I Am Mary Dunne 

by Brian Moore. Penguin, 187 pages.

All literary affairs - like all love in general, I suppose - happen at different speeds. Sarah Vowell hit me like a ton of bricks, but Brian Moore came up quietly beside me, gently poking me in the ribs each time I walked into a book store. "Remember Brian Moore?" he says. "Remember how much you liked the last book?" And so I buy another of his books and then another. I Am Mary Dunne, written in 1968, is the sixth novel by Mr. Moore that I've read and I'm sorry to say that it's taken this long for me to realize that he and I are definitely having a literary affair. That Mary Dunne has cemented this realization is probably a testament to the book itself, which seems as quiet and unassuming as its title character. The book, like its heroine, is something easily passed by on your way to flashier things. But this would be a mistake, for both are filled with tragedy as heartbreaking as it is quiet.



Like William Trevor's short story, A Day, Mary Dunne takes place over the course of a single day in the life of a housewife. As Mary moves through the day, her mind reels through a haunting internal monologue that takes us through the course of her life, from her convent school days to a series of doomed marriages. There's adultery and hints of substance abuse, making Mary slightly reminiscent of Judith Hearne, another of Mr. Moore's (anti) heroines. In many ways the novel is both a testament to and an attack on the power of sentimentality. It storms through our lives and leads to moments of both beauty and embarrassment.

When it comes to narrators, Mary is as unreliable as they come. Her life is given to us from her point of view, but she herself admits that her memory is not to be trusted. There is an early moment when she forgets her own name. Then there is numerous drinks she consumes, which hints that she spends most of her day at least slightly drunk. Time and again, we are presented with moments when Mary is challenged by others to recall events that she cannot. The past continues to haunt her, but Mr. Moore suggests it's so much worse when we don't know what the past is, when the ghosts are strangers and we don't always understand what they're trying to say.

Despite the serious undercurrents - by the end, suicide has also also entered the picture -Mary Dunne retains a dry wit and her self-awareness leads to an occasionally comical neurosis. Equally impressive is the way Mr. Moore crafts her internal monologue, taking us skillfully between present and past so that we are never lost as to when we are. Here, as in the works of Alice Munroe and the aforementioned Mr. Trevor, time is fluid. We are launched into the stream from the beginning, but Mr. Moore is a worthy captain. Perhaps most engaging is that his novel starts with a thesis - Memento ergo sum, or "I remember, therefore I am" - and then sets out to prove as expertly as any academic. We are a product of our memories, suggests Mary Dunne. When those go, what is left?

Related books:
The Statement by Brian Moore