James Joyce is widely renowned for his highly complex and often enigmatic works such as "Ulysses" and "Finnegans Wake". However, he is also the author of a collection of short stories titled "Dubliners".

It is rather challenging to discuss any sort of enhancement in Joyce's portrayal of Dubliners as he does not sugarcoat or idealize his fellow countrymen. Instead, with his rich and precise language, Joyce vividly描绘s the Irish capital in the early 20th century. He delves deep into the chaotic and often mundane daily lives of the bourgeoisie through a series of captivating stories.

From schoolchildren who skip school to the passionate supporters of Charles Parnell, the hero of Irish independence, Joyce shows a greater affinity for the people rather than the city itself. The author skillfully describes the frustrations and limitations imposed by social conventions that seem impossible to overcome. These include lost loves and the longing for something beyond the ordinary. In essence, "Dubliners" serves as a genuine literary snapshot of the city, capturing its essence and the human experiences within it.

There was no doubt about it: if you wanted to succeed you had to go away. You could do nothing in Dublin. This was the belief of Joyce. Every night as he gazed up at the window, he softly said to himself the word paralysis. It had always sounded strangely in his ears, like the word gnomon in Euclid and the word simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to him like the name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled him with fear, and yet he longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work.

Dubliners is, by reputation (among English professors and scholars, at least), one of the greatest collections of short stories ever produced. Of course, as they say, them’s fightin’ words, so have it your own way, but I vote with that crowd of high admirers, and always have, having read it or stories from it many times. This is the first time I am hearing it read aloud, in the appropriately Irish voice of Connor Sheridan, that somehow captures the dry and at times mournful wit the ex-patriate Joyce brings to this tribute to the Dubliners he left behind. Some have found it maudlin, even grim, primarily a critique of the people Joyce left behind, but I found it at turns gently satirical, sometimes melancholy, and always loving, portraits of a time and place, filled with local politics and religion and (especially) finely sketched characters, some stories focused on lost opportunities for love or leaving.

In 2000 Time Magazine listed the greatest novels of the twentieth century and listed the difficult English major Everest of Ulysses as the worthiest literary mountain to climb, #1. This prompted thousands of Americans who may never have read 100 novels to read the first three pages and promptly declare Joyce a boring and inscrutable idiot. Though I do think Ulysses is one of the greatest novels ever written, I don’t think it would be particularly enjoyable for the general population; nor do I think most people “should” read it. But Joyce is an amazing writer; he wrote four works of fiction, in increasing levels of difficulty and formal experimentalism. If you like short stories and want to try Joyce, I would try Dubliners, the most recognizably traditional stories he wrote. If you like that, I might then try the somewhat more formally challenging A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. If you decide to go to graduate school, then consider Ulysses, sure, but only then, which owes something mock-epic to Homer’s Odyssey, and each chapter in a literary style of different periods/centuries. Finnegan’s Wake, which took him twenty years to write, almost no one reads, for good reason. It is so experimental most people can’t make heads or tails of a single paragraph. (No, I have not yet finished it, and probably never will).

Dubliners, published in 1914 (after nearly ten years of his trying to get it published!), is short, as story collections go. I have my favorites: “Eveline,” about a young shop girl conflicted about leaving her widowed father to live life with a sailor, and “Araby,” about a shy young man’s fruitless pursuit of a young woman, dooming them both to loneliness. Some of the deft observations of character in the writing are beautiful. The true gem of the collection may be the magnificent and mournful closing long story, “The Dead,” which features Gabriel, asked to give a short speech in honor of his aunts at a holiday party, who is disappointed not to “experience intimacy” with his wife Greta after the party, seeing her sadly draped on the bed. A song that was sung at the party reminded her of a time when she was seventeen when she had loved a boy, Michael Furey, who lost his life in the war. Gabriel is jealous of a love she sees Greta had for this boy, a love that he and Greta have perhaps never had themselves. And then, this reflection, using snow to punctuate Gabriel's sense of himself and maybe Joyce's view of Dublin.

