Adia Sisson

Adia Sisson

Rob Lockey

Language and Literature SL

2019

Rationale

In our satire unit of Part 2: Language and Mass Communication, we read Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal. Inspired by Swift’s descriptions, I intend to write a short story centered around a woman in Ireland in 1734 who follows Swift's plan. At this point in time, Ireland was ruled by English Protestants, making the Irish Catholics powerless peasants. Johnathan Swift was Irish through England and used his English status to fight for Irish rights. The story will be fictional, taking place five years after the proposal, in a reality where it was implemented. I feel this task is fitting due to the abundance of setup provided by Swift, making it possible to epitomize his message in a powerful form.

The learning outcome for this piece will be to show an awareness of the potential for educational, political or ideological influence of the media. I will address this by creating a shocking narrative through implication in order to show that opinions can be shaped without explicit knowledge of what’s happening. The audience for this written task will be people interested in short stories and historical fiction, reading the story in a newspaper, blog, or other such media. It is intended that the reader would not expect the twist of the story and would be shocked at the actual events, only realizing the dark meaning after completing the story. In order to truly understand the events of the story, readers should have prior knowledge of Johnathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal.

The conventions of this text require a plot following Freytag’s pyramid. All dialogue will be written with archaic syntax, phonetic spellings, and some Irish vocabulary, but for readability considering the modern audience, the main text of the story will be written in modern English.

Word Count: 292

Swift, Johnathan. A Modest Proposal––1729. Project Gutenberg, 2013.

The Stew

The air was crisp as Maebh stepped over the threshold, jumper in hand. She was to walk to the market and peddle her most recent knitwork to bring back vegetables for that night’s supper. As she began her trip down the stone path, a red-haired wee’n appeared from behind a bush. No more than seven years of age, he was the bastard son of the Englishman next door, and every day without fail, he followed Maebh on her trip. His father was a Protestant landlord brought in to oversee the progress of Swift’s law, but he took delight in tormenting Maebh and her husband. Cruel at heart, the bairn tossed pebbles at the back of Maebh’s head, taunting her about her Catholic faith and poverty. She thought to herself of the grief this bairn must cause his father’s wife, who had no connection to the wee’n and was still forced to mother him. Maebh put these thoughts out of her head and focused on walking quickly; it was not her place to pity her oppressor.

Once Maebh entered the market, she no longer felt the thwack, thwack, thwack of the stones hitting her back. Finally, Maebh thought to herself. She approached the first stall, eying the presented goods to be sure the peddler wouldn’t refuse her sale. Luckily, there were no other knit jumpers in sight, so she produced her own and began the barter. As she handed the jumper to the peddler, she noticed him carefully watching over her shoulder.

“Is’t beknownst to yeh that a wee fella is behind yer skirts, hidin’ an’ gawkin’ at’ya?” the peddler asked. The bastard must have continued to follow her, hiding so as not to be caught by others and punished.

“Bastard leanbh of me neighbor,” she explained. “Not quite the full shilling, that one. Thinks it funny to scream ‘Bloody Catholics’ as we pass. Well then, best be off. I’d better take what I’m owed.” The peddler nodded, dropped two coins into her hand, and continued to watch the boy, still crouched, eyeing the peddler right back. Maebh placed her coins into a pocket betwixt her skirts and moved to find her next stop in the square.

Maebh examined the vegetable cart. She selected one bunch of carrots, an onion, some garlic, and three large potatoes, enough for a hearty vegetarian stew.

“How much’ll’t be for ‘em?” she asked the vender. His reply brought a grimace to her face. The sale of the jumper wouldn’t cover her planned purchase. She’d have to buy only the carrots and onion. As she reached into her skirts to retrieve the coins from her pocket, she felt a small hand grabbing for them as well. She seized the hand and spun to catch the wee’n in the act. Before he could begin to plead, she grasped his waist and lifted him onto her hip. With a glance, she indicated to the vendor that she’d be back, and she walked away from the cart.

The bairn began to cry, but Maebh hugged him close and rested her forehead against his. He may be cruel, but he was still just a child, and a young one at that. The bairn seemed to accept this gesture, ceasing his tears and resting his head on her chest as they walked through the market.

“This here’ll be me last stop. Alright dear?” Maebh brushed the hair out of the bairn’s eyes. He looked up at her and nodded. How easily wee’ns grow accustomed to strange new circumstances. Not twenty minutes past had he been calling names and throwing stones, and now he was comfortably resting on his victim’s chest.

When Maebh left the butcher, her pocket was full. As she returned to the vegetable cart, she counted the coins in her hand, giving four to the vegetable vender, and placing the remaining three in her pocket. She placed all the carrots, onion, garlic, and potatoes she’d wanted into her basket and turned to walk back home. As she left the market, she couldn’t help but think of the Englishman’s wife. Maybe Maebh would stop by to share some of her stew, now that she had meat to share.

Maebh had always liked to cook. It filled her days with purpose, not like the useless needlepoint and deportment of the English, who were surrounded by servants. She chopped her carrots and potatoes, throwing them into the pot over the fire with a bit of sheep’s butter. In a pan, she browned the chopped onion and garlic with the fresh meat. Maebh knew the best flavor came from cooking the meat separate at first, so that it may release the flavor of the garlic and that the onions may absorb the meat’s rich, red juices. It was also best to get the meat young, while the flesh was at its tenderest.

“Maebh?” a voice called from the door. “Supper is smellin’ fierce. From’t, sweet fumes flow down the path.” Maebh’s husband entered, stamping his boots at the threshold and moving to the table by the fire.

“Oi, auld fella! Wash up ‘fore supper. I can smell yer mank from ‘ere,” Maebh called as her husband sat to eat. He smiled at her, giving her a wet kiss on the cheek and leaving a patch of dirt where his lips had been before turning to wash himself in the basin. She wiped herself and eyed him with a look of distain before stirring her stew one more time and pouring it into two bowls.

“Mo stór, yeh’ve outdone yerself. How’ere d’yeh make purchase of such fine aliments, an’ how’ere d’yeh afford such tender meat?” he asked, placing his spoon back into the stew.

“Th’ chapman couldna poss’bly giv’n yeh that much for yer jumper. Well, how’d’yeh get on wi’t’the wee’n next door? Still giv’n yeh trouble?”

“Just enjoy yer stew, mo grá. The leanbh will’na trouble us no more. Fer that, be grat’ful fer the proposal of Mr. Johnathan Swift.”

Word Count: 997