James Joyce's darkly colored portraits of "mother" in Dubliners

Most stories agree that he [Oedipus] was blinded by a `clasp' taken

from Jocasta's garment. Jocasta's `clasp' may have been a

euphemism for the castrating moon-sickle. Herodotus said the

women of Athens killed a man with their `clasps,' but a new

patriarchal law afterward forbade women to carry such weapons.

(qtd. in Kramarae and Treichler 312)

The second unflattering portrait of a mother hindering her child in "Ivy Day, in the Committee Room" lies within a single reference to Queen Victoria. Mr Henchy, involved in a discussion of Parnell's indiscretions, mentions that the Queen held back her son from the throne "till the man was grey" (132). Even in so brief an allusion to the relationship between a son and his mother (the monarch doubly a mother, for not only does the Qucen serve as "mother" of the country, but also she is mother of her child), Joyce reveals another mother whose very existence poses an obstacle to her child's realization of power.

This notion of mother as inhibitor, an instigator of paralysis, proves most ambiguous in the story "A Mother." One means of stymieing or crippling her child's growth involves the institution of the contract, an agreement associated primarily with "duty" or "rights." When advised that her daughter's contract will be considered broken -- and no further payment given if Kathleen refuses to play for the second part of the concert -- Mrs Kearney, of "A Mother," adamantly maintains that the terms of the contract stand inviolate (148). Immobile "for an instant like an angry stone image" (149), this Dubliners mother appears like a monument to inflexibility. Obdurately, insisting that Kathleen's "contract" remains legally binding, Mrs Kearney, threatens, "She will get four pounds eight into her hand or a foot she [Kathleen] won't put on that platform" (148).

The "contract" seems not only a means for this Dubliners mother to guarantee a monetary hold on her daughter's performance, but also it serves, metaphorically, as a vehicle for retaining other kinds of strangle holds on Kathleen, binding her both physically and emotionally. During the first part of the concert, Kathleen's movement, at first, is restricted, her hands not allowed to touch a piano keyboard. Sitting by her father, her feet somehow bound, weighted, this Dubliners daughter can move only the "point of her new shoe" as she awaits release from her mother (146).(1) In contrast to the silence and immobility of Kathleen, the audience clamors and stamps its feet (146). Eyes lowered, the young pianist remains motionless, despite Mr Holohan's pleas. Only after Kathleen senses her mother momentarily appeased by a partial monetary payment does she feel free to walk onto the stage platform -- while in the background everyone hears her mother's voice bickering about being shortchanged by, four shillings (147).

Critics have noted that Mrs Kearney's character appears problematic. Similar to other Dubliners mothers, this one appears selfish and pretentious. What's more, the title of her story, "A Mother," ironically implies that she may represent any mother of Dublin, all mothers. Despite whatever ugliness she may portend, however, Mrs Kearney still elicits her champions. Indeed, some critics applaud her as a "small-type artiste" and commend her "aptitude for management," even though "the results of her artistic and managerial energy are disastrous" (Beja 94). Because Joyce cloaks Mrs Kearney in contradictions, she baffles readers who attempt to reconcile her opposing profiles. Doesn't Mrs Kearney appear to be Kathleen's advocate? After all, should not any good mother protect her child's interests?