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Melissa Sihra
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marina
carr
pastures of
the unknown
Melissa Sihra
Marina Carr
Melissa Sihra
Marina Carr
Pastures of the Unknown
Melissa Sihra
School of Creative Arts
Trinity College Dublin
Dublin, Ireland
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG, part of Springer Nature 2018
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction
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now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and
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Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied,
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maps and institutional affiliations.
Cover illustration: Stephanie Roth Haberle and Julio Monge in McCarter Theatre Center’s
2011 world premiere production of Phaedra Backwards, written by Marina Carr and
directed by Emily Mann. Photo by T. Charles Erickson
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
For Theodore
Acknowledgements
For this work I am deeply grateful to many people who have helped
me along the way. Immense thanks go to Eamonn Jordan, an inspir-
ing scholar and teacher, who first identified my passion for the plays of
Marina Carr during my M.A. in Modern Drama Studies at University
College Dublin and who encouraged me to pursue further research.
I also wish to thank Anna McMullan who astutely supervised my Ph.D.
on the Theatre of Marina Carr at the Drama Department, Trinity
College Dublin. I am grateful to the International Centre for Advanced
Theatre Studies (ICATS) at the University of Helsinki which offered
research guidance during my Ph.D. from a leading international fac-
ulty amidst the inspiring surroundings of the Finnish countryside.
Many colleagues have supported me tremendously throughout my
career, for which I am very grateful: Jill Dolan, Janelle Reinelt, Anthony
Roche, Cathy Leeney, Mária Kurdi, Jean Graham-Jones, Pirkko Koski,
Bruce McConachie, Denis Kennedy, Steve Wilmer, Bill Worthen,
Lisa Fitzpatrick, Hanna Korsberg, David Clare, Graham Whybrow,
Rhona Trench, Charlotte McIvor, Tanya Dean, Ciara O’Dowd, Brenda
Donohue, Siobhán O’Gorman, Marie Kelly, Sharon Phelan, Fiona
Fearon, Chris Collins, Patrick Lonergan and Lionel Pilkington.
I wish to thank Colin Smythe, Agent for the Literary Estate of
Lady Augusta Gregory, for his generous advice and knowledge. I wish
to thank James Harte and the staff of the National Library of Ireland
which holds the ‘Marina Carr Archive’. I am grateful to Marina Carr’s
agent Emily Hickman at The Agency and to Dinah Wood at Faber &
vii
viii Acknowledgements
I offer thanks to the Irish Society for Theatre Research (ISTR) which
enabled me to present excerpts of this book over a period of a decade
in all of the universities in Ireland and also at the University of London,
Birkbeck, and the University of Pecs in Hungary. I am very grateful to
the Feminist Working Group of the International Federation for Theatre
Research (IFTR) where I further developed these ideas with the guid-
ance of Elin Diamond, Sue Ellen Case, Charlotte Canning, Denise
Varney, Aoife Monks, Outi Lahtinen and many other inspiring women
from around the world. I am particularly grateful to Elaine Aston for her
wisdom, support and friendship over the years.
I offer sincere gratitude to Vicky Peters, Editorial Director of Humanities
at Palgrave Macmillan who commissioned and published this book. My
deep thanks goes also to Vicky Bates, Editorial Assistant of Literature and
Theatre & Performance at Palgrave Macmillan, for her continuous support
and excellent guidance throughout the whole process. Thank you to Felicity
Plester, Editorial Director, Humanities, at Palgrave Macmillan for her ini-
tial interest in my book. I wish to thank Sangeetha Kumaresan and all the
editorial team for their hard work in the final stages. My thanks to the peer
reviewers of both the proposal and the final manuscript.
I wish to massively thank my all of my family for their continued love and
interest in all that I do. To my mother Margaret McNamara-Sihra without
whose unwavering daily support through unprecedented snow, gales and sun
this book would never have been written. I wish to thank my father John
Sihra for his constant support and to Maeve Sihra for all her help and to Anya
and Dave Sihra for always being there for me. My greatest thanks goes to my
son Theodore for being a constant gift of love, light and laughter.
