The Woman Who Walked into Doors by Roddy Doyle

It took a long time for Roddy Doyle to be accepted in his own country as a ‘serious’ writer. His first novel, The Commitments, which was later made into a successful film, was initially self-published as he couldn’t find a publisher in Ireland. His straightforward prose, his use of four-letter words and his sharp ear for comedy made his Irish contemporaries believe that he was playing to the crowd, especially an American crowd open to stories featuring stereotypical, good-hearted, bumbling, working-class Irish characters. It was only after Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, his fourth novel, for which he became the first Irish man or woman to win the Booker prize, that he began to be taken seriously at home. In 1994 he wrote a controversial mini-series for television called Family that featured a working-class Dublin family with an abusive father. This was the forerunner for The Woman Who Walked into Doors which translated his popular appeal into critical acclaim.

The Woman Who Walked into Doors tells the story of Paula Spencer, a thirty-nine year old woman, mother of four, who has suffered seventeen years of domestic abuse at the hands of her husband, Charlo, a charming, manipulative and sadistic man. The novel begins when a Guard (Irish policeman) comes to tell Paula that Charlo is dead; killed by the Gardai after a botched burglary and kidnapping attempt. One year earlier, Paula had found the courage to throw Charlo out of the house and try to start her life again. The novel is written in the first person and alternates between Paula’s recollections of Charlo and her coming to terms with what led to his death.

Although I didn’t expect it, I found this book to be a powerful feminist novel. In a subversive way, it reminded me that in certain situations and certain milieus, women have been, and still are, dependant on men’s benevolence towards them; and they are unarmed and unsupported when it is withdrawn. But it is also finally an ode to the resilience of women, to their ability to survive and their efforts to carve out a haven of sorts for themselves and their children. That it is written by a man impressed me even further.

Paula is far from perfect; she is crude, brash, an alcoholic, she hits her own children but she tries to do her best and, even if her failures are at least partly her own fault, she commands a slightly begrudging respect and affection. From her first meeting with Charlo it is obvious that he is dangerous but his sex appeal and his similarity to her own father blind her to the risks she is taking. It is a poignant subplot that Paula remains convinced that her father was essentially a good man who behaved the way he did because he loved his family and wanted to protect them. Her sister Carmel’s dark hints and Paula’s memories of family scenes indicate otherwise but Paula’s naivety contrasted with Carmel’s corrosive cynicism and is at once her appeal and her downfall.

Paula’s descent into abuse makes for tough reading. Charlo is not only physically violent; breaking ribs and limbs, ripping out hair and smashing her against walls and floors, but he also mentally tortures Paula until she loses all self-confidence and accepts the role of victim.

We were watching the news, commenting on it, and he asked me where I’d got my black eye. I kept looking at the telly. I was being tested; I was sure I was. There was a right answer. But this came out of nowhere. There hadn’t been a row. There hadn’t been any tension. We’d been getting along fine, chatting away about the world and the H blocks. It was nice; the trick was to agree with everything he said. Then he came out with it.

- Where’d you get that?

- What?

- The eye.

It was a test. I was thumping inside. He was playing with me. There was only one right answer.

- I walked into the door.

- Is that right?

- Yeah.

- Looks sore.

- It’s not too bad.

- Good.

He was messing with me, playing. Like a cat with an injured bird. With his black armband, the fucker. Keeping me on my toes, keeping me in my place. Pretending he didn’t remember. Pretending he’d never seen black and red around and in that eye before. Pretending he cared.

When Paula finally throws Charlo out of the house (because he casts his eye around for another, more challenging victim and it lands on Nicola, his eldest daughter) you can’t help but cheer her on. She is prepared to do for her child what she cannot do for herself. This is typical Roddy Doyle; no situation is ever so black that there isn’t a ray of hope and a smile cracked. “I love Van Morrison. … That’s one thing about my life; it has a great soundtrack”

But neither is Roddy Doyle a Pollyanna optimist. Charlo’s eviction is the highpoint of the novel. One year later, at the time of his death, Paula is fighting a losing battle with alcohol. She tries to control herself by locking the bottles in the garden shed and then throwing the key into the garden. She makes herself wait until Jack, her youngest son, is in bed before she searches for the key and starts drinking, sometimes moving the clock forward to gain time. John Paul, her sixteen year old son, is a drug addict and has disappeared into the rough streets of Dublin.

Ten years later, in 2006, Roddy Doyle wrote a sequel, Paula Spencer, following Paula’s attempts to stop drinking and to retrieve the love of her children. I’ll definitely be looking it up.

Vintage; New Ed edition (3 Jan 1998), 240 pages, ISBN-10: 0749395990