It is Dochas House (for hope), not the Women's Prison. They are "women", not prisoners. They have "rooms", not cells. They see, not bars, but big, clear windows through which the sun floods the airy bedrooms with their pastel colours, light furniture, en-suite showers and pale wooden doors to which the well-behaved occupant will hold her own key.
A simple fountain sends sounds of lapping water across the spacious, grassy courtyard planted by staff and women with fruit trees and dotted with picnic tables. Inside Elm House, one of six self-contained houses named after trees, Suzanne, a long-termer with a cookery certificate, is serving lunch with bouncy, cheerful pride. "I love everything about this place," she says.
In a large, laminated "vision statement", the governor of Mountjoy, John Lonergan, has nailed his colours to the wall: "We are a community which embraces people's respect and dignity. We encourage personal growth and development in a caring and safe environment . . ."
Dochas House, says the chief officer, Ms Kathleen McMahon, is "more refuge than prison for women who for the most part come to us shattered and vulnerable and for whom this may be the only safe place".
Of the average 60 women prisoners, up to 85 per cent may be drug addicts and 10 per cent psychiatric cases. The majority serve six to 12 months for petty larceny.
But Dochas House is a start. "Nothing compares with this. In terms of approach and design, you won't find anything like this anywhere," says Mr Lonergan. "Look at the windows. You'd want a sledgehammer to break them, yet you never feel closed in."
The compound is made up of five sections. These include a separate, secure facility designed for women unwilling or unable to go drug-free. The health centre, staffed by four nurses, has rooms for a doctor, psychiatrist, dentist, pharmacy and counsellors. There are beds for nursing care; mother-and-baby rooms; inter-connecting rooms for siblings or mothers and daughters; and the padded room, to which disturbed women often ask to refer themselves in the early days, according to Ms McMahon.
Regular urine sampling will check drug status, a requirement welcomed by many of the women. But if any building symbolises their hope and aspirations, it is the education block, a series of spacious, purpose-built rooms devoted to home economics, photography, pottery, art, woodwork, work training, hairdressing and beauty. It also contains a vast indoor gym with an altar niche, revealing its double life as a venue for Sunday Mass and forming boundaries outside for the all-weather multi-purpose playing pitch.
In the visitors' centre, the open visiting area leads outdoors to a small, secure children's play area with rockers and play houses. In the "closed" visiting area, an impermeable glass and steel barrier separates women and visitors in small gloomy rooms. This is the only palpably oppressive place in the complex.
Elsewhere, security is subtle. While the traditional peep-holes remain, these are camouflaged by matching pieces of wood. A device allowing entire doors to be removed in seconds or the officers' lock which overrides the occupant's are barely discernible. And while a security corridor links all the houses and a bank of screens monitors all areas (except bedrooms), the intention is to be unobtrusive. Establishing a sense of trust and personal responsibility are key elements in Mr Lonergan's vision.
The final feature of Dochas House is its stand-alone pre-release block, christened the Phoenix Centre. This comprises six self-contained studios with direct street access, from which women will be prepared for reintegration. Attractive and equipped to a high standard, these are bound to provoke comment from those who believe that prisoners are there to be punished and not to be offered a glimpse of life superior to anything they've known.
Mr Lonergan anticipates such a reaction. "If there are people who are genuinely better off in jail, isn't that a sad reflection on society? Even with all this, even with the marvellous work being done by the staff, I'm still not optimistic for these women."