I wish to thank my wondrous band of loyal and hilarious friends Jan
Duffy, Sorcha Duggan, Karin McCully, Déirdre Carr, Ellen Rowley, Michelle
O’Connor, Dominic Rowley, Maeve O’Boyle, Joanne Grehan, Annabelle
Comyn, Lynda Madden, Lynda Clarke, Ali Milford and Penny Storey.
Finally, my deep gratitude to Marina Carr for the joy of her plays and
for her unwavering encouragement, immense generosity and friendship
over the decades. My journey into the terrains of Marina’s imagination
has brought us on adventures around the world, and has brought me on
an even bigger personal journey of discovery and transformation through
the work, for which I am eternally grateful.
This book is in honour of the Cailleach, Biddy Early, and all Wise
women past, present and future.
xi
xii Contents
Index 293
List of Figures
xiii
xiv List of Figures
Arterial Severing
While focusing on the theatre of Marina Carr this book will consider a
meaningful relationship between Gregory and Carr for the first time in
order to acknowledge a continuity and presence of women in Irish thea-
tre past and present. In identifying a lineage between Gregory and Carr,
I might appear to perpetuate tokenism—objectifying them as complete
symbolic entities while simultaneously excluding all other women’s work
in Irish theatre, but it is the operation of tokenism itself that undermines
women. Through this exploration of Carr’s plays I wish to reclaim the
playwrights from this symbolic trap in order to provide a fuller picture
of their, and by association, all women’s work in theatre. When I first
began writing about the plays of Marina Carr in the 1990s I encoun-
tered an absence or gap that was difficult to process or articulate. Carr
was breaking through the glass ceiling of the male-dominated theatre
with The Mai in 1994 but I could ascertain no history or tradition of
women in Irish theatre through which to contextualise her work. I had
been cautioned to uncouple Gregory and Carr as the dual female pil-
lars in Irish theatre so as not to exclude other women. I internalised this
dissociation and purposefully did not think of them in relation to one
another until recently. In rejecting a meaningful relationship between
Gregory and Carr, an arterial severing occurs—a rupture which results
in a non-history of women in Irish theatre that is incomplete and falsi-
fied. Daly explains that the key feminist concern lies in ‘Expelling the
Patriarchal “Past” [where the] Patriarchal expropriation of memory not
only deprives women of our own past; it also negates our present and
future’.16 To acknowledge women’s present and presence more fully we
must dynamically re-engage the plurality of our lived histories in order
to counteract what Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie calls ‘the danger of the
single story’.17
To understand the plays of Marina Carr an awareness of the traditions
and histories of women’s work, before and after Gregory, must now
become a central concern of all considerations of Irish theatre. Women
have long been denied a central position of meaning-making in Irish
theatre while men have been privileged within the narrative. Uneven
distributions of power have enabled endemic blind spots of conscious
and unconscious biases to perpetuate such exclusions and this book
seeks to rebalance the gendered nexus of Irish theatre. Intuitively I felt
that there were masses of women’s work haunting the meta-narrative and
1 INTRODUCTION: TOWARDS A MATRIARCHAL LINEAGE 5
that there was a vast untapped conversation to be had between the women
of the past and the present. Building upon the collective scholarship of the
Irish University Review Silver Jubilee Issue ‘Teresa Deevy and Irish Women
