Tag Archives: James Joyce

An interesting technique–or, seeing that this was somewhat biographical I note, honest displaying of thought–in the latter part of the book is revealing of poetical writing as gleaned from the meanderings of the mind rather than concerted effort to write … Continue reading → Continue reading →

I’ll be swimming in this pool of thought for a while; Stephen on beauty: The tragic emotion, in fact, is a face looking two ways, towards terror and towards pity, both of which are phases of it.(…)  The feelings excited … Continue reading → Continue reading →

As Stephen matures, there is a natural change in his thinking and character, and from what I understand, James Joyce has indicated this not only by story but by his use of sentence struture and narrative voice.  Let me just … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Taking into account the period in which this novel was written (1916) there is a time-enforced disassociation with the intensity of emotion with which Stephen is portrayed.  Still, I tend to think of it as a bit too intense to … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Perception and impact of a story is often dependent upon the mood of the reader as well as background, beliefs, hopes, knowledge and fears.  Today was the perfect day to read a section where Stephen, along with his schoolmates, is … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Ah, so a few pages more answer the question:  ’tis the fever of schoolboy lust and all those delicious dirty thoughts that cause a young man’s blood to gush through his system to pool in his penis. It was too … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Boy, you think you know someone… My image of Stephen up to this point was of a rather scared yet very alert and sensitive young lad (unknowing of the age, and keeping in mind the era), who was somehow feeling … Continue reading → Continue reading →

While I would’ve gone on anyway and reached this gem of writing, I am grateful to Bud Parr of Chekov’s Mistress and Metaxucafe for the attitude change that enabled me to enjoy it: But when he had sung his song … Continue reading → Continue reading →

No small portion of my annoyance with Joyce’s Portrait of The Artist As a Young Man is some of the repetitious use of words that are common perhaps to time and place, but would be much more readily accepted even … Continue reading → Continue reading →

That is, my feelings.  I’m going to be really bratty here and simply say that if this is a classic, I haven’t gotten to that part yet.  I can get beyond the unusual writing style–I learned to love Faulkner, after … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Yes, Joyce’s novel isn’t the easy flow of reading, and yet it is because the words run as thoughts associated by links to one another.  This wouldn’t be called stream of consciousness writing as it isn’t in first person pov, … Continue reading → Continue reading →

This is my choice for my next read, and I’m fourteen pages into it.  I’m just glad I’ve cut my teeth on Faulkner.