Dubliners, James Joyce

Here’s the short review: this book is a masterpiece.

Here’s a longer review:

James Joyce is possibly one of the most important writers ever to have graced history. His ability to mold language in fluid ways to portray the stream of people’s thoughts was extremely influential in modern literature. There were precursors to him: people that were trying to break the ‘Victorian’ boundaries of character and narrative by having words be used in a more free manner than the rigid structure of grammar would allow them. But Joyce was the revolutionary that managed to smash open the gates for every other writer to pour through. In essence; he was the one that created Modernism.

His books can be as incomprehensible as they are famous. Ulysses is well-known as the book that broke every single rule of literature: containing bizarre references to works of culture throughout human history; a stream-of-consciousness style; and, most frustratingly, a sentence with no punctuation that spans over 60 pages of the 1000-page book.

This bizarreness was taken to the extreme in Finnegans Wake (I haven’t made an error: there isn’t meant to be an apostrophe); where Joyce essentially made an entire new language by fusing words from other languages. Scholars have still not been able to ‘crack the code’ of this book and the literary community mainly treats it as one big joke.

But before Joyce started making his name through such controversial classics, he wrote 15 short stories that looked at life in Ireland. In comparison to the sprawling works he wrote in his later life, these stories are quite subdued. Not much ‘plot’ happens in each story: most unfold in real-time and simply give an impression of a character and their life over an ordinary day.

This is an interesting style and it works in two ways. Firstly, it makes the stories a lot more realistic because, like in ordinary life, not much actually happens to the characters in a day. Seeing a typical Dublin day through another person’s eyes makes the reader sympathise more with the character, and therefore feel more emotion if anything happens to them. Unfortunately, this is not used as much as it could have been; most stories end abruptly without an event to evoke audience reaction.

However, that is kind of the point. From the very first sentence we read the word ‘paralysis’; and although we never see the word again, it affects every single event in the book. All of the characters (which are a range of people from lots of different classes and societies) are bound together by the fact that they are paralysed; that they are doing the same thing every day, as a force of habit. Each story supposedly ends with an ‘epiphany’, when the character sees the light and realises something about their lives that changes the way they perceive everything…

I say ‘supposedly’ because some of the stories don’t really have much of an epiphany, in my opinion. Whilst some stories, such as Araby and the Dead, have every single plot point culminate in a huge epiphany by the end of the story; other stories simply fizzle out without saying anything particularly strong.

Why do I give this book such a high rating, then? The stories themselves are nothing particularly special, but the way that they are written is spectacular. Joyce has a real knack in this book for easily describing something in only a few words in such a clear way that the reader can instantly picture it in their head. My edition of the book had a few illustrations, but I ended up covering them up because they didn’t work with my vivid images of the characters. Joyce’s language is flowing and mirthful. The conversation always feels realistic. One of the greatest things about this book is how dialogue is shown. Rather than using inverted commas; or ‘perverted commas’, as Joyce himself calls them:

“It’s his birthday,” said Mary, turning her back for a second.

He would write dialogue like so:

- It’s his birthday, said Mary, turning her back for a second.

(By the way, that was not real dialogue from the book)

This usage of dialogue feels a lot more open, and a lot more real. Rather than being restricted by speech marks, dialogue flows into narrative and back out again, creating a pacy and easy-to-read story.

The stories themselves are easy to read, but can have a wealth of meaning. I will give a word of warning: a substantial amount of knowledge on Ireland in the early 1900′s is necessary to really get the best out of this book. But in this day and age, where historical information is so easy to access, it isn’t difficult to look up information that one doesn’t understand. The point is that, for these stories, you get out what you put in. If you read these stories as simple fables, then they are enjoyable, but nothing more. If you actually spend some time researching the context of each story, and picking apart the layers of commentary on politics, religion and humanity; then the pay-off you receive shall be infinitely more rewarding.

Not all of the stories are brilliant. The novel sags a little in the middle: with a few stories that are entertaining, but nothing special. The book picks up towards the end, though: Ivy Day in the Committee Room is a great character study. The myriad themes of paralysis and epiphany culminate in the final story, entitled the Dead. This is by far the best story, one of the most well-written stories in the English language, and has a final sentence that is as haunting and as memorable as the one in the Great Gastby.

My point is that it is not the stories themselves that make this book so great. It is how the stories are told: Joyce’s sensitive and perceptive use of language; his use of indirect free speech to plunge the reader into the mindset of his characters; and his talent for making a scene come alive. Like all of the best books, I forgot at points that I was reading words; instead I was living the experiences in my imagination.

The fact that Joyce’s use of language is so crucial to what makes the book so great leads me on to one final point. If you wish to read the book, and I reccommend that you do, try to find one that is as close as possible to Joyce’s original manuscript. James Joyce used to have a lot of trouble with editors. They were averse to his radical use of language and lack of punctuation. In Dubliners, they forced him to change many words and add in a huge number of full stops and commas. Most of these edits have since be rectified, but be wary. Editing the book removes much of its charm. For example, in a passage of the Dead, an old woman talks about:

a fish, a beautiful big big fish

The editors forced this to be changed to ’a beautiful big fish’. This, however, is not as good as the original. In the original, the use of the word ‘big’ twice feels a lot more real, as if someone is actually speaking, rather than a fake fictionalised version of conversation. I strongly recommend getting a version of the book without the edits. The recent Penguin edition is possibly the best one you can get.

In conclusion: a stunning book. It does have flaws, but the panache and the style of the book overwhelms you and reminds you why Joyce is such an acclaimed writer.

5 out of 5 

Dissected: Franz Kafka

Right, having done my first review, I will now introduce another little thing I’m going to do on this site: a feature where I look at some of of my favourite authors and dissect what I like about them, the work that they’ve done, etc. As you can probably guess, this is all going to be my opinion, and therefore will be highly subjective. Do not feel offended if my opinion differs from yours. But please post your respective opinion below, I love a good argument…

So as you can probably guess from the title, I am going to be looking at the author Franz Kafka. Now Kafka is an individual that really splits the reading authority. Roughly half believe him to be a genius, the greatest writer in the German language, the like. The rough other half believe that he is boring and his work is pretentious codswallop. Most people don’t even know who the hell he is.

Kafka, smiling, for once

Franz Kafka was a Jewish writer from Prague that wrote several novels that he never finished and a few short stories in the German language. He then subsequently died. That’s pretty much his story.

However, he is one of the most recognised figures of 20th century literature in the literary community. Even amongst most ordinary people, his name is recognised, although they may not have read any of this work. Kafkaesque, the term for writing in the style of Kafka, has become an often used word by pretentious book reviewers who try to sound smart… oh wait.

Anyway, I’m doing this dissection for two reasons. Firstly, I genuinely enjoy Kafka’s work (that I’ve read, anyway, which is: Metamorphosis, The Trial, The Castle, The Judgement and In the Penal Colony). Secondly, I think he could possibly be one of the most misunderstood writers in the history of… well writing.

Let’s begin at the beginning. Bizarrely, I don’t think Kafka himself wrote in a Kafkaesque style at all. If I took a definition of Kafkaesque that I found – characterised by surreal distortion and a sense of impending danger – I don’t really think that sums up the work of such a complex and sensitive man.

Dissect the definition. Impending danger implies some form of terror, horror, and all manner of disturbing stuff. It gives a very depressing tone. And this is one of the most annoying misconceptions about Kafka’s work that I constantly hear if I ever try to bring him up in conversation – that he was a depressing man who wrote depressing work. In fact, as countless other people have said before me (including the hatmeister himself: David Foster Wallace), Kafka’s work should be read more as a comedy than anything else.

Take Metamorphosis. It’s about a man who turns into a giant bug. Seriously. If that made you laugh, then that’s sort of the point. Too many people have tried to make this work sound serious in their analysis, talking about alienation and discrimination of Jews. Those themes are definitely there, but the work is clearly meant to entertain before anything else. In the story, Gregor (the protagonist) awakes to find that he has turned into a gigantic insect. How would you respond if you were in his little insect shoes? Most (dare I say lesser?) would have the hero respond in horror, to wonder how on Earth this could have happened, to think of a way to possibly regain their humanity. Gregor? He sits there, a little baffled. He then wonders how he is going to get to work.

This is beautifully funny yet poignantly sad at the same time, and in my opinion more realistic (be honest, how would you react? No one could possibly know). The reaction even reminds me slightly of Arthur Dent, the king of reacting mundanely to fantastical situations.