Playwrights’ edited by Christopher Murray in 1995, my collection Women
in Irish Drama: A Century of Authorship and Representation (2007),
Cathy Leeney’s Irish Women Playwrights 1900–1939 (2010), Mária Kurdi’s
Representation of Gender and Female Subjectivity in Contemporary Irish
Drama by Women (2010) and others in addition to recent events such as
the landmark symposium ‘Irish Women Playwrights and Theatre-Makers’
at Mary Immaculate College in 2017 this book seeks to remobilise a con-
nectivity between Gregory and Carr in order to acknowledge a founda-
tional status for all women in Irish theatre.18
I first saw J.M. Synge in the North Island of Aran. I was staying there
gathering folk-lore, talking to the people, and felt quite angry when I
passed another outsider walking here and there, talking also to the peo-
ple. I was jealous of not being alone on the island among the fishers and
seaweed gatherers. I did not speak to the stranger, nor was he inclined to
speak to me; he also looked on me as an intruder, I only heard his name.24
1 INTRODUCTION: TOWARDS A MATRIARCHAL LINEAGE 7
A Feminist Historiography
A feminist historiography requires a new methodology—a new way to
mobilise the synapses of past and present. My exploration of the thea-
tre of Marina Carr follows a chronological pathway to organically chart
the development of her theatrical voice. Within this terrain a small selec-
tion of Gregory’s plays intervene at key nodal-points. This methodol-
ogy evolved intuitively as Gregory’s plays appeared of their own volition
while I wrote and remained steadfastly in place as each playwright speaks
to the other on the page. Through the lens of one comes an image of
the other and vice versa as the possibilities of a larger canvas emerge. The
unusual circular approach of moving back and forth between the voices
of Carr and Gregory allows for open spaces of meaning-making and dia-
logue which in turn challenge what Gregory calls the ‘beaten path of
authorised history’.26
Tilting the lens onto women’s perspectives in Irish theatre reclaims
previously closed-off paths, offering new routes for the present and the
future. On 17 November 1964 Marina Carr was born to parents Maura
Éibhlín Walshe and Hugh Carr in the Rotunda Hospital, Dublin. At the
time the family lived in the residence of Gortnamóna National School,
Co. Offaly, where Carr’s mother was the principal teacher. However
Maura Éibhlín wished for her own house and within a few years she
had built a new home overlooking Pallas Lake outside Tullamore
(Image 1.1). The family moved there when Carr was 10 years old and
she recalls her mother’s love of nature: ‘the reason why she wanted to
live on the lake was that she loved swans’.27 Education, music and the
arts were central to the fabric of the family: ‘There was a lot of writing,
reading and music in our house growing up’.28 A native Irish speaker,
Maura Éibhlín was born in Indreabhán, Connemara, in a now derelict
house which overlooks the Aran Islands. She wrote poetry in Irish and
played the violin and the piano in the evenings at Pallas Lake. Carr recalls
that ‘She loved literature, she was an educated woman’.29 Carr’s father is
1 INTRODUCTION: TOWARDS A MATRIARCHAL LINEAGE 9
Image 1.1 The view from Carr’s childhood home of Pallas Lake, Co. Offaly
a curtain and tied a bicycle lamp to a rafter at the side of the shed so its
light would fall at an angle on the stage’.32 The siblings played all of the
parts, putting on shows for the neighbouring children and took turns in
writing the plays: ‘Our dramas were bloody and brutal. Everyone suf-
fered: the least you could hope to get away with was a good torturing.
