Mary and The Virgin: How depictions of the Virgin Mary in Paula Meehan’s The Statue of the Virgin at Granad Speaks and Colm Tóibín’s The Testament of Mary challenge traditional Irish Catholic values

The representation of the Irish as a stereotype in pop culture has been, among other less favourable qualities, piously Roman Catholic. This, like most stereotypes, is an outdated misinterpretation of the current Irish Cultural identity, formed and proliferated in the first few decades of the twentieth century. Unlike other stereotypes, those which paint the Irish as devout, theocratic and matriarchally obsessed are not exclusively rooted in early Hollywood representations, but rather find their beginnings in the Devotional Revolution of the mid-1800s and its primary architectural instigator, Cardinal Paul Cullen. In recent years there has been a distinct focus in Irish writing on deconstructing and reshaping elements of this cultural identity, including but not limited to the role a state sponsored religion plays in defining the induvial psych within that society, and how one may understand and surpass the limitations of “acceptable” doctrine. While recent efforts of creative non-fiction such as Derek Scally’s The Best Catholics in the World or Fintan O’Toole’s We Don’t Know Ourselves have gone to great and extensive detail to dissect the deep seated roots of Christianity in Ireland and the contemporary toxic tendrils of the aristocratic clergy this essay shall focus on a poem and novella, namely Colm Tóibín’s The Testament of Mary and Paula Meehan’s The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks, in an effort to highlight not only how modern Irish writers challenge the stereotypical religious and cultural identities but also to offer an understanding of why they are doing so.

 To begin with some context, we must first note how this cultural identity appeared and how it was adopted by the Irish constitution of 1937. Cardinal Paul Cullen, who served as the first Irish Cardinal, as well as Archbishop of both Armagh and later Dublin, is noted by historian Emmet Larkin to have reformed the Irish Church “in his generation”[1] aided in no small part by the resurgence of morale and the zeal brought about by Daniel O’Connell and Catholic Emancipation in the early 1800s. We see here, prior to the independence of the Irish Republic, a tangible tie between politics and the Catholic church in Ireland as early as the 1820s, with one informing and bolstering the other, and vice versa. Cullen reshaped the belief systems of the impoverished catholic agrarian class, (much like O’Connell mobilised them) whose numbers had been recently decimated by the famine and immigration, on an “institutional and organizational level.”[2] Larkin suggests that the famine in particular served as a useful tool for Cullen’s purpose as the natural disaster could be played off as a “God’s wrath…made manifest.”[3] The historian Cara Delay notes that “following the devastating famine…Ireland’s newly Ultramontane hierarchy and clergy gained control of the island’s parishes and people.”[4] Effectively, Larkin states that Cardinal Cullen ushered in a “a new cultural heritage,”[5] elements of which were then adopted and incorporated into the formation of the 1937 Irish Constitution, including a heavy focus on the atomic family and reductive female reproductive rights (as was and remains the moral standpoint of the Catholic Church). Both of these issues are scrutinised heavily in the work of both Meehan and Tóibín who utilise the figure of Marian devotion introduced by Cullen to the Irish peasantry, namely The Virgin Mary, as a vehicle for criticism.

Paula Meehan’s poem The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks, among other things, captures the death of Ann Lovett in 1984 in its eighth stanza. Lovett, a fifteen-year old convent girl, gave birth to a baby boy alone in a grotto dedicated to the Virgin Mary in Granard, County Longford in 1984. A few hours later both the mother and her baby’s body were found in the grotto by a passer-by. Meehan in this stanza utilises the Virgin Mary’s voice for a two-fold purpose. Firstly, the parallels between Lovett and the Virgin mother are self-evident; an unmarried teenage girl giving birth to a boy in secret to escape the persecution of the state (for Mary it was Herrod, for Ann it was “the town tucked up in little scandals”[6]). Meehan, through use of the third stanza, effectively highlights the irony of the Irish Catholic Identity and its opinion of women in society. Where they worship an initially unwed teenage mother as an idyllic representation of both women and motherhood, they lampoon and spurn women in their own communities who, although relating to the figure of Mary more so than any other, do not fit the accepted societal model of womanhood as determined by their government. That is to say “married motherhood [is] a woman’s most legitimate and important societal function.”[7] Perhaps there is no greater example of this ironic state of mind than that of the former President and Taoiseach Éamon De Valera. Although raised by a single mother himself, he oversaw much of the Irish Constitution and in particular the focus placed on the nuclear family unit. Meehan notes of this paradoxical belief: “The idea that Ireland is this kind of homogenous, Catholic oppressed country where women are all downtrodden underneath…men and the church- I have never experienced that, but I did experience the image of that.”[8]

