Re-Reading Favourite Books 1: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man Part 1

It has been a long time since I wrote anything in these pages. What has happened in the interim, apart from my having grown a lot older and having gotten, perhaps, a little wiser? The last post in these pages was way back in 2016, on the 7th of November to be precise. Most of my writing during that hiatus was taken up with composing a Ph D thesis, which, due to the nature of such an endeavour, necessitated much re-writing, indeed, often countless re-writes and, then, authoring several peer-reviewed essays for various journals. That was all a little too cerebral and far too intense, and now that that particular pursuit has been well put to bed, it is high time that I got back to writing in my blogs. Blogging is a much more leisurely pursuit, well-suited to an aging human. Enough of an introduction. 

Wordsworth Classics, 1992

        What I want to write about here is my re-reading of James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man The actual book, I note, I bought on 14/07/1994, some thirty years ago exactly. After a long gap, this is my second read of this autobiographical novel. Reading a book twice or even three times or more is a rewarding exercise as the reader has grown so much in the interval between the readings. Then, add to that the initial allure of the book, its artistic influence and its insight into the author's craftsmanship. These all conspired to prompt me to take it down from the shelves again and read it once more. I would imagine all the classics exact the same influence on their devoted readers. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is Joyce's debut novel and was published in 1916. It falls between the author's collection of short stories Dubliners, published in 1914, and the masterpiece of modernist novel writing Ulysses, published in 1922. To my mind, Dubliners was written in a naturalistic style, using keen observation to reflect as objectively as possible the actual situation of the Dublin middle class. In other words, it was an endeavour of a young writer to describe aspects of national identity, that is, by way of the objective observation of the manners and morals of the Dublin middle class in the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century. Then, here, in Portrait, Joyce is describing his pursuit of a different type of identity, i.e., his own identity as a young and maturing artist.

        It was the philosopher Immanuel Kant who said that we see the world not as it is but rather as we are. We each view the world through our own particular spectacles or lenses - use whichever metaphor you prefer. In other words, we each see reality in a very personal way, through our own particular perspective. The main character of the book, namely Stephen Dedalus, describes his growth as an artist both at home and at school, and later at college, through his own unique artistic eyes, at once brave and very original. This could very much have been an angrier book given that the young man rebels against the then-burgeoning nationalist identity and the oppressive stranglehold of the Catholic Church on the people of Ireland. The blurb on my copy of the novel puts this succinctly: "It is a highly autobiographical account of the adolescence and youth of Stephen Dedalus, who reappears in Ulysses, and who comes to realize that before he can become a true artist, he must rid himself of the stultifying effects of the religion, politics and essential bigotry of his background in late nineteenth century Ireland." 

        However, there is both respect and criticism mixed with his descriptions of the Jesuit priests who taught him. While he excoriated and highly satirised the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church, his portrayal of the likes of Fr Conmee S J, who gets named in both Portrait and in Ulysses, is genuine and positive, but never over-sentimental.   The fact that he named him and did not criticize him, as he did most priests, meant that he greatly respected this man.  Fr John Conmee was a Jesuit priest, and rector of Clongowes Wood College and he was also stationed at Belvedere College when Joyce attended that school. In real life, Father Conmee helped Joyce and his brother Stanislaus get scholarships at Belvedere and he had looked after Joyce when he was bullied by another student and a priest at Clongowes. This second account is given through the recollections of Joyce's alter ego, Stephen, in The Portrait and it certainly rings true. 

        In the following remarks, I will outline the aspects of this book that struck me on this second reading.  I will note these points in no specific order, and jot them down in list form to obviate the constraints of an academic essay, thereby lessening the onus of concentration on the part of both the present author and any possible reader.  So, the following remarks are rather random in nature, then, but hopefully a little insightful, despite that fact, for any diligent reader of this little novel.