And still we lived happily ever after’.33 In secondary school Carr began
to write the annual Christmas play: ‘I’d go to sleep for the year and wake
up for the Christmas play at school. I wrote rural bog plays with barn-
yard humour. The nuns loved it’.34
Amidst this happy childhood tragedy struck the family in 1981
when Maura Éibhlín died from illness at the age of 44. During this
period of grief Carr completed the Leaving Certificate and then
embarked upon her studies at University College, Dublin. She was
awarded a BA Honours degree in English Literature and Philosophy in
1987 and began writing plays towards the end of her degree: ‘When I
went to college I didn’t write for a couple of years. But in my final year
I wrote my first play which was called Ullaloo, and that was performed
at the Peacock three or four years later’.35 Upon completing university
Carr moved to New York City for a year where she taught reading and
writing to the First Grade children of St. Anselm’s School in Bay Ridge,
Brooklyn. Carr returned to Dublin in 1988 and embarked upon an MA
in Anglo-Irish Literature at UCD, formulating a thesis proposal on the
plays of Samuel Beckett under the supervision of Declan Kiberd. During
this period Carr realised her pathway in life and eventually left the MA
course to pursue playwriting full-time, reflecting, ‘I just wanted to write
plays. I was impatient to start living’.36
Carr has written 25 plays to date which have been produced all over
the world from China and Canada, to Iceland, Brazil, North America
and Europe and have been translated into over twenty languages. Carr
has won many awards including The Irish Times Best New Play Award for
The Mai and By the Bog of Cats, the Susan Smith Blackburn Prize (1996–
1997) for Portia Coughlan, the E.M. Forster Prize from the American
Academy of Arts and Letters, a Macauley Fellowship and the Hennessy
Short Story award in 1994. She held the posts of ‘Class of 1932 Fellow
of the Humanities in Theater and Dance’ at Princeton University in
2007 and ‘Heimbold Professor of Irish Studies’ at Villanova University
in 2003. She was Adjunct Professor of Theatre at Trinity College Dublin
from 2009 to 2012 and has been Writer-in-Residence at the Abbey
Theatre (1995), Trinity College (1998) and Dublin City University
1 INTRODUCTION: TOWARDS A MATRIARCHAL LINEAGE 11
alive when you are living. Being alive and not being there. I can’t bear
it. It is like removing yourself from yourself. And that is what we do, so
much’.41 The Ibsenite quest for an authentic self permeates Carr’s dra-
matic vision inspired by A Doll’s House (1879) and Little Eyolf (1894)
and the works of Anton Chekhov. Nature and landscape provide aspi-
rational sites of identification which echo Alfred Allmers’ internal quest
in Little Eyolf on ‘the mountains, up on those huge, open spaces’ where
‘Nothing happened to me. But – In me, something happened. A kind of
transformation’.42
Poised between memory and imagination, between literary allusion
and topographic realism, the quest for self-fulfilment within emotional
landscapes of transformation lies at the heart of the theatre of Marina
Carr. Incorporating spaces that are never fully real and never purely fic-
tional, ‘every barrow and rivulet and bog hole’ resonates with visceral
energy.43 From the Offaly villages of Pullagh, Mucklagh and Belmont
to Lilliput Lake and Mohia Lane, Carr’s Midlands childhood terrain
is a formative aspect of her dramatic vision. Carr reflects upon the inspi-
rational effect of her surroundings at Pallas: ‘the lake was very present;
the landscape was more than physical. There were lots of stories, such
as the witch with seven drops of water’.44 Carr’s Midlands Cycle (1994–
2002) presents a localisation of character, place and language which
simultaneously transcends its specificity. With its extreme form of dialect
Carr indicates that Portia Coughlan ‘is an attempt to explore language
and how language creates character [but] it could be set on Mars’.45 The
Midlands topography is fluid and interconnected in On Raftery’s Hill,
Portia Coughlan and By the Bog of Cats… all of which ‘were written
around the same time and explore the same things’.46
Landscape and place are imbued with folk memory, myth and sym-
bolism in the plays of Carr and Gregory. Just as Gregory’s hometown