Proust wrote: "In reality, when he reads, each reader is actually the reader of his own self. The work of the writer is nothing more than a kind of optical instrument that the writer offers. It allows the reader to discern that which, without the book, he might not have been able to see in himself." Do we not in our empathetic reading of Gabriel, see ourselves and reflect on our own lives? Many characters in Dubliners experience the struggle about whether to stay or leave, or to just act passionately, facing a kind of paralysis that Joyce refers to in the opening story, “The Sisters.” Dubliners is a wonderful collection, short enough to read in a few hours. It’s full of self-reflection and "inwardness." Listen to it, read it. Some of the stories have been made into films, like John Huston’s The Dead. Here’s the whole story “The Dead” for you to read. (You’re welcome): http://english-learners.com/wp-conten...

He stood there, deep in thought, as if lost in a profound inner exploration.

He made a conscious effort to weigh his soul, to assess and determine if it possessed the essence and qualities of a poet's soul.

Was there that inherent sensitivity, that ability to perceive the world in a unique and profound way?

Could his soul capture the beauty, the pain, the joy, and the mysteries of life and translate them into the powerful and evocative language of poetry?

He delved into the recesses of his being, searching for those telltale signs, those inklings that would confirm or deny his poetic nature.

J.J. was on this quest, this journey of self-discovery, hoping to uncover the truth about the nature of his soul and its potential as a vessel for the art of poetry.

My displeasure with Dubliners, and my general distaste for James Joyce, is a long-standing fact. It seems that no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to find the charm in his works.

I won't waste space here by trash-talking \\"The Dead\\" like I usually do. That story always leaves me feeling cold and unimpressed.

The only story I really like in this collection is \\"Eveline.\\" There's something about the way Joyce portrays the young girl's internal struggle that really speaks to me.

I know, I'm the worst English major ever. I should be able to appreciate the genius of Joyce, but for some reason, I just can't. Maybe it's because his writing style is too complex and convoluted for my simple mind. Or maybe it's because I just don't have the patience to wade through all the layers of meaning and symbolism.

Whatever the reason, I guess I'll just have to accept the fact that I'm not a Joyce fan. But at least I have \\"Eveline\\" to hold onto.

My first encounter with Joyce was a rather complex experience. I approached this book with a great deal of trepidation, yet there was also a curious feeling within me that I simply couldn't describe. With Finnegan's Wake and Ulysses on my "I hope to read and understand someday" shelf, given their reputation for abstract and difficult prose, it's no wonder I had such feelings. However, I picked up this one for two main reasons. Firstly, as I'm visiting Ireland this month, I wanted to read Joyce before walking the paths he might have trodden as a child. Secondly, my trip will take me to Dublin first, and what better way to understand the city than through Joyce's wonderful treatise on its locals. There was a third, minor reason too - this book had short stories, and I thought they might be easier to understand and read than a full-length book. How wrong I was, as I soon discovered after starting it.

As I read the first few lines, despite my fear, I felt an urge to submit to this author's words, to let go of all my inhibitions and worries about understanding the inner meaning or metaphors used, and simply fall in love with the words on my reader. I did just that, and I was completely mesmerized. Don't get me wrong, though. While I could see the beauty in Dubliners, I also found many things that irritated me. And yet, perhaps because of these irritations, Dublin and its people came alive for me. I felt as if I was actually walking through those roads, visiting those places, and sharing tea or stout with the very people who were sharing their stories with me.

One of my biggest irritants, which also happens to be the reason I fell in love, was the fact that Joyce doesn't allow you to be a shy bystander. He pulls you into conversations where you have no business being, and worse, he does it when the conversation is already in full swing. Moreover, he never explains the background or even the beginning of the conversation. You feel as if you've fallen into a hole with a lot of buzzing around you, and you have to make sense of it all. To top it off, Joyce pulls you out before you can reach the end of the conversation. In short, there is no proper beginning, middle, or end to the story. This can be enough to put off a reader, as it often seems that there is no sense in what is being said or happening. However, despite this flaw, or perhaps because of it, Joyce manages to convey important messages. You end up thinking a little more than usual about the narrator, the narrative, the way it's being told, and the abrupt end. Once your thoughts go deep, there are countless permutations and combinations to choose from. The creative pool is deep, and it doesn't matter what you infer from your plunge into it. The meaning will be constant, even if your paths differ. Such is the beauty of Joyce's prose, and such is his talent that even when you're ready to give up, you end up embracing it and smiling.

