Nawaz 1

Saad Nawaz

Ms. Selina Aziz

LIT4081

4-December-2023

An analysis of Colin Barrett’s The Moon: From the short stories compilation Young Skins

Set in a small Irish town, Young Skins is a moving examination of loneliness and human

connection. Barrett expertly explores the characters’ intricacies, exposing their weaknesses and

aspirations. A sense of atmospheric realism is created by the novel’s evocative language and

vivid imagery, which draw the reader into the emotional environment of the story. Throughout

the entire short stories, themes of identity exploration, longing, and loneliness resurface. The

characters’ struggles with estrangement reflect the remoteness of the rural environment.

One can only settle when change is unachievable, and The Moon is as much a tale of a

woman who refuses to settle as it is of a man who finds solace and security in the suffering

around him. Valentine Neary, a bouncer at one of the pubs that invariably provide backdrops for

the stories in this anthology, is the central character of the story. Val is a powerful, self-assured

man with enough life experience to have some wisdom and an air of senior citizen swagger.

Barrett first establishes Val’s dominance with a few local girls: “From it emerged four

girls. Val and Boris took them in, the four bare-legged, in miniskirts and heels and tops devised

from impressively inadequate swatches of material. Val squared his shoulders and cleared his

throat. Not a one of them was near eighteen. As they approached the girls became quiet under the

cool wattage of the bouncers’ gaze.” Val makes the most of the interaction by teasing the girls

and waiting for the most attractive one to respond before feigning to unwillingly let them in. Val

plays the ritual with no trace of sarcasm; in fact, it seems that he enjoys forcing a discussion out
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of a group of teenage ladies. Val makes the most of the interaction by teasing the girls and

waiting for the most attractive one to respond before feigning to unwillingly let them in. Val

plays the ritual with no trace of sarcasm; in fact, it seems that he enjoys forcing a discussion out

of a group of teenage ladies. Val believes that he has authority over the girls since they are

minors, and that allowing them inside exposes him as a bit of a rogue. Readers can really picture

him examining himself in the mirror and whispering, ‘still got it,’ as the girls slink out of sight

and safely trade gagging motions and rolled eyes. This moment, far from portraying Val as a

large man, made him seem to be just another sexist who can only treat women equally when they

are underage, and he has the support of a whole institution.

The focus of the narrative then turns to Val's connection with Martina Boren, the owner

of the club’s youngest daughter. The patriarch is another prejudiced figure, though one who is

glossed over, bragging about his successful daughters in front of a group of inebriated

pensioners: “‘This one,’ he’d say, grabbing the girl by her shapeless shoulders, ‘is off to Trinity,

boys. Medicine!’” The then sixteen year old girl pulls out books and starts to revise, but the

teenage rebel eventually defies her father’s wishes and ends up going to Galway to study art. The

middle-class response to this information might be to conclude that Martina doesn’t reach her

full potential, but a more accurate analysis is going to come to the conclusion that Martina’s

father ultimately has no say over where she attends college.

When Martina comes back, it is as one of those emboldened and independent young

women who allude an aura of security: “Martina had grown up and into herself. First night on the

job she showed up sporting a pair of knee-high leather boots… a murderous glint in her eye that

said the dowdy teenage bookworm of yesteryear was dead and gone.” Instantly smitten, Val tries

to seduce Martina only for her to reject his theatrical advances. The reasons behind their previous
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affair seem to completely elude Val. She is no longer the weak girl in a difficult situation. To be

fair, the only explanation Barrett offers for Martina’s attraction to an eerie elderly doorman is

that her open dislike of bars and clubs matches his practiced professional cynicism.

Val portrays the textbook role of the doorman in the opening, refusing to let in minors,

and then, in response to a smile and some lighthearted banter, he plays the equally stereotypical

role of the bouncer, who is actually okay once you get to know him. Martina’s cynicism about

the subtleties of human pair-bonding rituals is genuine, while his is influenced. Val receives an

invitation from Martina to grab a drink and is then confronted about his relationship issues all

while she flaunts her own relationship with a young guy who’s quite docile in their relationship

and blindly smitten with her. “‘He’s so excitable. Laps at my neck, like a dog. Pants,’ Martina

said, sticking out her tongue and going hah hah hah.”

Martina claims that Glanbeigh reminds her of a location in Holland where she and some

friends used to vacation while sitting in the fading dusk. The gang would take a load of

mushrooms every night and wait for an elderly man to pedal by on his bike. The man is referred

to by Martina as Old Father Time, and from her description, it seems as though he is an alien:

“He had a dog, a dinky little Jack Russell that’d come trotting along after him. The dog had a

leash clipped to the collar around its neck, and it used to chase after the bike carrying the end of

the leash bundled up between its jaws.” Barrett can not have made the dog reference by accident.

Martina treats her boyfriend, who acts like a dog, with contempt, but she also reacts to the

strange old man being chased by a dog with awe and respect. Martina realizes, on a very basic

level, that being Father Time is preferable to the dog chasing him.

Her conflicted feelings towards Val are a reflection of his seeming entrapment between

two distinct personas: he is wise and experienced enough to be the lone individual, but he still
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prefers to act like a dog. Val is given the opportunity by Martina to act like an adult and relate to

her on an equal footing, but he finds it difficult. At last, the penny drops: “‘Galway’s not that

far,’ said Martina, ‘but it might as well be the moon for people like you’.”

Val is left to his life of flirting with girls and manhandling inebriated boys after Martina

returns to Galway. Sensing that something exceptional may have escaped his grasp, he sends

Martina an absurd text message, even though he is smart enough and self-aware enough to know

that it will only make her mad and make him look like another sad dog: “The text he eventually

sent Martina was so long, he had to dispatch it in four separate messages. He didn’t think it likely

that Martina would reply, or reply in any meaningful way. Still he asked her how she was, was

Galway as lively as ever, was she intent on dumping the drummer…”

In conclusion, The Moon immaculately encapsulates fledgling masculinity as readers are

introduced to a pathetic character whose persona remains opaque and doesn’t undergo any

development due to his own devices. This shows how will can pave a way in improving one’s

self but lack of it will lead to stagnation.