Claire Keegan doesn't write doorstoppers. She writes "thin" books. If you pick up a copy of Small Things Like These, you might think you’ll breeze through it over a single cup of coffee because it’s barely a hundred pages long. You’d be wrong. This book stays with you. It sits in your gut. It makes you look at your own neighbors a little differently.
The story is set in 1985, in a small town in New Ross, Ireland. It’s freezing. Coal merchant Bill Furlong is just trying to get through the Christmas rush, deliver his fuel, and keep his five daughters warm. But then he sees something at the local convent. Something small. Something he isn't supposed to see.
Honestly, the brilliance of this book isn't just in the plot. It's in the silence. It’s about the things people don't say to keep the peace.
The Quiet Power of Small Things Like These
Most historical fiction tries to be "epic." It covers decades. It has a cast of thousands. Keegan goes the other way. By focusing on a few weeks in the life of one man, she manages to indict an entire culture of complicity.
Bill Furlong is a good man. He’s tired. He’s the kind of guy who notices the "crow-black" hair of a girl locked in a coal shed and can't just forget about it. That girl is a stand-in for the thousands of women who were sent to Magdalene Laundries in Ireland. These weren't just "homes" for unwed mothers. They were labor camps. And the Catholic Church ran them with the quiet, terrified consent of the townsfolk.
People knew. That’s the point Keegan is driving home. They knew, and they bought the bread and the eggs from the nuns, and they looked the other way because the Church held the keys to the schools and the social standing of the community.
Furlong’s wife, Eileen, represents the voice of "common sense." She tells him to mind his own business. She isn't a villain. She’s just a mother trying to protect her own. This tension—between doing the "right" thing and doing the "safe" thing—is exactly why Small Things Like These feels so heavy. It asks what you would do if your comfort depended on someone else's misery.
Why the 1985 Setting Matters
Setting the book in the mid-80s was a deliberate, genius move. This isn't ancient history. In 1985, U2 was on the radio. People were watching Live Aid. Yet, in these small Irish towns, the 19th century was still effectively in charge.
The last Magdalene Laundry didn't actually close until 1996. Think about that for a second. While the world was getting the internet, women were still being forced into unpaid labor in Ireland for the "sin" of getting pregnant out of wedlock.
Keegan uses the biting cold of that particular winter to mirror the emotional coldness of the institution. Furlong is constantly moving coal—black, dusty, heavy fuel—to keep people warm, while just up the hill, the girls in the laundry are freezing. The irony is thick, but Keegan never beats you over the head with it. She lets you feel the draft under the door yourself.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
There is a lot of debate about the ending of Small Things Like These. No spoilers here, but some readers find it "unfinished."
That’s missing the point.
The book isn't a legal thriller. It’s not about a court case or a grand revolution. It’s about a single moment of moral clarity. If Keegan had written another fifty pages showing the aftermath, the tension would have dissipated. The power lies in the "what now?"
Furlong makes a choice. It’s a small choice. But in a town built on silence, a small choice is a landslide.
The Influence of Real History
While the characters are fictional, the backdrop is painfully real. The McAleese Report, published in 2013, finally brought some official light to the state’s involvement in the laundries. It’s a dry document, full of statistics and bureaucratic language. Keegan’s book is the soul that those reports lack.
She dedicated the book to the women and children who suffered in these institutions. It’s a memorial in prose. Expert critics, like those at The Guardian and The New York Times, have noted that Keegan’s "lapidary" style—meaning every word is polished like a gemstone—is what makes the horror of the laundries so vivid. You can't hide behind flowery language when the sentences are this sharp.
How to Read This Book Without Missing the Nuance
If you're going to pick this up, don't rush.
- Pay attention to the descriptions of food and heat. They are symbols of belonging. When Furlong shares his tea or a sandwich, it’s an act of communion.
- Watch the secondary characters. The barber, the shopkeepers, the neighbors. They all drop hints. They all know. The "small things" in the title aren't just the acts of kindness; they’re the tiny compromises people make every day.
- Look at Furlong’s own history. He was the son of an unwed mother himself, but he was "lucky." His mother’s employer, a Protestant woman named Mrs. Wilson, showed him kindness instead of judgment. This contrast is vital. It shows that the cruelty of the laundries wasn't "just how things were back then"—it was a choice.
Actionable Takeaways for Your Next Book Club
If you're discussing this with friends, move past the "was it good?" question. It’s a masterpiece; we know it’s good. Instead, dig into these points:
- The Weight of Complicity: Discuss why Eileen is so resistant to Bill helping the girl. Is she a "bad" person, or is she just a product of a fear-based society?
- The Role of Religion: How does the book distinguish between faith and the institution of the Church?
- The Concept of "Home": Furlong is obsessed with his own home and his daughters' safety. How does his domestic happiness make the situation at the convent even more unbearable for him?
- Keegan’s Prose: Pick one paragraph and read it aloud. Notice how she uses simple words to create complex moods.
Small Things Like These is a masterclass in "less is more." It reminds us that history isn't just made by kings and wars. It's made by coal men in small towns who decide, just for one night, that they’ve seen enough.
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To truly appreciate the impact, pair your reading with a look at the 2024 film adaptation starring Cillian Murphy. He captures Furlong’s internal struggle with almost no dialogue, proving that Keegan’s "quiet" story has a very loud heart.
The next step is to look around your own life. What are the "small things" happening in your community that everyone knows about but nobody mentions? That’s where the real story begins.