Book Review - James Joyce's Dubliners
Published by: Wisehouse Classics
Publication Date: 1914
Format: Kindle, 142 Pages
Rating: ★★
To Buy (different edition than one reviewed)
In Dublin, as in any town, people's lives are interconnected. They form friendships and relationships and create families. The young learn from the old but sometimes the old have their own epiphanies. A young boy experiences death for the first time when his friend, Father Flynn, dies, and as he listens to the stories surrounding him he realizes that the Father Flynn he knew wasn't the one they knew. But death is just one thing children learn, they also learn about rules and how to break them and then, worst of all, what happens when you break your heart. But as you age, sometimes you learn that love isn't everything, as Eveline chooses her family and her home over love overseas. Though what can you get overseas that you can't get at home? You can wine and dine with the best of them. Drinking, dancing, cards, games, just be wary of your wallet. Of course, if your wallet does end up a little empty, who's to say you can't con your way to being flush again? You just need to find the right people to swindle, like housemaids in wealthy homes. And for every young person contemplating marriage there's another contemplating the road not taken. The carefree life of the intellectual with no ties to bind. Though it's the saddest of cases when you lash out at those who love you who you view as chains around your neck. No child should ever be hurt. Because family and those who you care for should be held precious. Sweets and cake and joy in each other's presence is the greatest of gifts, even if you accidentally forget the cake. One never knows when your chance at happiness might pass you by. Love those who love you, marvel in their presence in your life. You don't want to only be a memory. Though if a memory, raising a glass and reciting a poem wouldn't go amiss. And that is all life is. Love and loss. We never know the pain of others. We never know what the person in bed beside us might have suffered. We only know that we need each other and have to be kind and true and hopefully our better angels will triumph.
The Irish are one of the most stereotyped cultures; everyone can hold their pint and tell a story and is a little light-fingered. But is this stereotype true? Is the belief that Ireland is full of drunk thieving storytellers based on truth or based on tropes that writers such as James Joyce disseminate and have therefore ingrained in society? This was my constant struggle while reading this book. Was he picturing the world he knew or the world that would be an accepted truth? And I can't come to a conclusion. I've tried to discuss this before and all I ever get out of people is that "James Joyce is classic." Well, what about these issues I have? Being classic doesn't mean you can't be wrong! And I know, I'm a neophyte when it comes to Joyce, I haven't read any of his other works, just these fifteen short stories about drunks and creepy priests with abrupt endings. So I don't get the larger context, I don't have the intertextuality. He obviously loved his country and this book brims with national pride so I would assume he wouldn't want to be a contributing factor to the stereotyping of his countrymen and women. But I can't get around that this is exactly what it feels like. When I was younger I always went to Irish Fest in Milwaukee. I went for the culture and the music, most everyone else went to get blind drunk. Not helped once they stopped selling funnel cake. And all these midwesterners thought that this is what it is to be Irish. To just get plastered. I mean, the same can be said for every Saint Patrick's Day everywhere. But Ireland and Irish culture are more than this. So maybe what I'm saying is that James Joyce is limiting. He's limiting his country to the cultural stereotypes of the day. Because there is progress. Look to a television show like The Irish R.M. based on books from the turn of the last century where it was all about the British being exasperated by those wiley drunks to the late nineties show Ballykissangel where, yes, there were still cons and drunks, but they talked about their problems and actually helped one of their own get sober. And yes, I might have been on a weird nostalgia trip recently and rewatched these shows. But there was progress. There was something more. And that's what I expected of this classic writer. Something more.
Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster
