Description The shortest novel ever shortlisted for the Booker Prize—a new classic to be pulled off the shelf and reread every Christmas! "Some may be disappointed that Claire Keegan's first new work in over a decade runs to barely a hundred pages. But rest assured: Keegan never wastes a single word." So wrote British cultural critic Barry Pierce, introducing Small Things Like These, published eleven years after Foster (104 pages). Keegan had already achieved the status of a master in Ireland and across Europe, though her reputation had yet to fully cross the Atlantic. But with the 2021 publication of Small Things Like These, readers in America and around the world responded with an almost feverish excitement, as if trying to make up for lost time. That enthusiasm only grew when the book was shortlisted for the 2022 Booker Prize—at just 116 pages in the original English edition, it earned the distinction of being the shortest work ever shortlisted for the prize. If there is one dominant thread running through Keegan's fiction, it is a devotion to restraint and efficiency—a willingness to leave things unsaid. She describes her own process as one of "paring down," confessing that she finds joy above all in simplicity. This quality, present since her earliest work, is fully on display in Small Things Like These, told through the eyes of its protagonist, Bill Furlong. Her avoidance of lengthy dialogue and unnecessary explanation is also, in a sense, an act of consideration for her characters. Keegan has said that it feels inappropriate for a writer to expose emotions her characters themselves are reluctant to acknowledge, adding, "I believe good writing depends on good manners." As translator Hong Han-byul explains, Claire Keegan is a writer who compresses countless meanings beneath the surface of language, speaking carefully, almost hesitantly, as though holding something back. Because she implies rather than states outright, some things only become visible on a second, third, or even later reading. Critics Shin Hyung-cheol and Eun-yu, who both recommended this book, have said the same thing: "The moment I finished it, I turned back to page one and read it again." Those who have passed through the doorway of misfortune know how fragile the line between comfort and ruin truly is. It is 1985, in the small Irish town of New Ross, where the whole country is enduring a harsh winter of unemployment and poverty. The story unfolds through the eyes of Bill Furlong, a coal merchant who, though not wealthy, provides comfortably for his family—a stable marriage and five daughters. New Ross is slowly falling into decline. The lines for unemployment benefits grow longer by the day, and many households, unable to pay their electricity bills, go cold, with some sleeping in their coats. Watching this bleak landscape, Furlong wonders if the easiest thing in the world might be to lose everything. Born into poverty and orphaned young, Furlong was raised with the help of a kind benefactor, and he is keenly aware that his own comfortable life is largely a matter of luck. He knows he holds the privilege of a job that supports his family, of daughters who attend good schools, of ending each day in a warm bed while planning for tomorrow. And he never forgets how easily all of this could be lost. One morning just before Christmas, while making a coal delivery to the local convent, Furlong discovers a young girl in the coal shed and begins to piece together the disturbing truth of what is happening there. He finds himself asking what meaning life could have if people do not help one another. But his wife, and the world around him, urge him to look away, to ignore what must be ignored in order to protect the peace of his own household, pressing him toward silence. Living comfortably in a town where the convent wields absolute power, Furlong must decide whether to take a stand at great personal risk, or to stay silent for the sake of his daughters and his family. Standing at this perilous crossroads, he feels both fear and a strange, electrifying thrill—the choice that could cost him everything.