THE DUBLINERS by James Joyce

The city of Dublin is very close to Joyce’s heart, and Joyce is very close to mine; so it is with no inconsiderable glee and enthusiasm that I begin (at last!) this piece of literary review by putting ink on paper, or more honestly, virtual ink on the computer screen (so much for the good old days when techno-philic geeks hadn’t yet seen the light of day).

OK, enough! Hereby, I detach the Artist from the work of Art (blasphemy!), once and for all.

The year 1904 – Ireland, trying to escape from decades of sub-ordination and sectarianism, is going through a period of economic and political and cultural turmoil. It is in this Ireland that a twenty-two year old strapping young fellow takes up the mantle of depicting the ‘Heart of Ireland’ – Dublin, as he sees it. He is none other than James Augustine Aloysius Joyce.

This Dublin of his does not consist just of its settlements, streets and landmarks of Georgian architecture, but is one peopled by a varied and kaleidoscopic multitude. It is as if he wants to enter into their minds, be a witness of their secrets and aspirations, and to view the city from all angles and altitudes – in its full glory.

And what does he see? He sees a land ravaged by foreign overlords (literally: Ireland was completely deforested of its timber), a land infested by pestilence in form of social stagnation and poverty, a land firmly under the yoke of the Church and a land politically under a spell of inertia and lethargy. Leader-less and dejected, no ray of hope seems to be breaking in through the pall of gloom. It is to this city Joyce wants the world to be acquainted with.

Coming to the stories themselves – they, fifteen in all, are written in lucid and straight-forward language. An interesting feature is that they are arranged in increasing order of the narrator/protagonist’s age. That is, we move from early childhood experiences to adolescent pangs of love to youthful struggles for wealth to mature reflections of futility and regret.

Some of the most vivid pictures that stay with us are those of Father Flynn’s deterioration and his being found laughing alone in the Church in ‘THE SISTERS’; Mr. Doran’s dilemma compounded by the unflinching pressure of social standards and fear of public prosecution in ‘THE BOARDING HOUSE’ and the drunkard Mt. Farrington’s anguish at the end of his frustrated attempts to gain some pleasure out of his morose life in ‘COUNTERPARTS’. His encounters with the Englishman Weathers in the pub only rub salt on his bruises. He finally unleashes his anger on this little son. The subsequent entreaties on part of the child are very tragic and full of pathos.

One of my favorites is TWO GALLANTS – a tale of two unemployed, unprincipled swindlers. But we pity even for the irascible Lenehan as he sits musing his “poverty of mind and spirit”.

THE DEAD, the closing story, is the pick of them all. It is set during a PARTY that despite being a source of great joy and mirth every year, only deepens the deadening routine which makes existence life-less. Miss Ivors rakes up the question of IDENTITY with the culture, language and customs of Ireland. This is in sync with the parallel nationalistic movements going along at the time, which throws Gabriel, the protagonist, off balance.

Joyce presents a very fine contrast between the ‘traditional genuine warm-hearted Irish hospitality’ and the ‘modern hyper-educated, thought-tormented generation’.

The defining moment is when Gabriel gets to know about a former lover of his wife Gretta who given up his life for her. His attempts to set up a romantic mood are mercilessly quashed. Once again it happens that a Dubliner is thwarted in their quest for something, as if paralyzed by the weight of circumstances.

Finally, Gabriel has an EPIPHANY when he feels that ‘it is better to leave this world in great passion, like her lover, than to eke out a controlled and uneventful existence’.

The view of the whole of Ireland under deep snow, with all its living and its DEAD, continues to haunt one. It portrays the central theme in which the dead cross-over and influence the living in their own strange ways.

Stylistically, the narrative voice is detached and un-emotional, but highly perceptive to the minute details. Also, very many Joycean concepts are displayed along the collection. So we find the characteristic description of “obsession with words and how reality is shaped by them” in the very first paragraph; the word is ‘paralysis’ in this case.

Another trait is the usage of Free Indirect Discourse, where the narrative takes on some properties of the event or person being described. The ‘Uncle Charles Principle’ is a famous example of it. On the whole, Joyce’s deep understanding of the ways and quirks of the human nature is amply displayed. Much is conveyed through what is left unsaid!

Through these stories, Joyce has commented on several major themes. The effects of corruption on youth and their emotional and moral paralysis, as well as the decay and stagnancy of the Church are depicted. Political instability and indecisiveness are shown too.

Throughout there is an underlying theme of ‘poverty and class differences’. Moreover, this is aggravated by their general isolation and inability to communicate. This shows the feeling of APATHY prevalent among the masses.

All in all, what Joyce does is hold a mirror up to Dubliners of all ages, and from different strata and walks of life. What it reflects is not very pretty to see.

What all these images conjure up is a collage giving the impression of repressed vigor, decay, helplessness, indecision, the un-displaceable burden of servitude and an acute sense of failure in trying to achieve one’s dreams. And I begin to think –

- Is it possible for life to be so bad can such crap exist on the face of earth ain’t Joyce being too much of a cynic – who ‘looks around for a coffin when he smells flowers’ is human nature really so downright cheap and disgusting like an insect yes like a veritable creepy crawly like a beetle the Beatles were fun the awesome foursome ‘here comes the sun li’l darling, here comes the sun I say, it’s alright!’

Maybe, I am beginning to have some insight (an epiphany!?) into Joyce’s continued romance with Dublin, as I remember, echoed in these lines of his –

"For myself, I always write about Dublin, because if I can get to the heart of Dublin I can get to the heart of all the cities of the world. In the particular is contained the universal."

P.S. – As this was supposed to be a blog, I have tried to use an informal and conversational style. I would like to tender an unconditional apology for the mischief it has caused.

HELISH SHARMA

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