This doesn't mean that Joyce's prose is happy or cheerful. No, these stories are dark, depressing, and rather dreary. They explore the three stages of life - childhood, youth, and middle age moving towards old age and finally culminating in death. The tone is morose, the tales are sad, and the characters are full of angst and dreariness. And yet, you come out of it satisfied, if not happy. You learn more, if not becoming a scholar. You're emotional, if not bursting into tears. His stories moved me, especially a few where I couldn't stop my eyes from welling up. These weren't tears of sadness but an emotion I couldn't quite place, yet I would rank it as a beautiful experience. At the end of the stories, my mind wasn't my own but belonged to those characters. So much so that when I finished the book, I felt as if I was leaving behind my closest friends. Whatever I might feel about the individual stories, I have to admit that each and every one of them brought out emotions in me that had long been dormant, and for this, I owe it to the beautiful prose. Taut with tension, stingy with truth or completeness, buried in an assault of emotions or in some cases lacking any emotion at all, the stories felt alive. I was living in Dublin, walking through those very streets, and looking into the lives of these characters, becoming one with them.

I've experienced Ireland's green vales and beautiful landscapes in other books and was expecting some of that. Instead, I got the dreary Ireland full of pain and remorse, anger and ineptitude. And yet, somehow, it shone like a loving star, a loving human star - full of faults, full of emotions, and full of the Irish nature that I've come to love through books. It takes immense talent to convince someone who isn't part of it that what is shown is beautiful, and Joyce is immensely talented as he does it with ease. You may not like his way of storytelling, you may not like the stories themselves, but you can never say that you didn't feel anything for the country he wrote about. Whether it's love, empathy, sympathy, or even disdain, you feel it strongly as you put down this book.

I won't say that this journey through Joyce's prose has made me fear him less. In fact, it has made my fear greater as every word has a meaning and a reason for being there, and I'm not sure if I am or ever will be capable of understanding it all. However, this journey has definitely made me understand why Joyce is considered a difficult author to read and comprehend. It has helped me see a little into his prowess and his storytelling. It has made me love him for all that and fear him more for the same. And in the end, it has left me eager to walk through those lanes, albeit several years later. It could be different, but I'm truly eager to get there and pay my respects to the land that was described in this book.

As I write this on the penultimate day before I leave for Ireland, I have a sense of peace and some knowledge. The country might be different, but people everywhere are the same. While I go pack for my trip, why don't you take this journey through Joyce's eyes? I can't say that all of you will love it, but even if one person does, it will be a wonderful thing for both Joyce and me. And if you can't read the whole book, at least read Araby, The Dead, Counterparts, A Little Cloud, and A Painful Case. I promise you that it will be worth your time.

Sokhtkhwan, although it may be a bit challenging to read, is truly captivating and extremely engaging.

It has a certain charm that draws you in and keeps you hooked from start to finish. The unique language and writing style add to its allure, making it stand out among other works.

Despite the initial difficulties one might encounter while reading, the rewards are well worth it. As you delve deeper into the text, you begin to uncover the hidden layers of meaning and the rich tapestry of ideas that the author has woven.

Sokhtkhwan is a literary gem that offers a truly immersive experience, taking you on a journey through its pages and leaving you with a sense of wonder and satisfaction.

It is a work that demands your attention and respect, but in return, it gives you a wealth of knowledge and inspiration.

Whether you are a seasoned reader or someone new to the world of literature, Sokhtkhwan is definitely worth exploring.

Dubliners is a remarkable collection of short stories that delves into the lives of the middle class Irish residing in and around Dublin. It was also my initial encounter with the works of James Joyce.

