its love of life

As I continue to read through James Joyce’s collection of short stories called “Dubliners,” I look at various old black and white photos of the city as it appeared about the time the book was published well over a century ago.  I’ve also been guided by Mark O’Connell who wrote an article for “Slate” magazine in May 2014 entitled, “Have I Ever Left It?” to mark the one-hundredth anniversary of its publication.

St Stephen's Green om Dublin between 1890 and 1900
St Stephen’s Green om Dublin between 1890 and 1900

I’ve never been to Dublin, but look forward one day soon to walking about, taking in the city that Joyce described.  Although the stories so far in “Dubliners” don’t necessarily present a very inviting place—grim, perhaps, is a better descriptor—it would be quite an adventure.  I’m not sure I would enjoy “the odor of ash pits and old weeds and offal” that Joyce told a publisher hangs round his stories, but I would relish so much that made it Joyce’s city, for better or for worse. 

What I would like to breathe in is the atmosphere of the locale that Joyce fled but could never get out of his system.  I am neither Catholic nor an alcoholic, as most of the characters are in the stories, but I can identify with the wishes, aspirations, disappointments, and failures of the many characters in the stories, since they are so universal.

Statue of James Joyce near O'Connell St. in Dublin
Statue of James Joyce near O’Connell St. in Dublin (Pietro Izzo)

If I were there, I believe I would first want to walk in Stephen’s Green, the lavish enclosed park in the southern part of the inner city, to sense the beauty and tranquility before I ventured forth to other contrasting parts of the city, such as Capel Street, a location Joyce said “his soul revolted against” because of its dull inelegance.  From there as Joyce crossed Grattan Bridge, I will plod on knowing I will share Joyce’s view complete with his “feeling of disgust as he looked down the river toward the lower quays and pitied the poor stunted houses.”

But on a more positive side, how much fun it would be to find yourself at the corner of Ely Place and Baggot Street, where Corley reveals under the lamplights in “Two Gallants” to Lenehan that he has managed to convince the girl in the story to steal from her employer.  As O’Connell guides us, those same lamps still line the streets.  If we stand at that corner and face north, “your view will stretch all the way along upper Merrion Street to No. 1 Merrion Square, the large and stylish house where Oscar Wilde spent his childhood.  It’s there that James Joyce waited for Nora Barnacle, having arranged to meet her there for their first date.  Continuing along, we’ll pass Sweny’s Chemist, which is where Bloom buys a bar of lemon-scented soap in “Ulysses” before heading to a public bath where he will take his personal pleasure in some mischief.  The shop is now a tiny emporium of Joycean ephemera.  Walking along Westland Row, we’ll pass Pearse Station, where the narrator of “Araby” gets off the train, too late for the bazaar where he’s been planning to buy a gift for his friend’s older sister.  Turn left at the corner of Westland Row, cross Pearse Street, and we’ll see a large office building called The Academy, which looks exactly like the concert hall it once was.  This was the Antient Concert Rooms, on the stage of which Joyce performed as a tenor in 1904, and which is the setting for the disastrous concert series at the center of the story, “A Mother.”  Keep walking along the northern flank of Trinity College and we’ll arrive at Mulligan’s of Poolbeg Street, the pub in which Farrington in “Counterparts” ends his night’s drinking in disgrace and humiliation, having run out of money and lost to an Englishman at arm wrestling.  For a touch of the real thing, Mulligan’s has reportedly barely changed since the turn of the 20th century.

Grattan Bridge in Dublin (William Murphy)
Grattan Bridge in Dublin (William Murphy)

I’ll be glad to be in Dublin, especially since Ireland’s circumstances have changed radically, and predominantly for the better, in the century since the publication of “Dubliners.”  As O’Connell tells us, “It is, for one thing, no longer a colonial backwater.  In some important ways, you can imagine Joyce feeling just about OK with the way his city has turned out.”  Despite the bursting of the Celtic Tiger boom that ended in the 1990s and the economic depression that caused many to emigrate, the city continues to have its own fascination.

What I think I’ll like best is the variations in the look of the city which has now again become a bit of a backwater.  As we learn, Dublin can be seen in a number of ways that cause people to both love and deplore it.  As O’Connell say, there seems to be a sort of dreamlike quality about it, what might have been and what came close to being in spite of itself.  There is much to take exception to, especially the sense of paralysis that Joyce felt symbolized the city.  Perhaps it still does.  But it was never meant to be a Disneyland.  It was and still is a city both in time and place, a venue of frustrated love, full of narrowness and stunted houses, yet a gift to the imagination for understanding the human heart in all its frailties as well as how it rekindles its love of life.

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Image Credits: St Stephen's Green, Dublin between 1890 and 1900 (public domain via Wikimedia.org); Statue of James Joyce near O'Connell St., Dublin by Pietro Izzo and Grattan Bridge, Dublin by William Murphy  – both via flickr and used under a Creative Commons license.
David Evans

David Evans

I'm retired from another life and live in the mountains of eastern West Virginia with my muse Jody along with one little and two big dogs and a diminishing pride of two cats and other critters who come along the path from time to time. I retired one morning years ago when I woke up and said, "This is the day." It was simply time to do something new with my life. I had done whatever I did long enough, and now it was time to do something else. Being independent and no longer in the reins of someone else's driver, I believe I have found something to cherish that I never had before. Retirement may be dull and boring, but that's true only if you are dull and boring. But if you’re like I was, and am, I saw a lot of things as I went along the trail that I would have liked to linger over a lot longer if I had had the time to spare. Above all, I wanted to think about what they meant and have the chance to go back over them and figure them out. I'm not abashed to say that today I lead a life of real luxury. I also recognize that I'm a lucky boy. In the words of Katherine Anne Porter: "My life has been incredible, I don't believe a word of it." I am the author of the recently published collection of essays entitled Meeting Memory In The Dark. Earlier I self-published Words To Woo Her By And Other Distractions Along The Way; Tunes of Glory: The Slow Ticking of the Heart; Cradle My Soul: Glimpses Into Other Lives; and Unscheduled Stops: Essays on Love, Loss and Other Roadside Attractions. All are available on either Amazon or Create Space, a subsidiary of Amazon. Proceeds go to the Almost Heaven Golden Retriever Rescue and Sanctuary in Capon Bridge, West Virginia.