My relationship with James Joyce has begun splendidly, and I'm thrilled to embark on the next stage.

I've long desired to read Ulysses. After finishing The Odyssey, I decided to read Dubliners as some of its characters have minor roles in his longer modernist novel.

This collection of fifteen short stories focuses on the Irish middle class life in and around Dublin in the early 1900s. In under 200 pages, Joyce portrays love, violence, routine, the longing for escape, religion, and epiphany. His stories may not be filled with action, but they subtly convey a wealth of meaning.

Although I'm not a highly visual person when it comes to reading, Joyce managed to arouse my visual sense to new heights. While reading his stories, short movies played in my mind effortlessly, and I could connect them to some of the greatest movies I've ever seen.

The second story, An Encounter, about schoolboys playing "cowboy and Indian battles," gave me the vibes of Truffaut's Les quatre cents coups with a hint of Yves Robert's La guerre des boutons. I was impressed by Joyce's mastery in adapting his language and style to that of a child narrator.

Another story, A Painful Case, about a man and a married woman who fall in love but can't be together, evoked memories of David Lean's Brief Encounter. This story deals with the loneliness we all experience at some point in our lives, and Joyce's words gave me chills.

However, The Dead stands out as the best story in the collection. Joyce's development of the story and the themes explored truly spoke to me. The conclusion of The Dead is one of the best I've ever read, beautifully contemplating life and death and our connection to both the living and the dead.

Rating: 4 stars.

"Araby" (the piece of literature that changed my path in life nearly 20 years ago) and "The Dead" will never lose their power over me.

"Araby" is a short story that is filled with vivid imagery and profound emotions. It tells the tale of a young boy's awakening to the harsh realities of life and love. The story's themes of disillusionment and the loss of innocence resonate deeply with me, as they remind me of my own experiences growing up.

"The Dead," on the other hand, is a more complex and nuanced work. It explores themes of love, loss, and the meaning of life through the eyes of a group of characters gathered together for a Christmas party. The story's beautiful prose and richly drawn characters make it a truly unforgettable piece of literature.

Together, these two works have had a profound impact on my life and my understanding of literature. They have taught me the power of words to move and inspire, and they have shown me the importance of looking beyond the surface of things to discover the deeper truths that lie within.

Why do we desire to live this life? Life, which at times appears to be accompanied by the indistinct impressions that we have long been at ease with carrying along. The ideas and choices that have become second nature to us. How often do we pause and reflect on them? Especially as readers, those who have been challenged and, in a sense, made aware by the written word. How many times do we stop and think that life cannot always be a search, a constant exploration into the unknown, a desperate call for something that is striven for in order to attain something decisive? Or is it? Perhaps. But what happens when the decisive is attained, conquered? Where does one go from there? Surely, in search of something still unknown, still unconquered! But we forget to stop in between. Or rather, we choose to ignore that which comes in between because we are too afraid to stop. And that is life.

I remember this very beautiful quote by Allan Saunders: “Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans.” We forget that sometimes, life is also the acceptance of that which is presented to us by mere chances, or more than that, by the long witnessed “usual”.

So, when I picked up Dubliners while still continuing with The Rebel, I was initially annoyed because nothing seemed unusual or interesting there. But then, I persevered because I had loved “A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man” and wanted to give this a chance. After reading a few more stories, I realized the simple idea with which these stories might have been written. I understood that the author might have wanted to portray life as actually experienced and lived by the characters, who might in fact have been real people around him. People who lived a life set by routine patterns and where nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened. This realization made me sit up straight and question myself. How many right ways can there be to live a life? One or two or more? Is it ours or theirs or somewhere in between? I don't even know if these are the right options. But what I do understand is that, either way, it is life we are talking about. Life that is lived, both consciously and unconsciously, which may be different in its living but which in the end culminates in the same. Oh, but by this I do not undermine one way or the other but simply wish to express the value of understanding both.

