3 Burst results for "Mister Brogan"

"mister brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

The New Yorker: Fiction

05:47 min | 4 months ago

"mister brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

"Yeah. Something about the rights between the men and the women in the story really interests me in the sense that I think the other girls, Doris ethna and crystal, are more tolerant of this male behavior, like they're more habituated to it than Mary is. She's not habituated to it. And they maybe will become even more habituated to it. This is sort of the world that they swim in. Misses Rogers, herself, seems to have sort of acquired a taste for the male behavior in the story. And in fact, is lovers with mister brogan. And so there is a kind of instance of actual tenderness between men and women, which I find interesting about the story also that misses Rogers, her position and that hotel and the way it's described does have a vague aura of the brothel in the madam about it. Of course, of course. And there's a reason she's inviting girls. That's not just so they can move the furniture. Decoration. And amusement on the part of the men, yeah. Yeah. So she does make some effort to sort of protect them at the end. Even though she won't sleep in the same room as that. Right, and actually that reminds me about an interesting reversal to the Cinderella structure is that the kind of less beautiful, less alluringly simple minded mountainy village girls, unlike the stepsisters and Cinderella, do become more the equals of or sympathetic to Mary near the end of the story. And at least ethna does, because they protect her. And that's an interesting turn, I think, that they're all in a predicament that's shared. An ethno is actually sympathetic to her earlier in the story too when she she likes the dress. And she doesn't want to admit it to Doris. Such a classically tortured dynamic where she can't be nice in front of her friend because the agreed upon collective version of things is that this girl is beneath them and someone that they have a bit of contempt for. Yeah. She was saying before at some point, the story close to the end becomes not so much Mary's story as everyone's story and the story of everyone's foiled yearnings. And we do go into at least long John salmon's mind as he's kind of thinking, why did I go to a party? I could be swimming and doing my illusions and we hear about how crystals never going to get married because it would mean not wearing her curlers and she loves them more and why do you think Anna O'Brien chose to sort of shift into the other characters a little more at the end? I'm not sure what her motivation is, but in terms of its effects as a story, I really feel like it's the great writer who would shift into everyone else's longings and motivations in that scene rather than stick with the sort of injustice of what Mary expects as opposed to what Mary finds..

Doris ethna mister brogan Rogers Mary John salmon Doris Anna O'Brien swimming
"mister brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

The New Yorker: Fiction

04:36 min | 4 months ago

"mister brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

"Of good that is, her mother, who had been expecting a gold bracelet or a brooch said, that wouldn't take you far. They hung it on a nail in the kitchen for a while, and then one day it fell down and some one probably her mother used it to sweep dust onto. Ever since it was used for that purpose, Mary had wanted to treasure it to put it away in a trunk forever, but she was ashamed to. They were hard people, and it was only when someone died that they could give in to sentiment or crying. Sweet Mary, he had said, he never wrote, two summers passed, devil's poker's flowered for two seasons, thistle seed blue white in the harsh mountain wind, and the trees and the forestry plantation were a foot higher. She had a feeling that he would come back sometime and annoying fear that he might not. Oh, it ain't gonna rain no more no more. It ain't gonna rain no more. How in hell can the old folks tell it ain't gonna rain no more? So sang brogan, whose party it was, in the upstairs room of the commercial hotel. I'm buttoning his Brown waistcoat, he sat back and said what it finds spread it was. They had carried the goose up on a platter and laid in the center of the mahogany table with potato stuffing swelling out of it. There were sausages also, and polished glasses standing rimmed downward and plates and forks for everyone. A fork supper was how misses Rogers described it. She had read about it in the paper, it was all the rage now and posh houses in Dublin, this fork separate where you stood up for your food and ate with a fork only. Mary had brought knives in case anyone got into difficulties. Tis America at home, Hickey said, putting turf on the smoking fire. The pub door was bolted down stairs, the shutters across is the 8 guests upstairs watched misses Rogers carve the goose, and then tear the loose pieces away with her fingers. Every so often she wiped her fingers on a tea towel. Here you are, Mary, give this to mister brogan as he's the guest of honor. Mister brogan got a lot of breast and some crispy skin as well. Don't forget the sausages, Mary, misses Rogers said..

Sweet Mary sang brogan Mary Rogers Brown Dublin Hickey mister brogan America Mister brogan
"mister brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

The New Yorker: Fiction

05:55 min | 4 months ago

"mister brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

"Door clicked, and in terror she ran up the alley by the side of the shop, afraid it might be someone who knew her father, and would say he had seen her going in through the public bar. She wheeled her bicycle into a shed and approached the back door. It was open, but being a mountainy girl, she did not enter without knocking. Two town girls rushed to answer her knock. One was Doris auburn, the daughter of the harness maker. She was the only Doris in the whole village, and she was distinguished for that, as well as for the fact that one of her eyes was blue and the other a dark brown. She was learning shorthand and typing at the local technical school, and she meant to be a secretary to some famous man or other in the government up in Dublin. God, I thought it was someone important, she said, when she saw Mary standing there, blushing, pretty, and with a bottle of cream in her hand. Another girl, girls were to a penny in that neighborhood. People said that it had something to do with the lime water that so many girls were born, girls like Mary, with pink skins, long wavy hair, and neat figures. Come in or stay out, said ethno duggan, the second girl. It was supposed to be a joke, but neither of them liked the look of Mary. They hated sly ones from the mountain. Mary came in. She put the cream on the dresser and took off her coat. The girl's nudged each other when they saw her dress. In the kitchen was a distinct smell of cow dung and fried onions. Where's misses Rogers, Mary asked? Serving Doris said in a saucy voice as if any fool ought to know. Two old men sat at the table eating. I can't chew, I have no teeth one of the men said to Doris, tis like leather, he said, holding the plate of burned steak toward her. He had pale blue eyes and he blinked childishly. Was it true, Mary wondered that eyes got paler with age like bluebells and a jar? Tis good for you chewing is ethno duggan said, teasing him? She endorsed began to giggle. Ethno duggan laughed so much that she had to put a dishcloth over her mouth. Mary went through to the shop. Misses Rogers came from the counter for a moment to speak to her. Mary, I'm glad you came. That pair in there are no use at all. Always giggling. Now, first thing we have to do is get the parlor upstairs straightened out. Everything has to come out of it except the piano. We're going to have dancing and everything tonight. Mary realized that she was being given work to do, and she blushed with shock and disappointment. Pitch everything into the back bedroom, the whole shooting lot, misses Rogers was saying, as Mary thought of her good lace dress, of how her mother wouldn't even let her wear it to mass on Sundays. And we have to stuff a goose, too, and get it started, misses Rogers said, and went on to explain that the party was in honor of mister brogan, the local customs and excise officer, who was retiring because his wife had won some money in the sweep..

Mary Doris auburn Doris ethno duggan Rogers Ethno duggan Dublin duggan mister brogan