Objectively speaking, Joyce has done an outstanding job in this collection by vividly presenting the diverse aspects of Dublin life. His bold and straightforward writing style strongly aligns with the concept of realism. However, subjectively, while the stories themselves were decent, I didn't have a great affinity for the majority of them. I simply read them passively, learning about the lives of the Dubliners in the early 20th century. I failed to establish a connection with most of the stories, and some even struck me as rather dull.

Among the collection, I had a penchant for "Eveline", "A Painful Case", and "The Dead". "The Dead" is my absolute favorite. If it weren't for this story, perhaps I wouldn't have been able to rate this book an honest three stars.

Nevertheless, my sentiments towards this particular work of Joyce do not deter me from exploring his other works. I have a desire to read Ulysses at some future point when I can carve out some quiet and peaceful reading time. I am eager to see what other literary treasures Joyce has in store for me.

His hat had rolled a few yards away and his clothes were smeared with the filth and ooze of the floor on which he had lain, face downwards.

This vivid description by James Joyce presents a rather disheveled and perhaps hapless scene of a man. However, to an untrained observer like myself, it could also be seen as a representation of how Catholic clergy might view those not in God's good graces. At least, that's what this person thinks. A person who always assumed they would never read, let alone be competent enough to understand, anything written by James Joyce.

I read the Penguin Classics version of James Joyce's Dubliners, which features an informative introduction and notes by Terence Brown. It's important to note that I'm only claiming to have read the book, not that I fully comprehended it. Although I must admit that I did enjoy the shorter stories. But when it came to the two longer ones, my enjoyment level was quite low.

"He waited for some minutes listening. He could hear nothing: the night was perfectly silent. He listened again: perfectly silent. He felt that he was alone." This passage further adds to the sense of isolation and perhaps a certain melancholy that pervades Joyce's works.

Childhood is a time of innocence and wonder. We explore the world around us, filled with curiosity and excitement.

As we grow older, we experience the various stages of life, coming of age and facing the challenges that come with it.

And eventually, we reach old age, and our lives come to an end.

The first amorous admiration from afar can be a powerful and confusing experience.

We may not know how to express our feelings or what the future holds.

Dubliners presents a rich tapestry of characters and images, from truant schoolboys to a young girl afraid of change.

We see the contrast between different lives and the unjustness that sometimes exists.

The story of meeting Gallaher after eight years shows how our perspectives can change and how we may feel a sense of dissatisfaction with our own lives.

We also encounter a variety of other characters, from a rogue petty clerk to a timorous service girl.

There are empty talks, idle drinking, and the foolish behavior of a despotic mother.

Drunkenness and piety coexist, and the Christmas celebration is a highlight of the year.

But in the end, celebrations end, and life continues.

Infants are born, the aged die, and traditions are passed down from generation to generation.

Dubliners is an excellent collection that is perfect for reading on a quiet Sunday evening. It allows you to escape from the rest of the world and immerse yourself in Joyce's unique version of Dublin, Ireland. It's also fascinating to explore a book that was accepted for publication in 1904 but was passed from one fearful publisher to another due to puritan prudery, until it was finally published nine years later. We should be grateful for its publication and for Joyce's reasons for isolation from Victorian society, which perhaps enable him to understand the "outsider" narrative so deeply.

When I taught a college program at a rural high school, I discovered that Joyce's short stories were easy to teach. They have a layered and crisp writing style that students at that level can easily digest, and some of the stories also deal with the theme of choice, which leads to great lecture discussions. For example, in "Eveline," a young woman must choose between leaving her drunken and abusive father with her sailor fiance or fulfilling the promise she made to her dying mother to stay home and take care of the household, despite seeing her mother's life as "pitiful." Just imagine the lively discussions, deep ponderings, and thoughtful essays that emerged from such a story.

So, I decided to revisit this collection of fifteen stories, each written with the ordinary life in mind. Each story serves as a reminder of the choices we face in love, family, and career, and each encapsulates the themes of loneliness and emotional and spiritual awakening. While you don't get the same writing style as in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, you do get the same thematic undertones. And somehow, reading a Joyce book always leads to moments of reflection.