of Gort is fictionalised as ‘Cloon’, Carr incorporates real and invented
places and natural features in her plays. Ann Saddlemyer points out that
Gregory’s specificity of speech and character ‘particularised the univer-
sal, making the myth human and the fable real’.47 The Mai is inspired
by Pallas Lake where Carr grew up and is set on the banks of fictional
‘Owl Lake’. Portia Coughlan, with its genesis in Shakespeare’s The
Merchant of Venice, is located in the remote Offaly village of Belmont
while By the Bog of Cats… takes place upon the shape-shifting seams
of the Midlands bog. Bodies of water occur with frequency in Carr’s
plays and offer alternative, often unresolved, symbolic depths of
1 INTRODUCTION: TOWARDS A MATRIARCHAL LINEAGE 13
expression for the central women beyond the confines of the home. Owl
Lake is a source of myth, renewal and death while the Belmont River
cuts through the landlocked county of Offaly, eroding the boundaries
of the male-owned farmlands, breaking fences and powerfully redefin-
ing the contours of patriarchy. Set in a remote farmhouse kitchen On
Raftery’s Hill (2000) deconstructs a century of Irish theatrical iconog-
raphy in order to expose the realities of contemporary society. Nature is
associated with women in Carr’s 1990s Midlands plays through an inter-
section of memory, language and identity which mobilises new pathways
of self-expression. Throughout Carr’s plays empowered modes of female
subjectivity are reinscribed upon ‘pastures of the unknown’ locating
women within fields of reason.48
Chapter 2 explores Carr’s first four plays, all of which foreground
an instinctive interrogation of patriarchy and the canon through humour
and subversion. These early plays incorporate surreal and absurdist modes
which find their roots in Gregory’s comedies and in later Beckettian
form. In Ullaloo and Low in the Dark Carr approaches themes of co-de-
pendency, intimacy and isolation which are developed in her Midlands
plays through to Woman and Scarecrow (2006) and Marble (2009).
Low in the Dark playfully highlights the inanity of mindless repeti-
tion: ‘I build, she knits, I build, she knits, he knocks and builds it up
again’.49 Characters confront an inward-spiralling emotional inertia in
the Midlands plays leading up to On Raftery’s Hill where the theme of
incest is an acute manifestation of arrested development upon the human
psyche. Landscape is central to the meaning of By the Bog of Cats…
expressing a fecund doubleness that is at once mundane and metaphys-
ical. The merging of visceral place and radical otherness that character-
ises the bog is a metaphor for Carr’s dramaturgy as a whole where the
profound unknowability of the bog mirrors the way ‘we are as much not
of this world, as we are of it’.50 By the Bog of Cats… concludes the cycle
of female suicide in Carr’s Midlands plays. The land, farming, nature
and animal imagery run through On Raftery’s Hill as metaphors for the
tragic plight of the family within the home. Confined to the kitchen, the
characters’ lack of movement beyond the farm conveys the isolation of
women and vulnerable children in Irish society. While the rural kitchen
has come to signify an enduring conflation of the family and nation in
Irish drama, Carr’s deconstruction of Gregory’s and Yeats’s co-authored
Kathleen Ni Houlihan (St. Teresa’s Hall, Clarendon Street, 1902) rad-
ically de-idealises hearth and home where generational cycles of sexual
14 M. SIHRA
Image 1.2 ‘Her own path’: existing steps and pathway leading from the origi-
nal site of Lady Gregory’s house at Coole Park, Co. Galway
16 M. SIHRA
»Onko se välttämätöntä»?
»Etkö halua tehdä sitä, Ilonka? Olenko sitten loukannut sinua niin
suuresti, että olet määrännyt tämän kauhean rangaistuksen minulle?
Jos niin on, kultaseni, niin usko minua, että olet rankaissut minua jo
tarpeeksi, sillä tekemäni rikos oli vain rakkauteni aiheuttama,
rakkauteni, jota nyt olet haavoittanut niin kuolettavasti, että se lepää
piestynä ja voimatonna jalkaisi juuressa. Et siis halua ojentaa minulle
kättäsi? Etkö tahdo sanoa antaneesi minulle anteeksi, vaikka
rukoilisin tuota anteeksiantoa polvillani»?
»Ja kuin rakkautesi sitten kuin sen olen voittanut», sanoi András
ylpeästi…
Oliko tuo sydäntä särkevä ääni nyyhkytys vaiko huuto, sillä niin
liikuttava se oli, että tuulikin tuntui pysähtyvän kuuntelemaan
säälistä?