 Ann Lovett’s pleas for help from the statue of The Virgin effectively reflect the opinion of wider Irish society at the time “though she cried out to me in extremis // I did not move // I didn’t lift a finger to help her.”[9] The blame and consequences for the fifteen-year-old’s actions, those that lead her to the statue’s feet, fall squarely on the girl herself. The silence of the statue and its refusal to help seem to suggest it was not anyone else’s responsibility or, indeed, their prerogative to help Lovett. This is reflected upon by the critic Moira J. Maguire: “many people did, in fact, know that Lovett was pregnant but believed it to be none of their business.”[10] The case would be made by the Church (in the form of the Mother Superior of her convent) that Lovett’s parents were equally to blame for their child’s behaviour “her family was regarded with suspicion and animosity in the town.”[11] Tóibín similarly makes a case for the responsibility of the parents, particularly the mother, to be held accountable for the actions of the child. Meehan highlights the community’s private penchant for parental judgment in the line “far from the town tucked up in little scandals.”[12] Meehan criticises this societal attitude through the statue’s thoughts, particularly that, despite others’ apparent knowledge of the pregnancy, Lovett was shown no support from state, church or community “without midwife or doctor or friend to hold her hand.”[13] While the lines mentioned previous satirise the response of the Catholic church and parochial state to Lovett’s death, other examples of the statue’s dialogue throughout point towards the ineffectual and counteractive position which the Catholic Church in Ireland has taken towards both women and The Virgin Mary herself. For instance, take this line from the third stanza: “They name me Mother of all this grief…”  The implication here is that the unnamed “They” (who we may take to represent anyone, from the local public to the State to the Catholic Church itself) affixed this role and reputation to Mary. It is no wonder the oft used title “Our Lady of Sorrow,” is often attributed to Mary, a title which suggests suffering and self-denial are intrinsically linked to motherhood. Throughout this poem Meehan highlights in small poignant glimpses the fault in the dogma of both Cullen and De Valera, that is to say the mental hoops one must jump through to rationalise the worship of one woman over the persecution of the other. She highlights the fault in self-denial without compassion for others or, indeed, oneself. This poem serves as a scathing deconstruction of the Irish Catholic cultural position where motherhood is concerned and, as the critics O’Halloran and Malloy point out, it does so in a manner which is “subversive, political and feminist.”[14]

Likewise, Tóibín offers a reader the private thoughts of a version of Mary in his novella, which go further than parochial perceptions of women, to the outright challenging of some of the fundamental flaws of Catholic faith itself, those which inspire and perpetuate through the Irish Catholic cultural identity. As previously mentioned, we see in this novel the reductive view of women as caretakers of men through the presentation of Mary and the sisters of Lazarus, Martha and Mary. Tóibín appears to suggest that the sisters are in requesting Christ raise Lazarus from the dead, are by proxy responsible for his life. Similar in fashion to a mother being responsible for the life of her child. Where the sisters are tasked with this responsibility by Christ himself (a physical representation of the future church, appearing throughout the novella as self-righteous and pompous), Mary’s responsibility for Christ, her child, is enforced by her old friend Marcus, who we may take to represent the state (and by extension the law) as he is observed conspiring with those responsible for Christ’s crucifixion. Tóibín presents this role as an obligation more than a desired choice, as Martha begins to scream at Christ’s agreement to raise Lazarus “afraid that what she had asked for was being granted, [she] cried that they [Martha and Mary] had suffered enough.”[15] This suggests to a reader an allegory for motherhood in the sisters’ society, and denotes a turn in rationale, from willing to suffer for another to protecting oneself. From self-sacrifice to self-care as seems to be a trend in contemporary Irish writing. Maguire states that although women in Irish writing and society are held accountable for the sin of sex and conception, men have all but escaped the responsibility for this “perceived immorality.”[16] While this is not actively pursued in The Testament of Mary the focus placed on matriarchal figures as caretakers and the distinct lack of patriarchal figures alludes to the point without outright stating it. It is also notable that in both cases the role of carer is enforced by men, reflecting the patriarchal positions of both church and state who, such as in the case of Ann Lovett, control not only the role of women but particularly mothers. As in the aforementioned parallel between Lovett and the Virgin, Tóibín goes one step further than Meehan in so much as rather than merely suggest Mary began as an unwed mother, Tóibín reports that Joseph abandoned Mary, leaving her as a single mother. Although the cause or events surrounding his death are never made quite clear, what is clear is Mary’s visceral reaction to the protection of his chair at their table:

