BookBrowse Reviews Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan

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An understated yet deeply affecting ode to the heroism of those who dare to speak out against institutionalized cruelty.

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It's December 1985 in a small town in rural Ireland, the kind where everyone knows everyone else's business. With Christmas round the corner and the ground thick with frost, coal merchant Bill Furlong is working flat-out to make sure his neighbors are equipped to deal with the harsh winter closing in. Whispers have long circulated about the true goings on behind the walls of the local convent and the circumstances of the girls sent to work in its laundry—but when Bill, an honest, hard-working man whose only goal is to keep his head down and provide for his family, stumbles upon a dark secret during a delivery to the convent, he realizes that the truth is far worse than anything he might have imagined.

Bill is an incredibly endearing protagonist, and author Claire Keegan impressively conveys his character within her limited page count. In a pleasant contrast—or challenge—to the masculinity standards of the time, he's a sensitive, loving father to his five daughters, describing his "deep, private joy that these children were his own." While others assume he would be disappointed to have no sons to "carry on the name," Bill sees no issue; the local Mother Superior questions him about it, to which he quickly responds, "What have I against girls?... Sure, didn't I take my own mother's name, Mother. And never any harm did it to me."

He's also perceptive and empathetic towards those in his community; he sees the hardships of his neighbors as he goes about his work, and their struggles continue to weigh on him as he returns home. In an exchange with his wife, we see how instinctively he sees the good in people where his wife is quick to judge, and how freely he offers to help those in need:

"Did something happen?"
It took him a moment to answer. "Mick Sinnott's little chap was out on the road again today, foraging for sticks."
"I suppose you stopped."
"Wasn't it spilling rain. I pulled over and offered him a lift and gave him what bit of change was loose in my pocket."
"I dare say."
"You'd think it was a hundred pound I'd given him."
"You know some of these bring the hardship on themselves?"
"Tis not the child's doing, surely."

Small Things Like These is about breaking cycles of abuse and cruelty, and about the heroism it takes to stand against the system. Bill is warned about the influence of the Catholic church in the town and the ramifications not just for him, but for his daughters' futures, if he dares to call attention to the convent's secret abuses. On the convent's links with his daughters' school, the local landlady tells him:

"You've reared a fine family of girls—and you know there's nothing only a wall separating that place from St Margaret's… Can't I count on one hand the number of girls from around here that ever got on well who didn't walk those halls… You can't side against one without damaging your chances with the other."

Bill's decision to intervene and do the right thing despite this warning says much about his moral compass, especially considering how much he cares about his daughters' futures. His own childhood was brutal by all accounts—he was born out of wedlock to a teenage mother whose family cast her out, and then orphaned at just twelve years old, having never known his father's identity. Bullied for his beginnings, people believed he would "turn out to be a fool." He has worked hard all his life to defy this judgement and raise his standing in society from "less than nothing," and he is determined not to let history repeat itself by ensuring his children have the secure childhood that was denied him—a solid education, bountiful opportunities, and a present, loving father.

Bill knows better than most that it would be "the easiest thing in the world to lose everything," but unlike those who remain complicit by choosing to turn a blind eye, he chooses to act. He knows that "the thing not done, which could have been—which he would have had to live with for the rest of his life" is so much worse than any consequences he and his family may experience for defying the church. After all, "was there any point in being alive without helping one another?" he asks himself.

Because of the way Keegan develops Bill's backstory and his character through exchanges with others, this moral rectitude, and Bill's likeability in general, never feels forced or unearned. Nor do any of the novel's emotional beats—the truth that Bill uncovers at the convent is deeply upsetting, for example, but Keegan never plays it for shock value or lingers on gratuitous detail. On the contrary, the novel is a quiet masterclass in the power of what remains unsaid (see Beyond the Book).

Small Things Like These may be a slight novel, but it packs a mighty punch, capturing a sad yet hopeful turning point in Irish social history.

This review first ran in the January 28, 2026 issue of BookBrowse Recommends.