Modernist writers often explored the emotional lives of characters who are alienated in some way: estranged from others, society in general, and even cut off from themselves. In “A Painful Case,” Mr. Duffy and Mrs. Sinico are both alienated, for different reasons. Duffy has chosen a solitary life and carefully arranged it to be as disconnected from other people as possible. His life is contented until meeting Mrs. Sinico. Though married with a daughter, Mrs. Sinico, like Duffy, is disconnected from true companionship—her husband, a ship’s captain, is away often and undervalues her. Unlike Duffy, Mrs. Sinico yearns to escape her alienation. They strike up an unusual friendship that deepens into a genuine connection between two souls. The story shows that even in the alienating world of the modern city, a chance encounter can lead to an authentic connection between people who may not have realized how much they needed it.
Duffy has arranged his life so that he is isolated from the other citizens of Dublin, living in a suburb of the city with minimal social interaction and no friendships. He chooses his residence “because he wished to live as far as possible from the city of which he was a citizen,” suggesting that he desires a formal connection to Dublin but doesn’t want to participate in its civic life. Duffy’s habits reinforce his self-imposed alienation. He works as a bank cashier, a job requiring only scripted, formal business interactions with the public. He dines in the same restaurant every day “where he fe[els] himself safe from the society of Dublin’s gilded youth,” showing that he perceives fashionable society with scorn and as a threat. He spends his evenings in solitary activities: playing his landlady’s piano or “roaming about the outskirts of the city.” His only amusement comes from occasionally attending operas or concerts where social interaction is not expected. Duffy’s habits have produced the desired result of a disconnected life: “He ha[s] neither companions nor friends, church nor creed.” In Ireland at the time, people placed high value on observing the services of the Catholic Church, but Duffy merely visits relatives at Christmas and attends their funerals. He does the minimum required to fulfill “social duties for old dignity’s sake,” going through the motions, “but conced[ing] nothing further to the conventions which regulate the civic life.” Thus, Duffy fulfills the norms of social life, but gives nothing of himself to it.
Duffy does show an interest in political reform and a desire to connect with others pursuing it, but his snobbish attitude alienates him from other political activists. Duffy tells Mrs. Sinico that he had attended some meetings of the Irish Socialist Party. However, he stopped because he felt the other members, lower class “workmen,” were too focused on their wages and therefore “timorous”—timid and fearful of working toward greater change. Duffy was unable to empathize with their concerns and felt that they resented his higher class and intellect, “the produce of a leisure not within their reach.” Consequently, he has grown cynical, telling Mrs. Sinico, “No social revolution […] would be likely to strike Dublin for some centuries.” This experience led Duffy to become alienated from political discourse more generally. When Mrs. Sinico inquires if he has written about his politics, Duffy denigrates other writers as “phrasemongers, incapable of thinking consecutively for sixty seconds” and explains that he could not bear to be criticized by “an obtuse middle class,” lacking morality and taste. Again, Duffy alienates himself with a superior, judgmental attitude.
Like Duffy, Mrs. Sinico is isolated and alienated from human connection. However, in her case, she did not choose this way of life, but yearns for companionship. It is implied that Mrs. Sinico’s advancing age has caused her husband to lose interest in her. Though married, they have no real connection. She mentions her husband to Duffy in a way that suggests he is not jealous and would permit their budding friendship: “She alluded once or twice to her husband but her tone was not such as to make the allusion a warning.” As a ship’s captain, Captain Sinico is “often away,” giving the Duffy and Mrs. Sinico opportunity for many private meetings. Moreover, Captain Sinico has lost interest in his wife sexually and this is why he is not jealous of Duffy’s visits to their home: “He had dismissed his wife so sincerely from his gallery of pleasures that he did not suspect that anyone else would take an interest in her.”