“I found the sharp knife and I held it and touched the blade… ‘I have another one hidden,’ I said, ‘and if either of you touch the chair again, if you so much as touch it, I will wait, I am waiting now, and I will come in the night, I will move as silently as the air itself moves, and you will not have time to make a sound. Do not think for a moment that I will not do this.’”[17]

This chair has clearly become something very important to her, it is something of a shrine, its emptiness representing to her Joseph’s absence but also a means of coping with it. Tóibín through this chair, Mary’s protection of it and the apostle’s inability to comprehend its significance highlights some of the fundamental issues with Catholicism in Ireland and the ways in which one can process grief. The inability of the apostle to comprehend the significance of a piece of wood as a personal symbol of hope or comfort is a well written piece of irony which illuminates both the power of men exclusively in determining the law (in this case theological dogma) but also the ways in which spiritual and emotional healing can be achieved through more means than organised religion. One could also make the case that Tóibín in this case was inspired by the death of his father when he was a child drawing on how his mother coped with the absence of her husband, as he explored in an interview from 2017[18] and in his novel Nora Webster. One could further this case by pointing to the stage production of the novel, which Tóibín adapted, and which saw the actress Fiona Shaw take up the titular character: “Tóibín’s…Mary is more idea than flesh, and Shaw has to push and push to find Mary’s credibility as a character. Time and again, she turns the mother of Christ into your typically crusty and sage Irish mother.”[19] While this review of Shaw’s performance appears scathing one could argue that its issue with Tóibín’s conceptualised Mary is inherent given that she is a reshaping of an already well known and perpetuated figure. That being said, the crucial misunderstanding of this American stage critic is in assuming a stereotype to be a typical representation of Irish mothers and highlights how far removed the concept of The Virgin Mother is from the woman Mary.

Men throughout this novella take on an active role of defining events posthumously. As a review from The New Yorker rightfully notes “Mary, now an aging widow, is kept in semi-confinement by men eager to insure that her account of her son’s life matches the official version.”[20] Through Mary Tóibín is able to highlight and subvert the patriarchal nature of the Catholic Church particularly in Ireland, and in many ways by allowing her to speak he vindicates issues, such as spiritual violence and mental wellbeing, which the church overlooks in favour of dogma. The apostles’ treatment of Mary is far removed from the treatment her statue receives in Meehan’s poem. Tóibín’s Mary in his own words is “fearless, [she] didn’t take prisoners. Because she was only going to speak once it was going to be quite fierce”[21] whereas O’Halloran and Malloy note that Meehan’s Virgin by contrast is “helpless.”[22] While the statue is admired and worshiped, the woman is captive and coached on memories that are not hers. This juxtaposition of the two is not to say that one is more articulate or correct than the other, rather that there is much difference between the ideal and the reality which Tóibín explores throughout the novel. The Mary presented here is all too human; cowardly and selfish. She spurns the apostles’ romanticised reshaping of the Crucifixion and declares “When you say that he redeemed the world, I will say that it was not worth it.”[23] Tóibín presents us with a Mary that has learned from grief and is willing to face it, who, like the apostle scoffing at her husband’s chair, refuses to put her faith in a wooden object as a symbol of comfort or hope and instead accepts reality despite the pain of it. We see presented here a Mary who is willing to accept her failings and move past them, not one who reimagines and rewrites events to suit a more favourable narrative. The Mary here is not the perpetuated myth of suffering and motherhood, she is fierce in her actions and in her dialogue, as Tóibín stated, but she is also a fallible human who abandoned her child to his fate to save her own life. Although extreme this example of self-preservation is in stark contrast to the expectation placed on mothers in the theocratic Irish state, as Maguire points out when speaking of the 1937 constitution: “[it] appeared to value the potential life of the fetus more highly than the actual life of the mother.”[24] While one would be hard pressed to describe the fully grown messiah as a fetus, the spirit of this narrative serves the same purpose, to highlight the rights and protection of mothers as not just carers but as individuals, valuable in their own right.

