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3.43 AVERAGE
3.43 AVERAGE
Allllllll RIGHT, folks, get yourselves ready for another round of Joel's Long Screen Rants™️ cause this one is gonna be a douzie!! A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Joyce’s second full-length publication after Dubliners, explores the early life and development of Stephen Dedalus, and is commonly touted as a semi-autobiographical exploration of how James Joyce became the brilliant writer and poetic modernist he is. It’s celebrated as a coming-of-age story about throwing off the shackles of oppressive religion and societal expectation.
As Stephen himself puts it, “When the soul of man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.”
In other words, Portrait is an exploration of self-expression and the awakening of an artist to his own glorious self-expression and freedom.
Except, of course, that it’s none of those things.
I think this might be one of the most mis-read novels out there, y’all. Stephen is not the hero of this novel. Joyce is not endorsing Stephen’s actions as just or even good.
There are many reasons for this. Modernist texts are incredibly difficult to parse through, especially when the narrator (focalizer) may or may not agree with the protagonist (focalized). I think if we’re paying attention, though, Joyce’s narrator constantly shows readers that, while there may be a way to discover meaningful self-expression, this certainly ain’t it.
For one thing, Stephen isn’t Joyce. Even remotely. Yes, there are similarities between James Joyce and his protagonist—but that’s because every well-written character in Joyce’s fiction bears great similarities to the author. It’s how he creates a sense of similitude and detail; he imbues his fiction with the minutia and details of the real world. People have literally used his descriptions of the city in Dubliners and Ulysses AS A MAP, because the details are that accurate. What’s far more interesting than the similarities between Joyce and Stephen are their differences.
And oh my, are they different. While Joyce redefined the way fiction worked (stream-of-consciousness, early sociological writings, nuanced descriptions, separation of focalizer and focalized, etc), Stephen can’t do anything original. Like, you guys. An artist is someone who creates art, and Stephen DOESN’T CREATE ANYTHING. The entire book, he thinks of himself as an artist—he’s not. All he does are wallow in his sublime feelings of being alone, and never creates anything meaningful or beautiful; he just feels big feelings. The only poem he writes in the end is 1) written in an old, outdated French form, and 2) only is able to use Catholic metaphors and images to express himself.
As Stephen’s friend Cranly puts it, “It is a curious thing…how your mind is supersaturated with the religion in which you say you disbelieve.”
This may not seem like a big deal — if Portrait were written by anyone other than Joyce. But consider what the modernists were seeking to do! They strived to create art in a form that was entirely original, breaking boundaries, doing something that had never been done before. Their rallying cry was Ezra Pound’s imperative, “Make it New!” Stephen does nothing new, either in form or content. And he certainly does not have the innovation or capacity to do something as groundbreaking as Ulysses. I’ll say it again in case you didn’t hear the first time: STEPHEN IS NOT JAMES JOYCE.
Still not convinced? Let’s take the example of Stephen’s family name, Dedalus. A reference to the Greek myth of Daedalus and Icarus. Stephen seems to think that he’s the artificer, Daedalus, destined to create something new and innovative. Forget the quote about “flying by those nets,” as if that’s not an overt enough indication that he’s Icarus and not Daedalus and take this instead:
Soaring? Flying above the nets? Seems to me that he’s far more likely to be Icarus flying too close to the sun — and we all know how that story ends.
Let’s state the obvious: Stephen is an ass. Like, does anyone out there actually enjoy spending time with this character? His sin was never lust, it’s pride, and it’s not fun to spend time with an arrogant artsy kid who thinks he’s a victim and is smarter than everyone else without ever actually doing anything to prove it. Like, we all knew the self-proclaimed ingenue when we were growing up, and they were never the person you wanted to spend time with. But we’re gonna make Stephen the hero? Really??
Still not enough evidence for you? Here’s one more: Stephen’s aesthetic theory, which he develops in Part V, states that the simple first-person tense is the lowest form of art, and the highest is the “esthetic,” in which “the artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.”
(Forget for a moment that this theory is entirely derived from medieval catholic theologians who represent a religion he supposedly renounced).
This theory is not how Joyce writes. Joyce’s writing is intimately concerned with particulars—even after leaving Ireland, he never stops writing about Dublin, catholicism, and Irish political nationalism. Joyce never becomes the artist who is “refined out of existence”; quite the opposite! Also, portrait starts as an abstract, third-person stream-of-consciousness narrative and gets progressively less “esthetic” until it is, in the end, the more simple, first-person account possible: Stephen’s diary. The text moves against the grain of Stephen’s theory, suggesting that the author has quite a different perspective than the protagonist.