In "Little Cloud," there is a struggle with parallels as the main character measures his success against his friend's poetic achievements, leaving him disillusioned. In "The Boarding House," the young and in-love characters face a society that dictates marriage after their brief affair, but the question remains: is he ready for marriage like she is? According to the editor of this collection, Joyce left Ireland with feelings of "rage, resentment, and revenge," and I would also add a disdain for spiritual shackles. Some of these feelings are also present in stories like "The Sisters" and "An Encounter." However, just as he highlights the torment of conformity, he also, in a small way, indicates the beauty of individual thinking.

Reading this book is an experience that can be likened to meeting a perfect stranger at the park. The two of you find yourselves sitting on a bench, engaged in a conversation where they openly share their truth with you, and you do the same in return. It's a short, yet profoundly meaningful interaction. There are no responsibilities or strings attached, just a moment of pure connection. And then, at some point, one of you remarks, "oh, it's two o'clock already, I'd better be going." And that's the end of it. One could argue that this is the case with all interactions in one's life.

Joyce presents us with a synthesis of people and their actions, their fears, their misconceptions, their loves, and their hates. He offers brief zoom-ins into the details that构成了 his time's Dublin. I, for one, found myself getting lost in this exploration, drawing conclusions and uncovering meanings in symbolisms that might very well be something other than symbolisms. I think this is why many people didn't like Dubliners, and yet, it's also the same reason I did. Isn't it thought-provoking?

Ireland is a great country. It is called the Emerald Isle. After centuries of strangulation, the metropolitan government has left it desolate and it is now a fallow field. The government sowed hunger, syphilis, superstition and alcoholism: Puritans, Jesuits and reactionaries now grow.

When one goes through the list of the greatest writers that literature has given and pays special attention to those who loved their native land in the true sense of the word, the number of authors is significantly reduced.

Besides the Greek bards, who inevitably wrote to their homeland, we will discover that certain authors had a very clear concept of belonging.

Many writers felt a very special affection for their country: García Márquez for Colombia, Balzac, Hugo and Flaubert for France, Hawthorne and his American nature, to name a few.

But when it comes to love for a city, few, very few are those that we rescue. I believe that along with Fyodor Dostoevsky, a passionate lover of his beloved St. Petersburg and Julio Cortázar, doubled between the urbanity of Buenos Aires and the cosmopolitan Paris, only James Joyce is a devout and faithful lover of his native city, Dublin, one of the main cities of Ireland along with Belfast and Kilkenny.

The fifteen stories and tales of “Dubliners” are impregnated with that Irish mysticism in its streets, its people and buildings. Again I remember Julio Cortázar because I believe that these two authors knew how to deeply explore the idiosyncrasy of their cities, managing to show us with firm brushstrokes how the real nature of their inhabitants and those underworlds described in bars, offices, houses, parks, streets, cities, docks and squares was.

Joyce portrays in each story the frustration and solitude of many Dubliners. The great majority of them are simple office workers, maids, elderly ladies, alcoholics, minor politicians, unemployed young people. Joyce wanted to portray the “paralysis” of Dublin. The stories come and go as they are, some of them are open to the multiple interpretations of the readers and always leave us a bittersweet taste.

Death hovers omnipresent and powerful in many of these stories and unease settles in the characters. In most of these stories the attempts of these are futile, they do not reach to cover their needs, desires or hopes. We will not find here funny passages. Perhaps some quasi-funny anecdote, but the atmosphere of the stories is that of a slight floating of souls in suspension.

Of all the stories and besides “The Dead”, of which I already made the corresponding review, the ones that I liked the most were “Eveline”, “Counterparts” and “A Painful Case”. They are three deep stories, written with great finesse and very beautiful literary precision and I also believe that the treatment that Joyce gives to the psychological context of the characters is really wonderful.

Rereading “Dubliners” reaffirms my deep devotion to Joyce, a brilliant writer from whom I learned to overcome the “literary fear” when facing his most difficult work such as “Ulysses” and as it will be soon to read his “Finnegan’s Wake”.

Meanwhile, the reading of this book, “The Dead” and “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man”, which constitute the most accessible part of his work, define what I wrote previously: that every day I want more of James Joyce.