It was the last story of the collection, “The Dead”, that deeply touched me and gave me more food for thought. It actually brought to light something unusual compared to the rest of the stories. Gabriel, the protagonist of the story, realized one day after a party that he didn't know much about his wife Gretta, who seemed to have been in love with someone else all along. The story is not only about this awareness but also about love that gets shattered, even when the man in question has been long dead, and it signifies the end of life as lived by Gabriel.

The story ends with snow falling: “His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the Universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.” I do not doubt Joyce's genius as a writer. After reading “Portrait” and a few pages of “Ulysses”, this collection seemed just too simplistic. But the thoughts it provoked after reading are what make it so readable. Definitely recommended.

3.5 Stars ⭐️

Read for a challenge

Mel

A collection of 15 short stories by James Joyce, all set in Dublin and first published in 1914, offers a naturalistic portrayal of Irish middle-class life in and around Dublin during the early years of the 20th century.

This is my second encounter with this collection, and this time I listened to the audiobook narrated by Jim Norton. His Dublin accent was outstanding, breathing life into the book with his rich voice.

The stories were written when nationalism was at its zenith in Ireland, and this is evident in several of them. It was only upon reading the stories for the second time that I gained a better understanding of some of their deeper meanings, mainly because I was more focused on the stories as it was a book club read, and I needed to extract the most from the book for discussion.

My favorite story in the collection was "Eveline," where a young woman weighs her decision to flee Ireland with a sailor. Despite being only four pages long, there was so much happening that I'm really looking forward to discussing it in a group. I also enjoyed "A Painful Case," in which Mr. Duffy rebuffs Mrs. Sinico, only to realize four years later that he has condemned her to loneliness and death.

While I'm not a huge fan of short stories in general, I was eager to give Joyce's collection a try as a book club read since it's short and quite readable compared to "Ulysses" (which isn't on my to-read list). Written in 1905, quite a few of the stories are still relatable in today's society, which I found quite interesting.

Although I didn't love the book, I did like it and found it very readable. I'm looking forward to discussing all the stories at the next meeting.

For some reason, these stories left me cold.

No doubt this is my lack rather than the author's. I couldn't bring myself to care about the people in the stories.

I didn't warm to Joyce's style of starting and stopping his stories apparently aimlessly.

I have read that in each story there is supposed to be a moment of epiphany for the central character.

Really? I seem to have missed them.

For example, where is the epiphany for the central character in "Counterparts" who finishes up going home and beating his small son to take out his frustrations over various events in his day?

To me, the characters seemed to be quite unaware of their shortcomings, or their contribution to a dreadful outcome, such as in "A Painful Case".

Having said that, there were phrases of description that stayed with me, and earned the second star.

I loved this in "The Mother": "She sat amid the chilly circle of her accomplishments, waiting for some suitor to brave it and offer her a brilliant life."

I just wished there were more sentences that grabbed me like that one.

Perhaps with a different frame of mind or a more in-depth understanding, I might have been able to appreciate these stories more fully.

But for now, they remain a bit of a mystery to me, with only a few shining moments of beautiful description to light the way.

Success is mine, for I have accomplished a remarkable feat. I have read the only James Joyce book that I have not only managed to finish but also truly understand.

Having said that, I must admit that my initial reaction to the first 14 stories was rather lukewarm. However, the last and longest story, "The Dead," is an absolute gem. It is one of the best pieces of literature I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

This particular story earns a well-deserved five-star rating, while the others can only manage a respectable three. I find myself longing for "The Dead" to have been of novel length. It created an atmosphere and setting that was so captivating that I simply wasn't ready to part ways with it.

James Joyce's writing is truly a work of art, and "The Dead" is a shining example of his genius. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to experience this literary masterpiece.

Compilation of fifteen short stories set in early 1900s Dublin. The stories are like vivid vignettes that capture the essence of life during that time period.

As with most short story collections, I had my personal preferences. Some stories appealed to me more than others, but overall, they are all of high quality.

My absolute favorites are A Painful Case, A Mother, and The Dead. The tone of these stories is quiet and melancholy, which really adds to the emotional depth.

The writing is truly superb. The author has a remarkable ability to bring the characters and settings to life with just a few words.

I listened to the audio book, which was read masterfully by Jim Norton. His narration added another layer of authenticity to the stories.