It’s called bathos, and it’s a technique that writers such as Terry Pratchett use all the time. I think Kafka was the best, though. Another story: in Blumfeld, an Elderly Bachelor; a man comes home to find two celluloid balls bouncing on his couch. At one point, the maid comes to clean the house, and the book describes in a sit-com style sequence the methods Blumfeld uses to hide the balls from her. What is the story about? Without meaning to sound too childish, I think the balls genuinely symbolise testicles. He is a bachelor, after all. And the way he tries to hide the balls out of embarassment seems to say a lot about his bachelorhood too…

But don’t go into Kafka thinking it is going to be a laugh. There is a reason people find his work depressing: because often, it is. In most stories (the ones that he ever finished, anyway), the protagonist dies, usually killing themselves. The stories he writes have a strong concept that never really goes anywhere. The character stuggles and struggles through bureaucracy, thinking they are making progress, until finding out that they are just getting deeper into an infinite pool; and the quicker they struggle, the faster they drown.

But the process to this depression is usually a funny one. Kafka himself used to howl with laughter when reading his work out loud. It is, however, an adept sense of humour. Not everyone has it. Not everyone can laugh at misfortune and the general absurdity of existence. If you’re a little sick like Kafka and I, however, then you can laugh too.

The second thing that annoys me about the description of Kafkaesque is the surreal distortion part. It seems to suggest that the work of Kafka was very surreal. Quite the opposite. The things that are surreal in the story (the giant bug, the bouncing balls, the strange creatures he came up with in some of his shorter works), are described precisely and scientifically. They are not treated as strange at all.

On the other hand, in works like The Castle, there are no strange creatures at all. But this is the story that is generally agreed on as Kafka’s most difficult, because the mundane story of a land surveyor trying to find out about the Castle that runs the town becomes fantastically strange to an epic scale.

A little more on Kafka’s style. The way he writes can be difficult. The words he uses aren’t too long, but you do need to focus when reading him. A thing that annoys me slightly about his work (although I don’t know whether this is his fault or the publishers) is the habit of putting dialogue and description in massive paragraphs, often spanning many pages, without any breaking up. It becomes tiresome to read after a while but, then again, this sort of becomes the point: you begin to feel the exhaustion the characters are (apologies if that previous comment sounded extremely up its own arse).

His descriptions are nothing beautiful, and colour is hardly ever mentioned. This makes his worlds sound grey and dreary. But the descriptions, although not beautiful, are often extremely vivid. Kafka is a master at providing enough detail to really paint a picture in your mind, no matter how grey that picture is.

Anyway, that’s my dissection of Kafka, the master of both comedy and tragedy, the man who could make the realistic seem fantastical and the fantastical seem realistic. If you’ve never read him before and wish to, I’d reccommend starting with In the Penal Colony: it’s my favourite story of his and is definitely the most accessible. If you don’t like it, Kafka’s not for you.

From there, try The Judgement and Metamorphosis, more short stories with some very well drawn-out characters. Then try your hand at the novels. I personally prefer The Castle, which was the book I read first, but it is difficult. I prefer it mainly because it is a lot funnier and has better characters than The Trial, which I found mainly to be depressing and dull. That’s not to say The Trial is not without merits: if anything, it’s a fascinating book since it managed to correctly describe the Nazi regime before it even happened. I’ve heard Amerika is quite funny, but I haven’t read it yet, so I wouldn’t know.

Anyway, that’s my dissection of Kafka. One final interesting fact: the quote that this website is named after? It’s his. I hope that gives you a new light on an author who is time and time again described as ‘the depressing emo writer’.

Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe

Well, hello.

Let’s begin this book review site by reviewing one of the earliest English novels ever written: the adventure story, Robinson Crusoe.

I haven’t read a particular number of novels from this time period. In fact, I have barely read any: I once tried reading Gulliver’s Travels, but was too young to understand it. I did read Treasure Island, and enjoyed it greatly; and although that’s not really the same period, it’s still the same ‘adventure story’ style and genre.

Anyway, Robinson Crusoe is one of the most famous stories ever written, so I won’t go into it in too much depth. Based upon the real-life story of Alexander Selkirk (although I use the term based on veeery loosely), the book tells the story of the titular Crusoe going to sea, encountering a storm, and becoming the only survivor of a shipwreck.