In both texts we see multiple allusions and representations of what could be considered pagan worship. It is once again very invocative that the focus here should be placed on Mary not as subsidiary of the Catholic God or even as a Jew but as a pagan worshipper, seeking solace where the other two actively fail to console her. Tóibín’s Mary rejects her Judaism as it is haunted by memories of her now deceased family (her son and husband going to synagogue) and as such remains too painful for her to return to. She actively reproaches the rewritten events of Christianity being formed by Christ’s followers. Instead, Mary chooses to embrace the figure of Artemis, the Greek goddess of hunting, a traditionally male dominated activity. The sight of a statue of the goddess, a strong feminist icon, for a moment frees Mary of her memories, her previous suffering “The poison was not in my heart.”[25] She sees in Artemis a figure of support, a means to unburden herself of the memories that plague her, for she notes that the goddess has “seen more than I have and suffered more because she has lived more.”[26] This pagan worship helps Tóibín’s Mary, if not to heal, than to at least shoulder the strife she has seen and suffered at the hands of a patriarchal faith and state. Meehan’s poem is filled with allusions to pagan worship, from the portioners’ prayers rising like sparks from a bonfire to the statue counting down the days to the solstice[27] Pagan worship has often been characterised by the praise of nature and by one’s relation to the earth and natural landscapes; in many ways it is not unlike ecocriticism. Meehan’s Virgin for instance in The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks finds solace from the trauma of the storm that surrounds her and the death of Ann Lovett in pastoral memories of the surrounding scene, as well as the worship of the sky and celestial bodies. The critic Jody Allen Randolph notes that in  Meehan’s work “it is political event that makes the landscape open to reinterpretation.”[28] This is evident from the first line of the poem, which denotes not just the weather but also the political realities of Ireland in the 1980s surrounding reproductive rights: “It can be bitter here at times like this.”[29] Meehan is not only referring to the death of Ann Lovett and the “Kerry babies” affair, but also the September 1983 referendum concerning the ban of abortions in the Republic of Ireland. The landscape described by Meehan’s Virgin is one in contrast with the discussion of abortion, which Tom Inglis notes is one of the few moral debates which remain in public contention, despite the “dramatic decline in the importance of church teachings.”[30] Although abortion or reproductive rights are not mentioned in the poem itself the main arguments surrounding the ban of abortions are ridiculed in the poem, for instance where some might cite the protection of the sanctity of life, Meehan’s Virgin retorts in the second stanza “men hunt each other and invoke // the various names of God as blessing.”[31] Another example is the argument made by some that abortion is not natural, however the statue once again takes notice of the perversion of nature by man than goes unnoticed by society: “I hear fish drowning. // I taste the stagnant water mingled // with turf smoke from outlying farms.”[32] From the focus here on the natural landscape one could consider this poem a work of ecocriticism as well as one concerned with the political realities of the surrounding society. Meehan’s Virgin however is far more concerned with her own comfort, desire and gratification. She longs for the fauna and sights that come with the warmer months, to watch wedding parties, to break free of her stasis and be intimate with a lover as the bride is with her groom. This statue is far removed from the pious, devote virgin so often circulated by Catholic doctrine. She revels in the blooming of the seasons, laments the absence of the moon and stars and considers man to be closer to nature than to god “some old soul is lowered // to his kin. Death is just another harvest // scripted to the season’s play.”[33] By contrast she considers the rising of the dead, linked to the Catholic religious festival of All Soul’s Night (itself an off-shoot of an earlier pagan festival) to be unnatural, linking the risen skeletons to the howling wind and the traumatic death of Ann Lovett. Interestingly these corpses, those who have seen whatever afterlife lies beyond do not worship the Christian god but instead “implore…[the] sky for judgement.”[34] The pagan aspects of this poem of course comes to a head in the final stanza, which immediately follows the recorded suffering of Ann Lovett. There is an enticing parallel between Lovett and the statue here. Where Lovett pleads to the statue for help, the statue does not answer, similarly where the statue pleads to the sun to return it does not answer. They are distinct in the outcome of what they ask. The poor girl giving birth at the statue’s feet asks for mercy, indeed pleads for help, the statue only wishes for the passing of days, for the return of the seasons. Where one puts their faith in the absent Mother of God, the other believes in the tangible passage of time. It is unsurprising which woman’s desire is ultimately granted. We also see in Meehan’s Virgin’s pleas to the sun a self-serving desire. One could suggest that she longs for the sun, for the warmer months and seasonal events that come with them in a bid to distract herself from the memory of failing to help Lovett in her time of need, a memory that is characterised by harsh weather, by darkness. The Statue’s guilt is conveyed through the tone of the final two stanzas. Firstly, through the triple repetition of the phrase “I didn’t”[35] in the eighth stanza which suggests she lays the blame squarely on herself for failing to aid Lovett. Secondly in the desperation with which she implores the sun to move “molten mother of us all, // hear me and have pity.”[36] Once again, by the end of the poem we return to the figure of the mother. However, unlike the traditional representation, Meehan’s Virgin by the final lines has been characterised by desperation, exaltation, avarice and desire. The critic Eibhlin Evans notes that Meehan, among other modern female Irish writers have through poems like this: “effectively vanquish[ed] those silent, asexual ‘mothers’ of the nationalist poetic tradition.”[37]