»Äitini kuullen haluan sanoa sinulle, Ilonka, että milloin ikinä vain
haluat, olet vapaa palaamaan vanhempiesi luokse, jotka ovat niin
hyvin opettaneet sinulle rehellisyyttä, kunniantuntoa ja
tottelevaisuutta. Ja koska hän hamasta lapsuudestani on tiennyt
jokaisen ajatukseni ja kuullut kaikki rukoukseni, haluan, että hän saa
myös kuulla tämän valani. Kuten tänään vannoin alttarin edustalla,
vannon nytkin vakavan valan kuin kristitty ristillä riippuvan
Jeesuksen nimessä ja kuten ihminen sen nimessä, joka on hänelle
rakkainta maailmassa, kuten minulle on ollut rakkaus tuohon
tyttömäiseen, nuoreen ja enkelimäiseen olentoon, jota olen
kunnioittanut enemmän kuin mitään muuta maailmassa, mutta joka
nyt on haihtunut ikuisiksi ajoiksi mielestäni. Tämän kuolleen
rakkauteni muiston nimessä vannon nyt sinulle, etten milloinkaan
sinun elämäsi aikana enää loukkaa korviasi puhumalla tuosta
rakkaudesta, ja lupaan, etten ikinä sanoin enkä teoin muistuta sinua,
että alhaissyntyinen orjista polveutuva talonpoika on herrasi ja
miehesi! Saat asua kattoni alla tahi muuttaa vanhempiesi luokse,
kuten vain haluat. Olet yhtä vapaa kuin ennen tuota kohtausta, jolloin
hävitön talonpoika uskalsi pyytää sinua vaimokseen».
Silloin Ilonka kätki kasvonsa käsiinsä ja itki niin kovasti, että hänen
sydämensä oli murtua.
KOLMAS OSA
XXVIII
RAKKAUDEN SURUA.
Tuo järkyttävä suru, jota hän oli saanut kokea, ei ollut vaikuttanut
häneen ulkonaisesti suurestikaan, sillä hänen pitkä vartalonsa oli
yhtä suora, hänen askeleensa yhtä varmat ja hänen päänsä yhtä
ylpeästi pystyssä kuin ennenkin. Ainoastaan kasvot näyttivät hieman
vanhemmilta. Suu oli painunut enemmän sisään, kulmakarvojen
väliin oli ilmestynyt pari syvää ryppyä ja kun aurinko paistoi kirkkaasti
hänen tummaan tukkaansa, voitiin mustien hiusten joukossa
huomata paljon harmaita karvoja.
»Onnellisempiko?»
»Hän oli äitisi luona, András, ettei Etelkan tarvinnut olla yksinään».
Oli työlästä ajaa tarkoitus läpi. Vanha pappi, joka omisti nuoren
ystävänsä luottamuksen, ei näyttänyt haluavan tunkeutua tuohon
ainoaan salaisuuteen, jota tuo ylpeä talonpoika ei halunnut hänelle
vapaaehtoisesti ilmaista. Kylässä liikkuvat huhut eivät olleet onneksi
kantautuneet Andráksen korviin, vaikka hän tietysti oli arvannut, että
siellä juoruttiin. Hän tunsi oman kylänsä olot niin tarkasti, ettei hän
uneksinutkaan kyläläisten kunnioittavasti vaienneen tuon suuren
toukokuun päivän erikoisista tapauksista. Mutta András ei ollut
milloinkaan ennenkään välittänyt juoruista, ja sitten jonkun ajan
kuluttua alkoi tuo kauhea koleera raivota julmasti lopettaen kaikki
muut, paitsi pelon aiheuttamat puheet.
»En ole tiennyt ollenkaan, isä, että olen niin kauhistuttava. Näyttää
siltä kuin olisin sotkenut koko elämäni», lisäsi András katkerasti,
»koska ette tekään enää voi pitää minua ystävänänne».
Talonpoika synkistyi.