The Heart's Invisible Furies

by John Boyne

Long before we discovered that he had fathered two children by two different women, one in Drimoleague and one in Clonakilty, Father James Monroe stood on the altar of the Church of Our Lady, Star of the Sea, in the parish of Goleen, West Cork, and denounced my mother as a whore.

But for all that we had, for all the luxury to which we were accustomed, we were both denied love, and this deficiency would be scorched into our future lives like an ill-considered tattoo inscribed on the buttocks after a drunken night out, leading each of us inevitably toward isolation and disaster.

“Every man is afraid of women as far as I can see,” said Julian, displaying an understanding of the universe far beyond his years. “That’s true,” she said. “But only because most men are not as smart as women and yet they continue to hold all the power. They fear a change of the world order.”

Max was living proof that it doesn’t matter if people love you or loathe you; as long as they know who you are, you can make a good living.

There seems to be some irony to the fact that the least intelligent member of the government always seems to end up running Education.

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. What’s it like anyway, being dead?” He frowned and thought about it for a few moments. “It’s hard to say,” he said eventually. “I’m getting even more action than I ever did before, so that’s something.” “It’s not as if you were ever short of it in the past.” “No, but now that I’m dead I get to have sex with women from all periods of history. I did it with Elizabeth Taylor last week. She looks like she did in Father of the Bride, so, you know, she’s not short of offers. But she chose me.” “Lucky you.” “Lucky her,” he said, grinning. “And Rock Hudson made a pass at me.”