These texts and their authors serve to highlight the ways in which Irish writers are beginning to deconstruct the imposed Irish Catholic cultural identity, to challenge its repressive dogma and, where possible, suggest and employ better means for new generations of Irish people to go beyond the net of Cullen’s Catholic identity. Morality, spirituality and self-preservation are ultimately up to the individual and while statesmen, spiritual leaders and humans remain fallible one must trust in their own convictions rather than succumb to those assigned to them.

Bibliography:

Anon, “The Testament of Mary,” The New Yorker, The New Yorker https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2012/12/17/the-testament-of-mary [Accessed August 4th 2020]

Als, Hilton. “Homesteaders,” The New Yorker, The Theatre, https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2013/05/06/homesteaders [Accessed August 4th 2020]

Delay, Cara. “The Devotional Revolution on the Local Level: Parish Life in Post-Famine Ireland.” U.S. Catholic Historian. Vol. 22. No. 3. (Summer, 2004). Pg. 41-60

Evans, Eibhlin. “Moving into the space cleared by our mothers.” Critical Survey. Vol. 8.  No. 2. (1996), pg. 198-209

Inglis, Tom. “Church and Culture in Catholic Ireland,” Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review, Vol. 106, No. 421, (Spring 2017), Pg. 21-30

 Larkin, Emmet. “The Devotional Revolution in Ireland, 1850-75.” The American Historical Review. Vol. 77. No. 3 (June, 1972). Pg.625-652

Larkin, Emmet. The Historical Dimensions of Irish Catholicism. New York: Arno. (1972)

Maguire, Moira J. “The Changing Face of Catholic Ireland: Conservatism and Liberalism in the Ann Lovett and Kerry Babies Scandals.” Feminist Studies. Vol. 27. No. 2. (Summer, 2001). Pg. 335-358

Meehan, Paula. “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks,” A Poem for Ireland. RTE, https://apoemforireland.rte.ie/shortlist/the-statue-of-the-virgin-at-granard/ [Accessed 27th July 2020]

O’Halloran, Eileen & Maloy, Kelli. “An Interview with Paula Meehan.” Contemporary Literature. Vol. 43, No. 1. (Spring, 2002). Pg. 1-27

Randolph, Jody Allen. “New Ireland Poetics: The Ecocritical Turn in Contemporary Irish Women’s Poetry.” Nordic Irish Studies. Vol. 8 (2009). Pg.57-70

Tóibín, Colm. The Testament of Mary. London: Penguin Book. (2013)

Tóibín, Colm. “Colm Tóibín: Why I humanised Mary the mother of God,” Youtube. FRANCE 24 English. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajM4NxiRA6Y&t=378s  [Accessed August 4th 2020]

[1] Emmet Larkin, “The Devotional Revolution in Ireland, 1850-75,” The American Historical Review, Vol. 77, No. 3 (June, 1972), Pg.640

[2] Cara Delay, “The Devotional Revolution on the Local Level: Parish Life in Post-Famine Ireland,” U.S. Catholic Historian, Vol. 22, No. 3, (Summer, 2004), Pg.42

[3] Emmet Larkin, “The Devotional Revolution in Ireland, 1850-75,” The American Historical Review, Vol. 77, No. 3 (June, 1972), Pg. 639

[4] Cara Delay, “The Devotional Revolution on the Local Level: Parish Life in Post-Famine Ireland,” U.S. Catholic Historian, Vol. 22, No. 3, (Summer, 2004), Pg. 42

[5] Emmet Larkin, The Historical Dimensions of Irish Catholicism, New York: Arno (1972), Pg. 650

[6] Paula Meehan, “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks,” A Poem For Ireland, RTE, https://apoemforireland.rte.ie/shortlist/the-statue-of-the-virgin-at-granard/ [Accessed 27^th July 2020]

