Nora Webster

“I hope to never hear another Rosary.”

To many people in the religious community, prayers such as the Rosary are a comfort, but to Nora, who has experienced death firsthand, these prayers are a reminder of her grief. Because she cannot take comfort from words that remind her of the pain and loss that she has suffered, this ritual becomes, in her eyes, just another unwelcome social convention.

“Did you think they would come home unchanged?”

When Josie poses this abrupt question to Nora about her children, the protagonist realizes that she has become so preoccupied by her grief that she has failed to recognize the similar depths of her children’s pain. Her oversight stems from her faulty reasoning that because her children were not present for Maurice’s decline, they cannot possibly be experiencing her level of devastation. Josie points out the absurdity of Nora’s reasoning and reminds her that she was not there when her children needed her, so she should not be surprised that their demeanor around her has changed.

“Returning to work in that office belonged to a memory of being caged.”

The stark, hopeless tone of this statement captures Nora’s struggles with the burden of other people’s pity. The job offer from the Gibney family is one of the town’s most pronounced expressions of pity and sympathy for Nora, as the Gibneys are offering her an essential remedy to her money problems. They cannot know that Nora loathed her old job and that the offer is a subtle reminder of the imprisonment that will shape the rest of her life. In this way, Nora is caged by social expectations as well as grief, and she is frustrated by her inability to escape the constant reminders that she has no agency over her fate.

“Somewhere beyond Tullow, she knew, there was a house where her own mother had been a servant, and where the man of the house, or his brother, or his son, had come too close to her every day and sometimes at night.”

Nora resents the way in which everyone in the community knows so many details about everyone around them. In times of distress, she feels as though there is no privacy. However, her musings on the injustices of her mother’s place of employment indicate that the darkest secrets of the past are so deeply buried that even close family members do not know the full truth. As she drives, Nora passes through a landscape that is littered with hidden traumas, including many that she will never know.

“This made Nora decide to be all the friendlier and more animated with Mark. As she did this, she could see how irritated Catherine was.”

Nora resents her community’s constant demand for manners and empty pleasantries, yet she ironically knows enough about this system of etiquette that she can weaponize her manners against those closest to her. In this situation, for example, her sister knows that Nora’s friendly chatter is not sincere, but Nora’s outwardly friendly tone prevents Catherine from accusing her sister of being rude. In this way, Nora occasionally turns her grievances against the world, using its own conventions to express her resentment obliquely.

“Sure how would you say ‘Gaslight’ in Irish?”

Originally released in 1944, Gaslight is a classic film that depicts psychological abuse in a domestic setting. Although the film is set in America, the subjects that it addresses are evident in many cultures. In this passage, Conor unknowingly broaches the question of how trauma can cross cultural divides. His query is particularly ironic given the rarity of the Irish language at this time and place due to centuries of colonial cultural erasure.

“Soon, she had names for all of them, names she shared only with Donal and Conor. She swore them to secrecy.”

At work, Nora develops her own social map for the world, and this process helps her to understand those around her. her approach operates on a subjective level, but also on a private one. She therefore swears her children to secrecy, demanding from them a level of trust that she does not receive from the rest of society, where everyone knows every detail of everyone else’s lives. In this fashion, Nora binds herself closer to her children by inviting them into her secret social world.

“And Una was in good form?”

Nora may resent the pleasantries of social interaction, but she is not ignorant of the unspoken rules that she and others must follow. She is offended by her sister’s secrecy about the relationship with Seamus, but in this scene, she masks her true resentment with a veneer of interested engagement. On the surface, her questions seem sincere, but a subtler irony exists in the fact that Nora’s gentle probing questions into her sister’s life mirror the same kinds of questions that she resents being directed at her.

“Being with Donal sometimes made her afraid, but being with Conor could make her even more afraid, afraid for his innocence, his sweet loyalty, his open need to be taken care of.”

The bald repetition of the word “afraid” in this passage emphasizes Nora’s acute anxiety over the precarious position that she and her children now hold in the world. Whenever Nora is left alone, these anxieties begin to pour out of her, and the list form in the prose reflects her tendency to engage in spirals of fear as she finds new concerns about Conor’s disposition.

“‘Mr. Webster,’ the man continued, ‘used to make us cross out the word “London” in Londonderry on every atlas.’”

Part of life as a widow, Nora discovers, is to occasionally be offered memories of her dead husband. To her, Maurice was the love of her life, but to other people, he was the affectionate teacher whose nationalist pride compelled him to alter the name of Derry in the British-made atlases. These small gestures of rebellion mean a great deal to other people, and their reminiscences reinforce Maurice’s legacy to the world beyond Nora’s household.

“Don’t tell me about how the Lord works! Don’t tell me that again!”

Nora rejects the notion of religion as a comfort in difficult times. Throughout her life, she has experienced extensive examples of death and grief, and on these occasions, the empty religious platitudes offered by those around her have proved worthless. Now, Nora refuses to accept these platitudes at all, and her forceful rejection stands as a sign that she now demands more from her life than platitudes.