This section takes up the first 60-or-so pages in my version of the book, and just gives some back story and context to the character of Robinson. This section is mostly interesting, especially the aspect about how Robinson’s character almost seems cursed: by flaunting the wishes of his parents by going to sea rather than doing something more mundane; Robinson is doomed to disaster in all of his adventures. He goes out to sea in a boat, only to be captured by Moors. After escaping, he then goes off to Africa, only to encounter dangerous African animals. After escaping with a local boy named Xury (who subsequently disappears from the novel, whatever happened to him?), Robinson goes off on another adventure, only for it to end with, you guessed it, disaster. And this is where the main story starts.

For Robinson ends up being the only survivor of a huge shipwreck. Washed up on a deserted tropical island, he is completely and utterly alone. If this sounds familiar to you, it is since every single piece of media has ripped off this book’s core concept, by having the admittedly unrealistic concept of a sole survivor living on an uninhabited but completely sustainable island.

And then the book begins to tell the events of how Robinson uses the remains of the ship to build his own paradise upon the island. In great detail. The majority of the book is a simple telling of Robinson wanting to make something, encountering difficulty in making it, then coming up with a solution and building it. This obviously being a castaway novel, this is inevitable, and Robinson’s actions do seem pretty realistic within the book. I, personally, liked most of it; having been obsessed as a child with books that described technology and contraptions in great detail. It’s one of those old ‘adventure story’ stables: the theme of rugged makeshift survivalism, of how anyone with a little creativity could make their own world from sticks and mud. A very Boys’ Scout attitude, if you will. However, I do admit that this definitely dragged on for too long; and whilst reading about how he coped with every aspect of the island was interesting, it didn’t really make exciting story-telling material. The majority would definitely not make the cut if published nowadays.

Whilst I talk about this, I may as well move on to talk about Robinson himself. He is an interesting character: an everyman, neither brilliant nor completely useless. He isn’t perfect, definitely not. He spends the first act of the book acting questionably, only to see the error of his ways through an epiphany. A particularly powerful scene of the book describes how he spent a lot of time hollowing a canoe out from a huge tree (making you think this is one of those perfectly built contraptions, like almost anythign else in the book), only for him to realise after making it that he can’t possibly drag it to see. He tries again, but leaves the original canoe there, as a reminder to his failure. That’s a measure of humility not usually seen in such books.

As for Robinson’s development as a character, that is a main focus in the story. When he isn’t building new things, he’s musing upon his life. Some may argue that his talking about God is far too much in the book (there are hardly any pages in the book without the word ‘Providence’ on it somewhere). This would probably be justified in most cases, but giving what has happened to Robinson, I think it’s justifiable. He was the only survivor of a shipwreck which provided him with all the materials he needed to build a good life. And the only book that survived was a Bible. If that doesn’t turn anyone on to Christianity, I don’t know what will.

This is another interesting aspect of the book: everything is very convenient. The scenario that led to Robinson being alone on an island seems far too generous, and Robinson himself acknowledges this several times. He naturally attributes it all to Providence, saying that God is delivering him even in the darkest of times and places. However, there is a difference between a cloud’s silver lining and a convenient plot device (the shipwreck) providing almost every material the protagonist needs to survive on the island. And this begs another question of mine: did that mean that everyone else that died on the ship were sinners and deserved to die a watery death? But perhaps I’m overthinking such things.

For Robinson Crusoe is a personal novel, about a man’s personal struggle. And this is where the book bugs me slightly. The novel is strongest when Robinson is by himself, being practical and musing on his life. Even the part where he gets a slave named Friday is fine, since it develops a very warm friendship and comeradery that the solitary Crusoe was lacking in life.

However, towards the end, many new characters are suddenly introduced, and the book gets confused again. Robinson suddenly goes back off to Lisbon, to deal with some tedious paperwork. The book then ends with a completely out-of-place account of fighting off some wolves and a sudden set-up for a sequel where one does not seem necessary.

The beginning and the end of the book are not very good. They are basic adventure stories, of perfect people going around exploring and fighting off animals. That was popular at the time, but in modern retrospect not particularly captivating. The middle, however, is a combination of fantastic characterisation, some amazingly realistic details of living on an island, and even some great religious philosophy into the mix (the book has some great sentences that could help one feel hopeful even in the darkest of times).

So with a good middle sandwiched between two dull bookends, Robinson Crusoe is an odd mix. It definitely has some of the inconsistencies of an early novel that would take practise to iron out. But no one can deny the book its great influence, and the core concepts are so strong as to have determined much of the popular culture today. If only the great parts of the book shone out more.

3 out of 5

What do you think? Was I justified in my opinion? Add your own opinion below.