[7] Moira J. Maguire, “The Changing Face of Catholic Ireland: Conservatism and Liberalism in the Ann Lovett and Kerry Babies Scandals,” Feminist Studies, Vol. 27, No. 2 (Summer, 2001) Pg. 336

[8] Eileen O’Halloran & Kelli Maloy, “An Interview with Paula Meehan,” Contemporary Literature, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Spring, 2002), Pg.6

[9] Paula Meehan, “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks,” A Poem For Ireland, RTE, https://apoemforireland.rte.ie/shortlist/the-statue-of-the-virgin-at-granard/  [Accessed 27th July 2020]

[10] Moira J. Maguire, Moira J. Maguire, “The Changing Face of Catholic Ireland: Conservatism and Liberalism in the Ann Lovett and Kerry Babies Scandals,” Feminist Studies, Vol. 27, No. 2 (Summer, 2001) Pg.337

[11] Ibid pg. 339

[12] Paula Meehan, “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks,” A Poem For Ireland, RTE, https://apoemforireland.rte.ie/shortlist/the-statue-of-the-virgin-at-granard/ [Accessed 29th July 2020]

[13] ibid

[14] Eileen O’Halloran & Kelli Maloy, “An Interview with Paula Meehan,” Contemporary Literature, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Spring, 2002) Pg. 3

[15] Colm Tóibín, The Testament of Mary, (Penguin Book, London: 2013) Pg. 34

[16] Moira J. Maguire, “The Changing Face of Catholic Ireland: Conservatism and Liberalism in the Ann Lovett and Kerry Babies Scandals,” Feminist Studies, Vol. 27, No. 2 (Summer, 2001) Pg. 335

[17] Colm Tóibín, The Testament of Mary, London: Penguin Book, (2013), Pg.22

[18]Colm Tóibín, “Colm Tóibín: Why I humanised Mary the mother of God,” Youtube, FRANCE 24 English, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajM4NxiRA6Y&t=378s  [Accessed August 4^th 2020]

[19] Hilton Als, “Homesteaders,” The New Yorker, The Theatre, https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2013/05/06/homesteaders [Accessed August 4th 2020]

[20] Anon, “The Testament of Mary,” The New Yorker, The New Yorker https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2012/12/17/the-testament-of-mary [Accessed August 4th 2020]

[21] Colm Tóibín, “Colm Tóibín: Why I humanised Mary the mother of God,” Youtube, FRANCE 24 English, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajM4NxiRA6Y&t=378s  [Accessed August 4th 2020], 3.08

[22] Eileen O’Halloran & Kelli Maloy, “An Interview with Paula Meehan,” Contemporary Literature, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Spring, 2002), Pg. 3

[23] Colm Tóibín, The Testament of Mary, London: Penguin Book, (2013), Pg. 102

[24] Moira J. Maguire, , “The Changing Face of Catholic Ireland: Conservatism and Liberalism in the Ann Lovett and Kerry Babies Scandals,” Feminist Studies, Vol. 27, No. 2 (Summer, 2001), Pg.336

[25] Colm Tóibín, The Testament of Mary, London: Penguin Book, (2013), Pg.13

[26] Ibid, Pg.14

[27] Paula Meehan, “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks,” A Poem For Ireland, RTE, https://apoemforireland.rte.ie/shortlist/the-statue-of-the-virgin-at-granard/  [Accessed 27th July 2020]

[28] Jody Allen Randolph, “New Ireland Poetics: The Ecocritical Turn in Contemporary Irish Women’s Poetry,” Nordic Irish Studies, Vol. 8 (2009), Pg.61

[29] Paula Meehan, “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks,” A Poem For Ireland, RTE, https://apoemforireland.rte.ie/shortlist/the-statue-of-the-virgin-at-granard/ [Accessed 27th July 2020]

[30] Tom Inglis, “Church and Culture in Catholic Ireland,” Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review, Vol. 106, No. 421, (Spring 2017), Pg. 21

[31] Paula Meehan, “The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks,” A Poem For Ireland, RTE, https://apoemforireland.rte.ie/shortlist/the-statue-of-the-virgin-at-granard/ [Accessed 27th July 2020]

[32] ibid

[33] Ibid

[34] Ibid

[35] ibid

[36] ibid

[37] Eibhlin Evans, “Moving into the space cleared by our mothers,” Critical Survey, Vol. 8, No. 2, (1996), pg. 201