My Mother's Children, by Annette Sills - APR 2021 LTER
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Disclaimer: An electronic copy of this book was provided in exchange for review by publishers Poolberg Press, Ltd., via Library Thing.
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Perhaps the most curious thing about Annette Sills’ novel, “My Mother’s Children”, is its subtitle: “An Irish family secret and the scars it left behind”. One might assume it’s the story of an unacknowledged child – illegitimate, perhaps, whose existence was hidden from subsequent children.
One would be correct.
But that still begs the question – why would an author (publisher?) telegraph their punch so blatantly? Given that heads-up, any reader who doesn’t see at least 90% of The Big Reveal by the end of the first chapter just isn’t paying attention – and if there’s anything this book desperately needs, it’s a sense of urgency over the main character’s search for the secrets her mother took to the grave.
Carmel Doherty is still reeling from the sudden death of her younger brother when her emotionally fragile mother, Tess, dies. While going through some of her mother’s things, Carmel discovers a love letter written by her father, in which he promises they will be together at the end of her “confinement”. One thing leads to another, and it becomes apparent that the young Tess Dolan bore a child out of wedlock while confined to one of Ireland’s infamous “Mother and Baby Homes” where young women were kept virtual prisoners and forced to give up their babies for adoption. Carmel is compelled to find out more about her mother’s past and the eventual fate of the baby, and her search gives the tale what little impetus it has. What she ultimately discovers is both simpler and more complex than she could have imagined.
The history of the Mother and Baby Homes, and the Magdalene Laundries, is shocking and brutal. Anyone who has never heard of the atrocities committed in the name of the Catholic Church is in for a rough ride. But Carmel is such a bundle of neuroses, depression, and anxiety, that it’s difficult for the reader to make any emotional connection with her. She sometimes seems just a straw woman, set up by Sills so that she can be best by various disappointments and betrayals. Even though the book ends on a hopeful note, it can’t be said to be either cathartic or uplifting. Mostly, it’s just a dreary slog through the main character’s search, set against the complex issue of the Irish Diaspora in the twentieth century and the subsequent feeling of alienation felt by many of the emigres.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Perhaps the most curious thing about Annette Sills’ novel, “My Mother’s Children”, is its subtitle: “An Irish family secret and the scars it left behind”. One might assume it’s the story of an unacknowledged child – illegitimate, perhaps, whose existence was hidden from subsequent children.
One would be correct.
But that still begs the question – why would an author (publisher?) telegraph their punch so blatantly? Given that heads-up, any reader who doesn’t see at least 90% of The Big Reveal by the end of the first chapter just isn’t paying attention – and if there’s anything this book desperately needs, it’s a sense of urgency over the main character’s search for the secrets her mother took to the grave.
Carmel Doherty is still reeling from the sudden death of her younger brother when her emotionally fragile mother, Tess, dies. While going through some of her mother’s things, Carmel discovers a love letter written by her father, in which he promises they will be together at the end of her “confinement”. One thing leads to another, and it becomes apparent that the young Tess Dolan bore a child out of wedlock while confined to one of Ireland’s infamous “Mother and Baby Homes” where young women were kept virtual prisoners and forced to give up their babies for adoption. Carmel is compelled to find out more about her mother’s past and the eventual fate of the baby, and her search gives the tale what little impetus it has. What she ultimately discovers is both simpler and more complex than she could have imagined.
The history of the Mother and Baby Homes, and the Magdalene Laundries, is shocking and brutal. Anyone who has never heard of the atrocities committed in the name of the Catholic Church is in for a rough ride. But Carmel is such a bundle of neuroses, depression, and anxiety, that it’s difficult for the reader to make any emotional connection with her. She sometimes seems just a straw woman, set up by Sills so that she can be best by various disappointments and betrayals. Even though the book ends on a hopeful note, it can’t be said to be either cathartic or uplifting. Mostly, it’s just a dreary slog through the main character’s search, set against the complex issue of the Irish Diaspora in the twentieth century and the subsequent feeling of alienation felt by many of the emigres.
