In narrating Maria’s thoughts, Joyce shows a woman striving to see the positive: she likes the community at the laundry where she works, she has a greenhouse full of lovely plants, and she is delighted to visit Joe Donnelly and his family for Hallow Eve. But despite Maria’s attempts to be cheerful, it is clear that her life is difficult, particularly as an unmarried woman in a society that sees marriage as a woman’s ultimate fulfillment. Throughout the story, Maria’s narration is unreliable: she often says one thing but means another, which reflects her attempts to deny and repress her own sadness. Maria’s struggle to remain optimistic about her lonely life leaves a tragic implication: that in the absence of real opportunity for happiness, all Maria can do is deny reality and try to convince herself that she is already okay.
Maria is constantly hiding her true feelings from herself and others. At the beginning of the story, for example, one of the women at the laundry wishes aloud that she had a drink, which Maria finds inappropriate. Instead of criticizing her, though, Maria forces herself to laugh in order to convince others that she is not offended. Furthermore, she thinks to herself that the woman meant well, rather than admitting to herself that she is uncomfortable. This self-delusion is more extreme when an elderly man gives Maria his seat on the bus. Maria implies in passing that he is drunk (“he has a drop taken”), and she later admits that he made her so “confused” that she accidentally left a bag of plum cake on the bus. Clearly, this was an uncomfortable interaction with a drunk stranger, but it is noteworthy that she initially describes it in positive terms: he is “nice” and “polite” and “smil[ing],” and she talks with him throughout the bus ride, suggesting that he was “easy […] to know.” This means that, not only was she unwilling to reveal to him how she felt, but even in her private thoughts, she has trouble acknowledging that this interaction was unpleasant.
Maria even does this with Joe Donnelly, the person in the story to whom she feels closest. When she visits his home, he pulls her aside and tells her a story about his office that she does not understand. She tries awkwardly to respond, and reflects that Joe was “very nice” to her, seemingly just for making the effort to talk to her. Maria seems so desperate to connect with someone that she cannot admit even to herself that they are not understanding one another in this moment.
While these incidents are all minor, the story’s climax shows the most jarring and extreme instance of Maria’s denial. At the Donnellys’, Maria plays a Hallow Eve game in which, blindfolded, she selects an object that represents her fate: a lump of clay, which signifies impending death. Any reasonable person who is familiar with the game would immediately know they had touched clay, but Maria—despite her familiarity with the game—refuses to acknowledge what has happened. She never names what she touches (calling it simply a “soft wet substance”), which allows her to avoid acknowledging the clay’s symbolism. Furthermore, even though the others in the room fall silent after she selects the clay and then whisper furiously to one another, Maria does not acknowledge or interpret their odd behavior—she merely registers that her choice was “wrong” and selects another object. By refusing to name the clay or acknowledge the reaction of others, Maria remains—against all odds—in denial about a clear and simple reality. This moment shows the startling power of Maria’s repression. When faced with a sign that she will be alone forever (even from an innocuous children’s game), Maria chooses to deny its existence, presumably because processing its meaning would be too painful. In this moment, it seems clear that Maria’s powerful ability to repress unpleasantness comes from her inability to admit that she is probably fated to remain alone.
At the end of her evening at the Donnellys’, Maria sings an aria for the group—but she repeats the first verse (about dreaming of wealth) instead of singing the second (about dreaming of love and suitors). Maria clearly does dream of love, but she has buried this emotion so deep that she cannot even sing an aria about someone else feeling it. It is an obvious sign—to the reader and to everyone at the Donnellys’—that her repression remains entrenched. It is noteworthy, though, that because Maria cannot speak of her pain and shame, others around her are forced into a similar silence, one that echoes her own repression. After the aria, Joyce notes that nobody in the room points out Maria’s mistake, implying that they understand the emotional significance of the moment but cannot speak about it. Joe Donnelly is moved to tears, seemingly because he is so sad for Maria, but instead of saying so, he pours himself a drink. This has been true of other characters, too: earlier, one of the women at the laundry made a joke about Maria’s being single (perhaps because she could not straightforwardly express her concern), and Joyce himself goes silent out of respect for Maria. He never once uses the word “clay” in the story, naming only in the title what Maria refuses to acknowledge.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Sadness and Repression ThemeTracker
Sadness and Repression Quotes in Clay
Maria was a very, very small person indeed but she had a very long nose and a very long chin. She talked a little through her nose, always soothingly: Yes, my dear, and No, my dear. She was always sent for when the women quarreled over their tubs and always succeeded in making peace. One day the matron had said to her:
—Maria, you are a veritable peace-maker!