Long (LONG) story short: Stephen Dedalus is not a hero. He’s an anti-hero. He never learns the lessons he thinks he’s learned (his confession makes him more prideful and not less), and we need to stop reading this text as a celebration of what he does. He’s not an artist; he’s a tired, annoying, and cliché stereotype of the person who considers themself a great artist, when in actuality they’re just a pain in the butt.
Joyce’s writing is far more subtle and nuanced than that. I read this novel as an exploration of youthful ignorance and hubris, more than anything else. This is a gorgeous exploration of self-deceits and the way we become who we become. You can see the moments where Stephen fails to learn his lesson, and as a result his pride and snobbiness become solidified and reinforced. Confirmation bias is all over the place in this text. Plus, Joyce’s prose is at a real sublime peak here while still being intelligible, and that’s a genuine treat to read. Here's one of my favorite examples:
This sort of passage, I think, is why we assume that Joyce sides with Stephen. We aren't used to reading beautiful passages like this and having them be written about someone other than our hero, and this is part of what makes Joyce's writing so ambivalent and subtle.
Do I know how to rate it with stars? Absolutely not. Did I enjoy it? Not much, due to the fact that I hated Stephen from about 60 pages in until the end. Will I be thinking about this for a long time? You bet. Not one I’ll be able to forget for years.
Whew. Screen rant done!
As Stephen himself puts it, “When the soul of man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.”
In other words, Portrait is an exploration of self-expression and the awakening of an artist to his own glorious self-expression and freedom.
Except, of course, that it’s none of those things.
I think this might be one of the most mis-read novels out there, y’all. Stephen is not the hero of this novel. Joyce is not endorsing Stephen’s actions as just or even good.
There are many reasons for this. Modernist texts are incredibly difficult to parse through, especially when the narrator (focalizer) may or may not agree with the protagonist (focalized). I think if we’re paying attention, though, Joyce’s narrator constantly shows readers that, while there may be a way to discover meaningful self-expression, this certainly ain’t it.
For one thing, Stephen isn’t Joyce. Even remotely. Yes, there are similarities between James Joyce and his protagonist—but that’s because every well-written character in Joyce’s fiction bears great similarities to the author. It’s how he creates a sense of similitude and detail; he imbues his fiction with the minutia and details of the real world. People have literally used his descriptions of the city in Dubliners and Ulysses AS A MAP, because the details are that accurate. What’s far more interesting than the similarities between Joyce and Stephen are their differences.
And oh my, are they different. While Joyce redefined the way fiction worked (stream-of-consciousness, early sociological writings, nuanced descriptions, separation of focalizer and focalized, etc), Stephen can’t do anything original. Like, you guys. An artist is someone who creates art, and Stephen DOESN’T CREATE ANYTHING. The entire book, he thinks of himself as an artist—he’s not. All he does are wallow in his sublime feelings of being alone, and never creates anything meaningful or beautiful; he just feels big feelings. The only poem he writes in the end is 1) written in an old, outdated French form, and 2) only is able to use Catholic metaphors and images to express himself.
As Stephen’s friend Cranly puts it, “It is a curious thing…how your mind is supersaturated with the religion in which you say you disbelieve.”
This may not seem like a big deal — if Portrait were written by anyone other than Joyce. But consider what the modernists were seeking to do! They strived to create art in a form that was entirely original, breaking boundaries, doing something that had never been done before. Their rallying cry was Ezra Pound’s imperative, “Make it New!” Stephen does nothing new, either in form or content. And he certainly does not have the innovation or capacity to do something as groundbreaking as Ulysses. I’ll say it again in case you didn’t hear the first time: STEPHEN IS NOT JAMES JOYCE.
Still not convinced? Let’s take the example of Stephen’s family name, Dedalus. A reference to the Greek myth of Daedalus and Icarus. Stephen seems to think that he’s the artificer, Daedalus, destined to create something new and innovative. Forget the quote about “flying by those nets,” as if that’s not an overt enough indication that he’s Icarus and not Daedalus and take this instead:
“His soul had arisen from the grave of boyhood, spurning her graveclothes. Yes! Yes! Yes! He would create proudly out of the freedom and power of his soul, as the great artificer whose name he bore, a living thing, new and soaring and beautiful, impalpable, imperishable.”