Duffy and Mrs. Sinico’s chance encounter deepens into a genuine connection that enriches them both. To Duffy, “[Mrs. Sinico’s] companionship [is] like a warm soil about an exotic.” Like an exotic plant that can only thrive in certain conditions, Duffy’s personality blooms in the “soil” of Mrs. Sinico’s undivided attention and care, highlighting how nourishing human connection can be. Mrs. Sinico is also likened to his “confessor.” As in a Catholic confessional, Duffy can say anything to her and, in the process, become spiritually cleansed. Indeed, Duffy’s feels spiritually elevated during their conversations: “their union exalted him” as he feels “in her eyes he would ascend to an angelical stature.” Her rapt attention feeds into Duffy’s egotism and sense of superiority, letting him feel his intelligence is recognized. Mrs. Sinico, in turn, benefits from being able to embody her prescribed female role of nurturing and supporting a man. She listens to Duffy “with almost maternal solicitude.” She has on Duffy the softening effect women were expected to exert on men according to the gender norms of the time. Her influence “w[ears] away the rough edges of his character, emotionalise[s] his mental life.” Duffy and Mrs. Sinico fit together according to the era’s gender norms, with Duffy’s intellect balanced by Mrs. Sinico’s emotion. This unlikely pair come together in a deep connection that gives the other what they most need: Duffy gets to feel heard, and Mrs. Sinico gets to feel needed.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Alienation and Connection ThemeTracker
Alienation and Connection Quotes in A Painful Case
Mr. James Duffy lived in Chapelizod because he wished to live as far as possible from the city of which he was a citizen and because he found all the other suburbs of Dublin mean, modern and pretentious. He lived in an old sombre house and from his windows he could look into the disused distillery or upwards along the shallow river on which Dublin is built.
He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glasses. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a predicate in the past tense. He never gave alms to beggars and walked firmly, carrying a stout hazel.
He had neither companions nor friends, church nor creed. He lived his spiritual life without any communion with others, visiting his relatives at Christmas and escorting them to the cemetery when they died. He performed these two social duties for old dignity’s sake but conceded nothing further to the conventions which regulate the civic life.
One evening he found himself sitting beside two ladies in the Rotunda. The house, thinly peopled and silent, gave distressing prophecy of failure. The lady who sat next him looked round at the deserted house once or twice and then said:
—What a pity there is such a poor house tonight! It’s so hard on people to have to sing to empty benches.
He took the remark as an invitation to talk. He was surprised that she seemed so little awkward.
Her companionship was like a warm soil about an exotic. Many times she allowed the dark to fall upon them, refraining from lighting the lamp. The dark discreet room, their isolation, the music that still vibrated in their ears united them. This union exalted him, wore away the rough edges of his character, emotionalised his mental life. Sometimes he caught himself listening to the sound of his own voice. He thought that in her eyes he would ascend to an angelical stature.
He wrote seldom in the sheaf of papers which lay in his desk. One of his sentences, written two months after his last interview with Mrs. Sinico, read: Love between man and man is impossible because there must not be sexual intercourse and friendship between man and woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse.
Captain Sinico […] also gave evidence […] He was not in Dublin at the time of the accident as he had arrived only that morning from Rotterdam. They had been married for twenty-two years and had lived happily until about two years ago when his wife began to be rather intemperate in her habits.
Miss Mary Sinico said that of late her mother had been in the habit of going out at night to buy spirits. She, witness, had often tried to reason with her mother and had induced her to join a League.
Just God, what an end! Evidently she had been unfit to live, without any strength of purpose, an easy prey to habits, one of the wrecks on which civilisation has been reared. But that she could have sunk so low! Was it possible he had deceived himself so utterly about her? He remembered her outburst of that night and interpreted it in a harsher sense than he had ever done. He had no difficulty now in approving of the course he had taken.
It was after nine o’clock when he left the shop. The night was cold and gloomy. He entered the Park by the first gate and walked along under the gaunt trees. He walked through the bleak alleys where they had walked four years before. She seemed to be near him in the darkness. At moments he seemed to feel her voice touch his ear, her hand touch his. He stood still to listen. Why had he withheld life from her? Why had he sentenced her to death? He felt his moral nature falling to pieces.
He turned back the way he had come, the rhythm of the engine pounding in his ears. He began to doubt the reality of what memory told him. He halted under a tree and allowed the rhythm to die away. He could not feel her near him in the darkness nor her voice touch his ear. He waited for some minutes listening. He could hear nothing: the night was perfectly silent. He listened again: perfectly silent. He felt that he was alone.