And the sub-matron and two of the Board ladies had heard the compliment. And Ginger Mooney was always saying what she wouldn’t do to the dummy who had charge of the irons if it wasn’t for Maria. Everyone was so fond of Maria.
What a nice evening they would have, all the children singing! Only she hoped that Joe wouldn’t come in drunk. He was so different when he took any drink.
Often he had wanted her to go and live with them; but she would have felt herself in the way (though Joe’s wife was ever so nice with her) and she had become accustomed to the life of the laundry. Joe was a good fellow. She had nursed him and Alphy too; and Joe used often say:
—Mamma is mamma but Maria is my proper mother.
There was a great deal of laughing and joking during the meal. Lizzie Fleming said Maria was sure to get the ring and, though Fleming had said that for so many Hallow Eves, Maria had to laugh and say she didn’t want any ring or man either; and when she laughed her grey-green eyes sparkled with disappointed shyness and the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin. Then Ginger Mooney lifted up her mug of tea and proposed Maria’s health while all the other women clattered with their mugs on the table, and she said she was sorry she hadn’t a sup of porter to drink it in. And Maria laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin and till her minute body nearly shook itself asunder because she knew that Mooney meant well though, of course, she had the notions of a common woman.
She arranged in her mind all she was going to do and thought how much better it was to be independent and to have your own money in your pocket. She hoped they would have a nice evening. She was sure they would but she could not help thinking what a pity it was Alphy and Joe were not speaking. They were always falling out now but when they were boys together they used to be the best of friends: but such was life.
Here she was a long time in suiting herself and the stylish young lady behind the counter, who was evidently a little annoyed by her, asked her was it wedding-cake she wanted to buy. That made Maria blush and smile at the young lady; but the young lady took it all very seriously and finally cut a thick slice of plumcake […]
He was very nice with her, and when she was getting out at the Canal Bridge, she thanked him and bowed, and he bowed to her and raised his hat and smiled agreeably; and while she was going up along the terrace, bending her tiny head under the rain, she thought how easy it was to know a gentleman even when he has a drop taken.
Maria, remembering how confused the gentleman with the greyish moustache had made her, coloured with shame and vexation and disappointment. At the thought of the failure of her little surprise and of the two and fourpence she had thrown away for nothing she nearly cried outright.
He was very nice with her. He told her all that went on in his office, repeating for her a smart answer which he had made to the manager. Maria did not understand why Joe laughed so much over the answer he had made but said that the manager must have been a very overbearing person to deal with.
[…] Maria thought she would put in a good word for Alphy. But Joe cried that God might strike him stone dead if ever he spoke a word to his brother again and Maria said she was sorry she had mentioned the matter. Mrs Donnelly told her husband it was a great shame for him to speak that way of his own flesh and blood but Joe said that Alphy was no brother of his and there was nearly being a row on the head of it. But Joe said he would not lose his temper on account of the night it was and asked his wife to open some more stout.
The two next-door girls had arranged some Hallow Eve game and soon everything was merry again […] The next-door girls put some saucers on the table and then led the children up to the table, blindfold […] when one of the next-door girls got the ring Mrs Donnelly shook her finger at the blushing girl so much as to say: O, I know all about it! They insisted then on blindfolding Maria and leading her up to the table to see what she would get; and, while they were putting on the bandage, Maria laughed and laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin.
They led her up to the table amid laughing and joking and she put her hand out in the air as she was told to do. She moved her hand about here and there in the air and descended on one of the saucers. She felt a soft wet substance with her fingers and was surprised that nobody spoke or took off her bandage. There was a pause for a few seconds; and then a great deal of scuffling and whispering […] Maria understood that it was wrong that time and so she had to do it over again: and this time she got the prayer-book.
[…] Maria, blushing very much, began to sing in a tiny quavering voice. She sang I Dreamt that I Dwelt, and when she came to the second verse she sang again:
I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls
With vassals and serfs at my side
And of all who assembled within those walls
That I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches too great to count, could boast
Of a high ancestral name,
But I also dreamt, which pleased me most,
That you loved me still the same.
But no one tried to show her her mistake; and when she had ended her song Joe was very much moved. He said that there was no time like the long ago and no music for him like poor old Balfe, whatever other people might say; and his eyes filled up so much with tears that he could not find what he was looking for and in the end he had to ask his wife to tell him where the corkscrew was.
