Reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
Journal #6

I realize that last time I may have gotten a bit carried away by the prose of the book instead of talking about the book itself. One thing that surprised me a bit was when the final few pages of the book switched from normal narration to journal entries (after Dedalus tells his friend what he is going to do). It seemed like an odd way to end the book and I’m not sure if I like it or not. Nevertheless, the book itself was a masterpiece that proves, at least to me, that plot is not the most important element of a book (something that I thought before I read this book). The fact that we’re stuck in Stephen’s mind certainly makes the book interesting enough. The echo chamber of his thoughts occasionally lends an untested, underdeveloped quality to things he seems to strongly believe, and the best examples I can think of are in the final chapter. Even when he talks to other people, he doesn't seem to converse with any intention of broadening his perspective with another's perspective, but instead tries to convey his thoughts to other people, feeling surprised and slightly frustrated when they don't see things his way (I'm recalling his separate conversations with a couple friends towards the end of the book, when he talks about, among other things, his definitions of beauty and art). Stephen’s character is a bit pretentious, sometimes he overvalues an established notion, but I think these are more humanizing moments than anything, reminders that we aren't totally right about everything throughout life, but also that we can be wrong but well-intentioned and hopefully still make our way.

Out of curiosity I picked up a copy of Finnegan’s Wake, read one page, and decided that I wouldn’t bother with that book, at least not until after I read more, well, normal things.

 

Reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
Journal #5

So I’ve finished reading Portrait of the Artist and really enjoyed it. It has noble originality and unique lucidity of thought and style. It is a masterpiece of 20^th century prose. And possibly the most beautiful section of prose that I have ever read would be the scene near the end of the book when Stephen wakes up in his bed. “That rose and ardent light was her strange willful heart, strange that no man had known or would know, willful from before the beginning of the world; and lured by that ardent rose-like glow the choirs of the seraphim were falling from heaven.”  It takes the whole book in context to see the beauty of the passage; perhaps also a similar personal experience of blossoming art and life triumphing over all old thoughts of depression and weariness. The fact that the passage quite humorously and slyly suggested that Stephen had a wet dream just blows my mind. Joyce has always had a reputation for vulgarity, but the fact that he could make something like that and transform it into one of the best things I’ve ever read is pure madness – and pure genius. 

Then there’s the shore scene, during his brief phase of religious asceticism, the large metaphorical passage of him being on the shore of a constant ebb and flow of tide, and being taken away from the water at the last moment when it verges on touching him. Well apparently that’s just him trying not to ejaculate. Of course, the tide could also mean him attempting to become an artist. That shore scene was his artistic epiphany, after all. So the double meaning is art and love, merging into life. Never before has prose seemed so much like poetry. It is actually pretty hilarious to me to think about the Victorian writers reading Joyce’s works and freaking out about vulgarity while today it seems rather mild (especially when compared to things like Fifty Shades of Grey which is both vulgar and has terrible prose).