Category Archives: A Portrait of the Artist

On the Deathbed

I recently underwent minor surgery, during which I had to be put out. Everything went fine, and I am perfectly well recovered now. Looking back, my overall impression of the experience is dominated by how much waiting I had to do. I got dressed in my hospital gown and lay down in a bed and waited.

While waiting, I remarked to the editor of this blog — I was extremely fortunate to have her by my side through the entire ordeal — that one day (hopefully far in the future) I would be in a hospital bed just like this, except it would be my deathbed.

Read on for some thoughts about the deathbed in Finnegans Wake and the need to accept our mortality.

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Stop! You’re Under (Esthetic) Arrest!

This post considers Stephen Dedalus’s notion of “esthetic arrest” from the end of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Joseph Campbell’s connection of this idea to the Hindu concept of “maya,” and the development of Joyce’s style in Finnegans Wake.

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Didja Hear What I Said, Tone?

I’ve recently returned to my re-reading of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and I’m finding the final chapter more interesting than ever before — and funnier! I’ve laughed out loud several times reading it, including one scene that I’ll discuss here in this post, a scene in which a strange character repeats himself. I compare it below to a recurring gag on my favorite television show, The Sopranos, and I reflect on the significance of Joyce repeating a moment from his own life, enshrining it in art in a way reminiscent of what William Wordsworth called a “Spot of Time.”

Close readings of Joyce, reflections on life, and fragments of pop culture — all this and more on today’s post!

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In the Shadow of His Language

In Chapter V of Portrait, Stephen converses with the dean of University College Dublin, who is English, and reflects on their different relationship to the language they speak:

The language in which we are speaking is his before it is mine. How different are the words home, Christ, ale, master, on his lips and on mine! I cannot speak or write these words without unrest of spirit. His language, so familiar and so foreign, will always be for me an acquired speech. I have not made or accepted its words. My voice holds them at bay. My soul frets in the shadow of his language.

The passage speaks to Joyce’s relationship with English and with language in general (important for Finnegans Wake, of course), as well as the Celtic Revival movement that, in Joyce’s day, sought to restore the Irish language (a movement with which Joyce largely disagreed).

This post considers the idea that a language can “belong” to a person in this sense, and it tries to grapple with what Joyce is doing to this idea by writing Finnegans Wake. I even discuss the Bad Bunny Superbowl halftime show controversy — which makes this my most topical post yet!

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