Brooklyn

This week I started the novel Brooklyn, and watched the film based on the book. A tale of emigration is a fairly ordinary or standard one in an Irish setting, but with the details and the intensity of the suppressed feeling here, Colm Tóibín creates something transcendent. Many Irish people left because of economic conditions, but this particular girl, Eilis Lacey, left because the job she was able to get in her hometown was too degrading. Tóibín captures the warped nature of power relations in a town with so few jobs. The shopkeeper lords it over her employees, and also her customers, choosing which worthy residents will get the fresh bread, and which the stale, day-old leftovers. Never mind who has been standing in line. Eilis chafes against the arbitrary system of the shop, and longs for something different. Her sister takes note of her complaints, and arranges somewhere else for her to go.

One difference between the book and the film is that the former has the space to explore all the other losses Eilis’ family suffered before this journey that is part opportunity and part tragedy. Eilis’ three older brothers went to England for work one after the other, including her favorite brother, Jack. Each parting was like a death, even though someone living in England could come back for the holidays. The emigrants become different people, however, almost strangers to their friends and relations back home. Eilis is struck by how closed off her brother has become to her, when he accompanies her to the dock in Liverpool. The Jack she knew is gone, or too hard to reach.

If the hop over to England strains relationships, imagine what happens when someone goes all the way to America. Eilis tries to assure her mother and sister that she will return, that she will see them again, but all three know how unlikely that is. All three know how much the trip will change her. The film, having left out the brothers, emphasizes the relationship between the sisters Eilis and Rose. If Eilis is going to America, that means Rose is now forced to stay in the town to look after her mother. She most likely will not marry. She has to navigate the local hierarchy and all its vagaries, forever.

Another difference between the novel and book is that the former creates more of a direct parallel between Eilis’ hometown life and her life in Brooklyn. At home, she works in a small grocery; in Brooklyn, she works at a fancy department store. She is behind a counter in both, dealing with customers. The rules may be less arbitrary in Brooklyn, but they remain difficult for her to follow, because she is required to be cheerful when dealing with the public but can barely crack a smile because she is so homesick. Similarly, Eilis attends dances in both her hometown and in Brooklyn—both supervised by priests—and in the first a boy is rude to her. At home, she has a very limited selection of dance partners, and is out of luck when rude boy turns up his nose at her. She has to stand by herself and watch her friend dance. In Brooklyn, there are many possible partners. When one boy drops her in favor of her friend, another, nicer boy asks her to dance. In the film, the hometown dance sequence leaves out the rude boy, so as to limit the number of characters, relying instead on the forlorn look on Saoirse Ronan’s face. You see her scan the room, hopeful at first, her interest and sense of possibility dimming as she looks from one corner of the dancehall to the next. It is a brilliant close-up. Her expression does so much to convey the hopelessness of the place. But the effect is to make the desire to emigrate less personal. In the book, Ireland itself rejects her, in the person of this surly potential suitor. Reluctant to leave as she is, she gets a push. It’s a particularly noticeable difference because the film is clearly trying to be as faithful to the book as possible, but can’t help diverging to suit the medium.

In the film, it is Saoirse Ronan’s performance that delivers the transcendence. In lesser hands, maybe the quietness of the story would have suffered. But Ronan can carry it single-handed. Her looks are haunting, her slightest expressions burst with feeling.

Had I only seen the film, I think I would have seen the parallels less—the underlying structure of the story—but I would still have picked up on the longing, the conflicting desires, the lure of possibility and the pull of home.