(i) On the first page, we are presented with a child in some kind of incubator as the boy is surrounded by a glass screen: "his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face." (p.7)  This page is replete with bits of baby songs, nursery rhymes and the babbling baby sounds which the father (Simon Dedalus) makes to draw the attention of baby Stephen.  Time moves quickly too on this first page as it slips from infancy to toddlerhood sentence by sentence.  Then we are introduced to Uncle Charles and Dante.  Knowing Joyce, the use of the word Dante to describe this mature woman is in itself a pun on the Cork version of the term "the aunty," pronounced "dantee."  It would be helpful to note at this stage that Joyce has dispensed with strict realism and makes extensive use in this novel of free indirect speech, i.e., speech that allows the reader to peer into Stephen's developing consciousness.  In other words, we are halfway between the naturalism of Dubliners and the stream-of-consciousness style of Ulysses; indeed, there is a lovely balanced blend of both throughout the work.  

(ii) Seamlessly the narrative slips with consummate ease into the scene where he is a young boy of six years being left off by his parents at Clongowes Wood College and from there out onto the rugby pitch.  We are immediately surrounded by the sounds of the school.  Joyce is wonderful at depicting sounds.  That's why the scholars say that Ulysses is a novel to be read aloud as it often makes more sense to the ear than to the eye.  For instance, here in Portrait, he describes the sounds of a bat hitting the ball during a cricket match as "pick, pack, pock, puck." (p. 60)

(iii) Perspective is important to the artist, and we encounter its reality very soon in this great little novel.  We read that little Stephen considered himself a citizen of the world, but more mysteriously a significant minute consciousness in the vastness of the universe.  Here is what he writes as an 11-year-old boy in the Elements or First Year class of secondary school: 

                                                                Stephen Dedalus,

                                                                Class of Elements,

                                                                Clongowes Wood College

                                                                Sallins,

                                                                County Kildare,

                                                                Ireland,

                                                                Europe,

                                                                The World,

                                                                The Universe  (p. 15-16)

In short, we realise very early on that young Stephen Dedalus has no intention of being a provincial author.  His subject is going to be of universal significance. 

(iv) The 11-year-old boy's mind is full of big questions: "What was after the universe?  Nothing.  But was there anything round (sic) the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?" (p. 16).  As a little boy at a very Catholic school, he said his morning and night prayers and attended all the religious services provided by his Jesuit teachers.   As an "a la carte" Catholic, I well remember all the religious services provided to us as children, though I grew up in post-Vatican II times.  

(v)  Being a sensitive little boy at a boarding school he would write home: "Dear Mother, I am sick.  I want to go home.  Please come and take me home.  I am in the infirmary.  Your fond son, Stephen." (p.24)  In his half-sleeping sickly state, he hears Brother Michael lugubriously announce the death of Charles Stuart Parnell (October 1891), dreaming that the same Jesuit is the captain of a ship coming to port.   Then, seamlessly we are with the young Stephen at home for Christmas where Dante has a fierce political argument with the Parnellite Mr Casey.  Dante, being a conservative Catholic, has no time for the late Protestant and adulterous politician while Mr Casey excoriates Catholic priests for condemning Parnell from the altar, thereby bringing politics into religion.  Simon Dedalus, the father, calls the priests "Sons of bitches!" (p. 34)  Dante is mortified, "the blackest Protestant in the land would not speak the language I have heard this evening."  And this fraught argument happens over Christmas dinner.  To my ear, this war of words would certainly be typical of the middle classes who were split over those who loved Parnell and those who scorned him.  Stephen's father tells his son that Dante is "a spoiled nun." (p. 35)  Ireland during my years growing up was full of spoiled clergy, male and female.   And, the following comment by Dedalus senior is one all Irish people have heard said many a time, and indeed very many have been known to declare: "We are an unfortunate priest-ridden race" (p. 37-38)  Again, Joyce decidedly supports the views of Simon Dedalus and Mr Casey whose face "was glowing with anger and Stephen felt the glow rise to his own cheek as the spoken words thrilled him." (p 38) This captures both the young Joyce's political and religious stance as well as his enthralment by words.   Casey blurts out angrily at the fiercely staunch traditional religious stance of Dante with a Nietzsche-like declaration:  "No God for Ireland... We have had too much God in Ireland  Away with God!"  This was indeed strong and reprehensible stuff for any Catholic in Ireland in the late nineteenth century.  Dante screams back, and Joyce uses that word appropriately: "Blasphemer!  Devil! (p 39)

To be continued