'Dubliners' by James Joyce

Or 'Lessons from a disgruntled Irish lad.' 

This work of art reflects life in Ireland at the turn of the last century, and by rejecting euphemism, reveals to the Irish their unromantic realities. Each of the 15 stories offers glimpses into the lives of ordinary Dubliners, and collectively they paint a portrait of a nation.

MY THOUGHTS:

I first read this collection years ago for an English unit at Uni which focused solely on James Joyce and T. S. Eliot. Big mistake right off for a teenager unfamiliar with either author, who thought it sounded like an easy cruise. But compared to Portrait of the Artist and Ulysses, I remember finding this slim volume of short stories Joyce's easiest offering to wrap my head around. I don't remember much else, and thought I'd like a refresher.

So first off, these stories are not what spring to my mind when I hear 'the luck of the Irish.' They are quite gloomy, not with full-on catastrophe or tragedy, but with soul eroding disappointments that wear away hope and anticipation. I'm talking about those callous, everyday let-downs that seem to testify to the aloofness of a world which won't deliver our fondest dreams. In other words, the stories are all small tip-offs that we're not the centre of the world. 

I've seen them called 'linked stories', which made me expect recurring characters, but it's more to do with that predictable vein of disillusionment running through each incident, all taking place in the same time period and setting, which is of course Dublin around the turn into the twentieth century. They're definitely linked by feelings of being trapped or thwarted, which tend to be common. 

Key characters get progressively older with each new story, if this helps link the collection. In early chapters they are mere boys who grapple with discoveries that life won't conform to their idealistic expectations. The next batch are young adults with similar cosmic slaps in the face, followed by disillusioned young parents, then gruff middle aged mums and dads who have been hardened by now. Finally there are a few elderly characters too. To be honest, I was getting sick and tired of the 'Life Sucks' refrain very early on, and paced my reading of these stories to no more than one per day.

My intro tells me that Joyce was doing the round of publishers with version #1 of Dubliners in 1905, which I quickly figured would have made him 23 years old. Aha, call me ageist, but I wondered if his tender years might help explain the cynicism and pessimism permeating his work. Perhaps he hadn't yet reached a stage himself when it dawns on many of us that despite the sucking quality of life, the little things have always been the big things. Satisfaction is out there when we have the grace to lower our standards and find joy in a delicious cup of hot chocolate or a peachy sunset. Some might call this defeatist resignation, but I choose to regard it as wisdom. 

I kept reading because James Joyce has a truly beautiful way with words.

'My body was like a harp, and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.' 

'Mr Duffy lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side glances. His eyes gave the impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in others, but often disappointed.' 

'Her companionship was like warm soil around an exotic.' (How's that for a superb simile!) 

'The first touch of her body, musical and strange and perfumed, sent through him a keen pang of lust.'

Wow, J.J. if only you'd used that stirring, descriptive talent on more encouraging and affirming plots than anything this grumbling mob of fall-shorts ever deliver!  (Having said that, I'm aware this is a matter of taste. Those who thrive on bleak and melancholic stories might well give Dubliners 5 stars.)

The final chapter, The Dead, did enthrall me, along with the main character Gabriel Conroy's musing on the concept of 'shades' or people who were once vividly present, but with us no longer. But at this stage, even this highly acclaimed tale falls victim to the general tone of the whole collection for me. I loved the part after the dance, where Gabriel and his wife Gretta walk off in the snow to their hotel room, while he's occupied with sweet, unexpected anticipation of the physical intimacy they may enjoy, since their young kids aren't present. But being Dubliners, I was thinking, 'Nope, you won't get it.' 

Of course I was right. 

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