The audio also includes snippets of music recordings from the era, which really enhanced the atmosphere and made me feel like I was right there in early 1900s Dublin.

Overall, this is a wonderful collection of short stories that I would highly recommend to anyone who enjoys literary fiction.

Looking deeper into the darkness, I saw myself as a being that was led astray and deceived; and my eyes were filled with pain and anger.

The first encounter with Joyce. I just circled around him, listened to the stories, and didn't know what to expect. Some praise him highly, others say he is gloomy, and the third group says that one should read his works chronologically because one leads to another, and you catch a thread with each following one. Indeed, I tried Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and I wasn't mentally prepared for it. So I was looking for a prelude to it. I decided on these short stories, as I would read one story a day and thus try to maintain some kind of focus. And this collection of stories really touched me. When I finished it, I wanted more.

The artistic features of these stories lie not only in their strength but also in their comprehensiveness, ready to paint their own path, religious-conservative, with traces of piscine affinities seen in hidden teachings, in unexplained and strange circumstances. Each hero in the story is torn by unrest, lost in things that constantly assail him, and as such, he grasps salvation in the invisible. Joyce's sensibility is untimely. He catches the impulse for what lies beneath the surface of his poetic narrative. With his stories, Joyce seems to want to convey something to the younger generations, to mention and point to the trace of the predecessors and the traditional Dublin, with all its advantages and disadvantages. Joyce devotes his tireless pregnancy to captivating the reader, no matter how much it sometimes seems that he proves all this in some of his inner abysses.

I am now very tempted to go through all of Joyce's works again. The perception I have now is so different from what I remembered. I mean, it was great, after all, it was Joyce. But this is surely the best single volume of stories in literature. (And, according to a John Banville foreword to a different version I have on the shelves, it is quite possibly his own personal favourite of his own works.)

The air of the room chilled Gabriel's shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one, they were all becoming shades. It would be better to pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than to fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how the woman who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover's eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.

Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

I really did enjoy certain aspects of this. However, when it came to the stories themselves, they simply didn't have the power to fully engage me.

It felt as if there was something lacking that would have drawn me in more deeply. Maybe it was the pacing, or perhaps the characters didn't feel as vivid and relatable as I would have liked.

In the end, it just wasn't quite my cup of tea. I can see that others might find it more to their taste, but for me, it didn't quite hit the mark.

I'm still glad I gave it a try, as it's always interesting to explore different types of literature and experiences. But unfortunately, this particular one didn't manage to capture my full attention and interest.

Come back to me with all your heart

Don't let fear keep us apart

Don't fade away like a morning cloud

Or like the early morning dew

Set my love deep in your heart

Seal your love with a wedding band

Though health and life may fade away

Love lives eternal beyond the grave

We won't ride horses anymore

Or praise the speed and power at reign

Oh I love you with all my heart

As fragrance of the lily bloom

Hear my voice speak to your heart

In the gentle camp of the mountains high

Oh I will hear you like a prayer

With joy and shade of the evergreen

Come back to me with all your heart

Don't let fear keep us apart

Don't fade away like a morning cloud

Or like the early morning dew

Set my love deep in your heart

Wear your love with his wedding band

Though health and life may fade away

Love lives eternal beyond the grave.

The Bridal Song by Padraig Lynch - courtesy of Youtube.

Maybe not all the stories in this collection are perfect. However, Joyce was indeed an artist. He knew how to push himself and attempt to embrace all the emotions and fears he had in his writings.

This collection had a profound impact on me. It made me weep and feel depressed at times. I was extremely bored with two of the stories, yet it also fleetingly took me back to my childhood and filled me with wonder. But most importantly, it made me question once again which is the greater art - music or literature. And in my opinion, music wins without a doubt. I believe Joyce knew this as well. The stories are filled with references, and while words can touch our hearts, music has a way of pulling at them in a more lasting way.

The best combination, in my view, is words with music.

Check out the song above and also give a listen to Meav's "I Dreamt I Dwelt In Marble Halls".

Sorry folks if you were anticipating a book review, but the music will surely lead you straight to Joyce's heart!