A blog for 'normies'

I recently finished Dubliners; James Joyce's collection of stories set in that city around the turn of the twentieth century. It finishes on a highly charged emotional note in the final story, The Dead, which I've seen called the Grand Finale. So I was lying in bed, wondering if I'd managed to squeeze all the juice out of the main character Gabriel Conroy's profound epiphany. It intrigued me enough to start an internet search, hoping for an extra boost of enlightenment and clarity. I only had to begin typing, 'The Dead - Gabriel's epiphany' for Google to finish the line for me. So far so good. 

But before long, I found myself in a Joycean rabbit warren of confusion, mystification and head spinning. The writers of these articles have far sharper and shinier intellects than mine, and more appreciation for the arty aspects of the story. Their brilliant fingers are obviously on the pulse of psychoanalysis, symbolism, this-ism and that-ism I'd never even considered. I ended my search feeling more bewildered rather than less.

Sometimes this sort of thing is enough to make me feel a bit deflated if I dwell on it. Perhaps my reviews and book chats are more like swimming pools rather than the vast ocean of literary significance we'd all like to dive into. Don't get me wrong, I do try to dive deep. That's why I've set myself the challenge of a regular book blog, which I may add I thoroughly enjoy. It's just that my depth falls short of Professor Smartfella's. It sometimes seems reasonable to ask the question, 'Is it even worth putting all my stuff out there, when I'm not picking up on all this, and can't even wrap my head around half of it?' 

I've written this reflection partly to remind myself of the reason I started. I want to give books the sort of straightforward appraisal that anybody whose grey matter falls short of Mensa level may appreciate. I want to present the bare bones of the themes as far as I can tell, to help others on my wavelength form an idea of whether or not it's something they might dare to invest time in. I want to provide sense of humour alerts which clever enthusiasts too invested in a book might accidentally overlook. And I want to help burst those scary bubbles which too much awe or reputation can blow way out of proportion. It's always a shame when anybody avoids a book they'd probably love, just because our well-meaning arty friends have made them appear too big and too shiny. By the same token, I'm willing to be that little boy who announces that as far as I can tell, the emperor is naked. When a book strikes me as too high-falutin' or OTT for us mere mortals, I'll say so. 

I've actually come across a similar train of thought in some of the novels I've reviewed here. In The Fountain Overflows for example, Mrs Clare Aubrey considers all her kids musical virtuosos, except for her eldest daughter Cordelia, who doesn't realise she falls short. She's out giving violin concerts which crowds enjoy, while her more brilliant sisters Mary and Rose sit home labouring over their more complex pieces, (because there's no way they're going out if their delivery is short of perfect), and talk about what a clueless embarrassment she is. Cordelia is the stand-out character for me, because she doesn't let the sky-high standards of those supposedly superior beings stop her from pursuing her passion and having fun. 

That's one of the things I'm all about here. Life is always too short to leave fun pursuits solely to those who are brilliant at them. 

Satisfaction is in the journey. 

And a less elaborate way of looking at a subject is not necessarily less valid.

I'll sign off with this fun link to a site my eldest son put onto, called artybollocks. Have a go at this generator. If you've been stumped for inspiration as often I have over the years, you'll find it lots of fun.