c/o NPR

Content warning: sexual and physical violence.

Picture this scene: two men in a gun shop—one the owner, the other a friend—having a pretty regular conversation. A crazed woman suddenly comes crashing in, demanding to buy an assault rifle. After some argument, she leaps over the counter, takes her desired weapon, grabs the wrong ammunition, throws cash at the men, and leaves just as quickly as she came in. 

This is the opening of “Little Constructions,” by Anna Burns. It’s the Northern Irish author’s second novel, published for the first time in the United States in February. Burns, a popular novelist in the United Kingdom, did not garner serious attention in the U.S. until the publication of her third novel, “Milkman,” in 2018. “Milkman” received acclaim for its unconventional narrative choices, dark sense of humor, and exploration of gendered violence; “Little Constructions” proves that these are themes and techniques the talented author has been honing since the beginning of her career.

The novel follows the Doe clan, a family of murderers, as one of their members, Jetty Doe, travels across the town of Tiptoe Floorboard with her stolen Kalashnikov gun. The family members, all of whom have names that start with “J”—Jetty, Judas, JanineJoshuantine—suspect that the reign of their leader, John Doe, may be coming to an end. John has been having an affair with his sister-in-law, Jetty, and now Jetty is seeking revenge. As the novel progresses, the darkly humorous (and unidentified) narrator takes the reader on a journey that explores the history of the Doe clan, along with the repercussions of Jetty’s act.

The novel is a complete and utter whirlwind; once finished, it feels like the reader has been escorted through a fever dream. It can be difficult to connect each chapter to the next, as the easily distracted narrator often goes off on digressions about histories and backstories that seem superfluous. Because the story has numerous family members and many overlapping relationships, one might feel that they need to create a chart or a family tree in order to properly follow the story. Burns’ disorienting techniques serve to transport the reader into the chaotic world of a violent cult; the narrative is dizzyingly complicated, which is only heightened by the complex web of names that all sound the same. 

However, there are strands of consistency throughout the story. Burns is very interested in the ways in which violence and gender correlate, and uses the co-ed clan to explore this. John Doe, along with the other men of the clan, often targets women as victims of their violent actions; an entire chapter is devoted to describing the first time John attacks a woman at a train station, positioning it as a rite of passage into the family business and, by extension, into manhood. Other male characters strangle their daughters, sexually assault women, and perform other iterations of misogynistic violence. With such difficult thematic material to tackle, Burns eases these disturbing passages with continual humorous insertions from the narrator. These chapters are darkly comic, lingering on the “dark” more than some readers would prefer.

Expressions of this male violence are coupled with nuanced backstories of the women in the Doe clan. There are very candid discussions of childhood sexual assault, which explore how one moves on from these occurrences and is able to find a way to enjoy sexual relationships again. Many of the characters deal with the history of traumatic episodes, whether sexual, violent, or both. 

“…when something awful happens to you, how long are you allowed before you’re supposed to be over it, and what happens if you’re not over it and take longer than the officially allotted time?” the narrator asks. 

Burns leaves many of these questions unanswered, and seems to be more interested in raising them rather than offering concrete solutions. But her inclusion of these women is important alongside her exploration of male violence; she seems to realize that to have one without the other would be alienating to readers and unfair to the female characters that she has created.

By the end of the novel, the reader feels that they’ve accomplished an impressive feat as well as gained intricate knowledge of a complex gang, and a more nuanced understanding of the manifestation of violence in the psyche and on certain bodies. If readers are able to submerge themselves in Burns’ wild imagination, “Little Constructions” is definitely worth the read. 

Sarah Bazarian can be reached sbazarian@wesleyan.edu.