Soaring? Flying above the nets? Seems to me that he’s far more likely to be Icarus flying too close to the sun — and we all know how that story ends.
Let’s state the obvious: Stephen is an ass. Like, does anyone out there actually enjoy spending time with this character? His sin was never lust, it’s pride, and it’s not fun to spend time with an arrogant artsy kid who thinks he’s a victim and is smarter than everyone else without ever actually doing anything to prove it. Like, we all knew the self-proclaimed ingenue when we were growing up, and they were never the person you wanted to spend time with. But we’re gonna make Stephen the hero? Really??
Still not enough evidence for you? Here’s one more: Stephen’s aesthetic theory, which he develops in Part V, states that the simple first-person tense is the lowest form of art, and the highest is the “esthetic,” in which “the artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.”
(Forget for a moment that this theory is entirely derived from medieval catholic theologians who represent a religion he supposedly renounced).
This theory is not how Joyce writes. Joyce’s writing is intimately concerned with particulars—even after leaving Ireland, he never stops writing about Dublin, catholicism, and Irish political nationalism. Joyce never becomes the artist who is “refined out of existence”; quite the opposite! Also, portrait starts as an abstract, third-person stream-of-consciousness narrative and gets progressively less “esthetic” until it is, in the end, the more simple, first-person account possible: Stephen’s diary. The text moves against the grain of Stephen’s theory, suggesting that the author has quite a different perspective than the protagonist.
Long (LONG) story short: Stephen Dedalus is not a hero. He’s an anti-hero. He never learns the lessons he thinks he’s learned (his confession makes him more prideful and not less), and we need to stop reading this text as a celebration of what he does. He’s not an artist; he’s a tired, annoying, and cliché stereotype of the person who considers themself a great artist, when in actuality they’re just a pain in the butt.
Joyce’s writing is far more subtle and nuanced than that. I read this novel as an exploration of youthful ignorance and hubris, more than anything else. This is a gorgeous exploration of self-deceits and the way we become who we become. You can see the moments where Stephen fails to learn his lesson, and as a result his pride and snobbiness become solidified and reinforced. Confirmation bias is all over the place in this text. Plus, Joyce’s prose is at a real sublime peak here while still being intelligible, and that’s a genuine treat to read. Here's one of my favorite examples:
"His eyelids trembled as if they felt the vast cyclic movement of the earth and her watchers, trembled as if they felt the strange light of some new world. His soul was swooning into some new world, fantastic dim, uncertain as under sea, travesed by cloudy shapes and beings. A world, a glimmer, or a flower? Glimmering and trembling, trembling and unfolding, a breaking light, an opening flower, it spread in endless succession to itself, breaking in full crimson and unfolding and fading to palest rose, leaf by leaf and wave of light by wave of light, flooding all the heavens with its soft flushes, every flush deeper than other."
This sort of passage, I think, is why we assume that Joyce sides with Stephen. We aren't used to reading beautiful passages like this and having them be written about someone other than our hero, and this is part of what makes Joyce's writing so ambivalent and subtle.
Do I know how to rate it with stars? Absolutely not. Did I enjoy it? Not much, due to the fact that I hated Stephen from about 60 pages in until the end. Will I be thinking about this for a long time? You bet. Not one I’ll be able to forget for years.
Whew. Screen rant done!
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
“Pride and hope and desire like crushed herbs in his heart sent up vapours of maddening incense before the eyes of his mind.”
challenging
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
joyce’s writing is breathtakingly beautiful. whether you like stephen or not, this is a gorgeous coming of age story.
very much no plot just vibes
very much no plot just vibes
Read for Book Riot’s 2021 Read Harder challenge. I just don’t get what makes James Joyce a revered writer. This was a chore to finish - especially the long theological speech.
slow-paced
is this what catholic guilt is like lol?
love the writing, will likely reread in the future
love the writing, will likely reread in the future
challenging
dark
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
lighthearted
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
"his childhood was dead or lost and with it his soul capable of simple joys, and he was drifting amid life like the barren shell of the mood" (102)
"Reproduction is the beginning of death" (251)
"Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not" (263)
"Yes, I liked her today. A little or too much? Don't know. I liked her and it seems a new feeling to me" (275)
"Reproduction is the beginning of death" (251)
"Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not" (263)
"Yes, I liked her today. A little or too much? Don't know. I liked her and it seems a new feeling to me" (275)