“She wished now that she felt like saying something helpful, but she could not think what it might be.”

Notably, Nora does not wish that she would say something helpful. Instead, she wishes that she felt like saying something helpful. The wording of this passage indicates that she is still one step removed from what she wants, for she is urging herself to feel the need to say something even more than actually just saying something. This subtle removal from the important verb in the sentence reflects Nora’s acute alienation from those around her.

“Your mother was the same.”

Upon hearing this bald statement that Nora shares her mother’s preference to keep others from knowing her business, Nora is ironically forced to realize that she is not as much of an outsider as she pretends to be. In a small town, her resentment of others’ interest in her life feels like an act of rebellion, but in this moment, Nora’s realization that her mother shared her sentiments toward privacy actually serves as a point of connection with her mother across many years. Nora’s nonconformity is not a unique social failing, but a trait of her mother’s that Nora now understands more clearly.

“And everyone watching him. Like a big performance it was.”

Jim does not disagree with Haughey’s politics. Instead, his grievance with Haughey—a grievance that is echoed by other characters as well—is rooted in his belief that Haughey should not entertain self-important notions. Jim and the others who share his sentiments represent a form of small-town distrust that condemns anyone who has ideas above their station, whatever their station is determined to be. The biggest faux pas in such a community is to draw attention to one’s perceived self-importance. (This is exactly the sin that Nora feared she was committing when she first dyed her hair.)

“The union made little difference to anyone in the office.”

The weary resignation in this statement acts as a sharp contrast to the uproar that the union caused in the Gibney household and in the office. However, once the conflict passes, the matter is quietly forgotten, relegated to the status of a large commotion that was blown out of proportion. The incident becomes an important lesson for Nora, who has a tendency to hyper-focus on her own anxieties, only to realize that they are inconsequential.

“Somehow, the singing had steeled her nerve, calmed her and made her concentrate on the road.”

As an inebriated Phyllis drives home from the quiz, Nora manages the dangers of the situation by encouraging Phyllis to sing, easing the journey and ensuring that they both get home safely. While inconsequential in and of itself, the incident nonetheless foreshadows Nora’s own singing lessons, which will similarly help her to navigate the perils of grief and reach a safe resolution in her life.

“I don’t take photographs of people anymore.”

This statement captures Donal’s withdrawal from the world around him. His refusal to photograph people symbolizes his unwillingness to forge connections with others as he struggles to overcome his grief. Additionally, his fixation on photographing the historical events depicted on the television screen wordlessly expresses his detachment. He does not want the figures in his photographs to be in focus, just as he does not want to be scrutinized by others.

“It was a way of spending Tuesday afternoon, she thought sometimes, a way of doing something new, getting out of the house into a hidden world, soundproofed from what was really happening.”

By invoking the imagery of the “soundproofed” music room, the author indicates that Nora enjoys being isolated from the world around her. During the singing lessons, she is insulated from her community’s attention and scrutiny and can indulge in her passion for music without fear of judgment. However, because Nora fears that her interest reflects selfishness, she rationalizes her activity carefully rather than allowing herself to simply appreciate a well-earned moment of peace.

“And the cheek of that Mick Sinnott coming in here. It’s a pity someone doesn’t arrest him too.”

The high-handed, snotty tone of the wealthy Elizabeth’s statement indicates that she is far more invested in class-based interests than in matters of national solidarity. Rather than being concerned about the outbreak of violence in Derry, she expresses her disapproval of a lower-class man like Mick Sinnott voicing his opinion. She fails to see Mick as a fellow Irish citizen and instead denigrates him because he holds a lower social status.

“All of it seemed remote and alien, as far away from here as it was possible to be.”

In Spain, Nora is physically removed—for the first time—from the country and community that has imprisoned her in her grief. Even in Spain, she still feels trapped in the same room as her snoring aunt, and it is only when she gains the small room in the basement that is she able to sleep contentedly, finally separated from everything that reminds her of home.

“She had her hair done before, with some new coloring added, and wore the dress from Essie’s, with a new pair of shoes that she had bought in Mahady Breen’s.”

Earlier in the novel, almost an entire chapter is dedicated to Nora’s fear of the social repercussions that may come from getting her hair dyed. Now, the changes that once made her anxious have become second nature, mentioned in a single sentence rather than filling whole chapters and paragraphs with misplaced anxiety.

“I’ll show you how to d-develop p-pictures in Auntie Margaret’s d-darkroom.”

Nora had convinced herself that Donal will react badly to Conor’s developing interest in photography. While this pessimistic view may have been true in the months of strife that followed Maurice’s death, her children—like Nora herself—have begun to heal. Rather than arguing, the children agree to help one another, proving Nora’s fears to be misplaced.

“The other one. There is one other.”

This cryptic statement is uttered by the ethereal version of Maurice that Nora perceives as a ghost, and in this moment, he becomes a harbinger of her worst fear: the possibility of more deaths lying in wait for the family. However, as Nora gradually comes to accept this event as a dream rather than an apparition, it becomes clear that Maurice’s appearance is a manifestation of Nora’s anxieties.