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Anna Burns Books

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Milkman

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“It was strange though, that after that whole build-up, after the last bastion of "mustn't get in his vehicles", of being warned, not just by myself but by longest friend from primary school, "that whatever you do, no matter what, friend, do not get in his vehicles", once I did step over that threshold, I would have imagined - two months earlier certainly I would have imagined - that doing so would have produced much more tumult and emotion than this. There was no tumult. No emotion. Here was this thing that happened for always I knew it was going to happen, for it had been telling me for ages that it was coming and that it was going to happen. And now it was beginning.”

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“It is incumbent upon us to list you your fears lest you forget them: that of being needy; of being clingy; of being odd; of being invisible; of being visible; of being shamed; of being shunned; of being deceived; of being bullied, of being abandoned; of being hit; of being talked about; of being pitied; of being mocked; of being thought both "child" and at the same time "old woman"; of anger; of others; of making mistakes; of knowing instinctively; of sadness; of loneliness; of failure; of loss; of love; of death. If not death, then of living - of the body, its needs, its bits, its daring bits, its unwanted bits. Then the shudders, the ripples, our legs turning to pulp because of those shudders and ripples. On a scale of one to ten, nine and nine-tenths of us believe in the loss of our power and in succumbing to weakness, also in the slyness of others. In instability too, we believe. Nine and nine-tenths of us think we are spied upon, that we replay old trauma, that we are tight and unhappy and numb in our facial expression. These are our fears, Dear Susannah Eleanor Lizabetta Effie. Note them please. Remember these points please. Susannah, oh our Susannah. We are afraid.”

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“Brother-in-law was now seriously cross and I was touched by his crossness. Somebody McSomebody was wrong then. People in this place did give a fuck. But there was something else about brother-in-law, something linked to that strange, communally diagnosed mental aberration that he had around women. For all his idolatry, all his belief in the sanctity of femaleness, of women being the higher beings, the mystery of life and so on, he couldn't grasp any abuse towards them other than what he termed rape. Rape for brother-in-law wasn't categorised. It wasn't equivocations, rhetorical stunts, sly debater tricks or a quarter amount of something or a half amount of something or a three-quarter amount of something. It was not a presentation package. Rape was rape. It was also black eyes. It was guns in breasts. Hands, fists, weapons, feet, used by male people, deliberately or accidentally-on-purpose against female people. "NEVER LIFT A FINGER TO A WOMAN" - if ever it had existed - third brother-in-law's teeshirt, to everyone's embarrassment, would have said. According to his rulebook - mine too, at least before the predations upon me by the community and by Milkman - the physical-contact aspect could be the only aspect. That meant that what was not of that trespass, not that kind of physical - stalking without touch, tracking without touch, hemming-in, taking over, controlling a person with no flesh on flesh, no bone on bone ensuing - could not then be happening. So it came about that of everybody who had heard of the wooing of me by Milkman, third brother-in-law was the only one who, unquestioningly, hadn't considered it to have taken place. Not seeing mental wreckage then, seemed one of his downsides.”

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“It seemed the whole district of them was out, playing, flouncing, and at first glance they appeared mainly to resemble chandeliers with added lusciousness such as golden brocade and embossed wallpaper. By the time I did go out, all the streets were overrun with them: beribboned, besilked, bevelveted, behighheeled, bescratchy-petticoated and in pairs or else alone but pretending to be in pairs, waltzing and periodically crashing over. Meanwhile, the little boys, oblivious of the little girls, temporarily too, suspending operations against that army from "over there" - owing, probably, to the current absence of that army from "over there" - were taking turns at being good guy in their new play of the latest martyr killed recently in the political problems: Renouncer Hero Milkman, shadowed, set upon, then gunned down in their usual cowardly fashion by that murder squad spawned by a terrorist state.”

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“Here was my mother, one of the Top Five pious women of the district, coming out with the unbelievable "God's great and all but". This was scandalous, also exciting, even rather refreshing - that a person of the sanctities was showing herself to be not one hundred percent of the sanctities, or else there was nothing for it but that the sanctities would have to adjust in meaning to include the lower half of the body now as well.”

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“Whatever he had been and whatever he'd been called, he was gone, so I did what usually I did around death which was to forget all about it. The whole shambles - as in the old meaning of shambles, as in slaughterhouse, blood-house, meat market, business-as-usual - once again took hold. Deciding to miss my French night class, I put on my make-up and got ready to go to the club. This was to the brightest, the busiest, the most popular of the eleven drinking-clubs existing in our small area and as for going: drinking clubs were the exact places you would go, exactly what you would do, when both hyper and deadened and in need of alcohol.”

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