetrators is poignant.(102)

Other secondary characters also play an important role in elucidating several of the themes in “Naming the Names”. The dossers which loaf around Finn’s workplace seem more interested in gossip, in romantic affairs, in drinking, in gambling, and other attributes that, while not painting them in a particularly favourable (though arguably completely realistic) light, neither suggest a populace that is keen on the necessity of the violence that is occurring around them. Tom and Harry, whose names might be intended to invoke an association with the expression “Tom, Dick, and Harry” in order to suggest that they represent the “everyman” in the story, are primarily concerned with the affections of Isabella.

Chrissie, Finn’s colleague closest to her station is more concerned with her suntan than violent struggle. This character’s charge of the romance and murder mysteries section of the bookstore further clarifies the assertion about the actual interests of the majority of the people in her circle, especially compared to the relative lack of interest in Finn’s section. Sharleen McCabe’s relationship with her own grandmother has a parallel with that of Finn and hers. Sharleen mentions that her grannie, “only likes murders.”(94) Because Sharleen is also responsible for reading to her grandmother, and thus subject to her tastes, the idea of one generations interests and beliefs carrying down to succeeding ones is presented again.

The narrative point of view in the story offers additional insight into aspects of Finn’s difficulties and the themes which follow from them. Her inability to express her true feelings to those around her is a consequence of her eventual entanglement with violence, and also calls in to question the reliability of her voice. Just before she leads the judge’s son to his demise she mistakenly attributes the knot in her stomach to not having eating all day. More likely, she is nervous because a large part of her realizes the action she is taking is wrong. At multiple points her real opinions are stifled, partly by her fears of being discovered as an IRA agent, but also due to the trauma and loss she has endured. She doesn’t share her concerns and beliefs with her workmates or her romantic partners. She is constantly, “contained, very contained[,]” but doesn’t realize that this is a negative attribute.(101) Occasionally, authentic sentiment does leak out. Her passionate and understandable anger is portrayed in the episode she mentions about throwing milk and breaking dishes during her relationship with Jack. Her frustration and resignation with the state of affairs can be seen during Mrs. O’Hare’s gossip session with Chrissie when she pipes up briefly, “Yes, but it’s inevitable.”(98) Perhaps if she had been able to talk through her issues before they led to an innocent person’s death, she would have been able to free herself from the intricate web in which she finds herself ensnared. Unfortunately, as she realizes herself, “When things are not going well my emotions start playing truant.”(98) This is both caused by the ongoing violence she has witnessed and participated in, as well as a contributing factor that allows for it to continue.

Primarily what these two short stories have in common is the idea that violence can too easily lead to more violence, often trickling down over a period spanning many generations, and that the harm caused by this is not limited to the victims. They contain several other potentially interesting points of comparison that are beyond the scope of this essay. Historical specifics of the separate but related conflicts involved, their roles in the evolution of the modern Irish short-story, different gender perspectives, among many others could be included among them.

Both stories are influenced heavily by their authors’ real lives. There is a similarity in the last line of O’Connor’s story with an event in his own life. About an execution he witnessed while interred in Gormanstown during the civil war he said, “Certainly that night changed something forever in me.”(Ingman, 148) About her own hesitations in writing about the troubles, Devlin has said she was, “continually torn between writing about the ‘Troubles’ and wishing to ignore them; resenting the grip of history and bowing to its inevitability.” (Bourke, 1230)

Both O’Connor and Devlin make use of first person narration, though in “Guests of the Nation” the narrative is totally linear and relatively simple. In contrast, the narrative in “Naming the Names” is non-linear, and intentionally convoluted. Both of these approaches work well for their author’s intended purposes. Bonaparte’s narration reflects the more transparent elements of his character; he is basically a blank slate, the influence of the events in the story on his reality all the stronger for this. The much more complex nature of Finn’s narration, jumping forwards and backwards in time, between memories, dreams, and reality, as well as the occasional brief but dramatic shifts in tone, all underscore the perplexing labyrinth this character is forced to negotiate.

Both stories make repeated use of established symbols, symbolic imagery, setting, and several cultural, historical, and political allusions. The use of light/dark and warm/cold imagery in O’Connor’s story is abundant. The Irish dances he alludes to all relate to specific historical instances of battle. The names of antagonist Jeremiah Donovan and his shadowy master Feeney add background and context in their reference to an actual person and movement. In contrast, the degree to which Devlin employs these devices is more varied and intricate. The litany of Belfast streets that Finn repeats reference some of the settings where violence actually unfolded in order to amplify the complexity of the subject, as well as carefully tying the story’s themes to its title. The dust on the religious artifacts in her grandmother’s apartment, and the spider webs remarked on both there and later in Finn’s jail cell, are potent symbols which demonstrate again the interweaving of the themes already mentioned. The many literary, cinematic, and political allusions employed accomplish a similar feat.

Though the stories share a centrality of themes, their writers’ approaches to them differ significantly. O’Connor focuses on the subjects of friendship and duty, and their relationship to violence. Devlin narrows in on the subjects of romantic love and family in their relationship to the same. Through the characterization of their respective protagonists both authors expound the idea that violence, especially committed in retaliation, only propagates the cycle of harm among people on all sides of it. To quote two famous champions of non-violence contemporaneous to Bonaparte and Finnula respectively, “an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.” (5.) Violence is, “a descending spiral ending in destruction for all.” (6.)

Works Cited

1. Bourke, Angela. The Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing, Volume 5. New York: NYU Press, 2002.
2. Devlin, Anne. “Naming the Names” in Territories of the Voice. Eds. Louise de Salvo, Kathleen Walsh D’Arcy and Katherine Hogan. Boston: Beacon Press, 1989.
3. Ingman, Heather. A History of the Modern Irish Short Story. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009.
4. O’Connor, Frank. Guests of the Nation. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991.
5. Quote Investigator. “An Eye for an Eye Makes the World Blind” Web. 02 December 2015. <http://quoteinvestigator.com/2010/12/27/eye-for-eye-blind/&gt;
6. Nobleprize.org. “Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.: Nobel Lecture, December 11, 1964”. Les Pris Nobel 1964. Web. 02 December 2015. <http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1964/king-lecture.html&gt;