When I tried reading Ulysses, 10 years ago, I was stunned by the grandiose language but couldn’t quite get drawn into the book. It remains half-read to this day.
- Either, Joyce must be over-rated, thought I, or my literary taste is still not evolved enough to appreciate Joyce.
By chance, I came across and started reading Dubliners (which was lying unread on my bookshelf) on www.polyglotproject.com. And wow, I love it. The language here, in this earlier work of Joyce, is also stunning but the contrast can’t be more striking – he stuns you with the simplicity: the simplicity of narrative style and the simplicity of the plots. The narrative seems to be so non-judgmental and so detached, yet got me totally involved. The simplicity is also deceptive because it disguises the lyrical rhythm delectably. It is magical, particularly, The Dead, towards the end, living up to the hype of being rated one of the greatest short stories.
Sample these…many of these lines spring up at surprising spots, when they are least expected:
She said he just looked as if he was asleep, he looked that peaceful and resigned. No one would think he’d make such a beautiful corpse. (The Sisters)
— Ah, poor James! said Eliza. He was no great trouble to us. You wouldn’t hear him in the house any more than now. Still, I know he’s gone and all to that. (The Sisters)
Mrs. Mooney sat in the straw arm-chair and watched the servant Mary remove the breakfast things. She made Mary collect the crusts and pieces of broken bread to help to make Tuesday’s bread- pudding. (the sarcasm, hidden, without warning, somewhere in the middle of The Boarding House).
The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth. ( A Little Cloud)
He had dismissed his wife so sincerely from his gallery of pleasures that he did not suspect that anyone else would take an interest in her. (A Painful Case)
He was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him. ( Ivy Day In The Committee Room)
She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed; and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male. (A Mother)
The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. (Grace)
The most vigorous clapping came from the four young men in the doorway who had gone away to the refreshment-room at the beginning of the piece but had come back when the piano had stopped. (The Dead)
Inspired by Dubliners, I am now onto A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and am loving it so far. Hmm…am I now grown up enough, to encounter and devour, Ulysses again, and who knows, even, Finnegans Wake?
By chance, I started reading Dubliners (that was anyway lying unread in my bookshelf) on www.polyglotproject.com. And wow, I love it. The language here, in this earlier work of Joyce, is also stunning but the contrast can’t be more striking – he stuns you with the simplicity: the simplicity of narrative style and the simplicity of the plots. The narrative seems to be so non-judgmental and so detached, yet got me totally involved. The simplicity is also deceptive because it disguises the lyrical rhythm delectably. It is magical.
Sample this…many of these lines spring up at surprising spots, when they are least expected:
She said he just looked as if he was asleep, he looked that peaceful and resigned. No one would think he’d make such a beautiful corpse. (The Sisters)
— Ah, poor James! said Eliza. He was no great trouble to us. You wouldn’t hear him in the house any more than now. Still, I know he’s gone and all to that. (The Sisters)
Mrs. Mooney sat in the straw arm-chair and watched the servant Mary remove the breakfast things. She made Mary collect the crusts and pieces of broken bread to help to make Tuesday’s bread- pudding. (the sarcasm, hidden, without warning, somewhere in the middle of The Boarding House).
The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth. ( A Little Cloud)
He had dismissed his wife so sincerely from his gallery of pleasures that he did not suspect that anyone else would take an interest in her. (A Painful Case)
He was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him. ( Ivy Day In The Committee Room)
She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed; and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male. (A Mother)
The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. (Grace)
The most vigorous clapping came from the four young men in the doorway who had gone away to the refreshment-room at the beginning of the piece but had come back when the piano had stopped. (The Dead)
When I tried reading Ulysses, 10 years ago, I was stunned by grandiose language but couldn’t quite get drawn into the book. It remains half-read to this day. I thought either Joyce must be over-rated or my literary taste is still not evolved enough to appreciate Joyce.
By chance, I started reading Dubliners on www.polyglotproject.com. And wow, I love it. The language here, in this earlier work of Joyce, is also stunning but the contrast can’t be more striking – he stuns you with the simplicity: the simplicity of narrative style and the simplicity of the plots. The narrative seems to be so non-judgmental and so detached, yet got me totally involved. The simplicity is also deceptive because it disguises the lyrical rhythm delectably. It is magical.
Sample this…many of these lines spring up at surprising spots, when they are least expected:
She said he just looked as if he was asleep, he looked that peaceful and resigned. No one would think he’d make such a beautiful corpse. (The Sisters)
— Ah, poor James! said Eliza. He was no great trouble to us. You wouldn’t hear him in the house any more than now. Still, I know he’s gone and all to that. (The Sisters)
Mrs. Mooney sat in the straw arm-chair and watched the servant Mary remove the breakfast things. She made Mary collect the crusts and pieces of broken bread to help to make Tuesday’s bread- pudding. (the sarcasm, hidden, without warning, somewhere in the middle of The Boarding House).
The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth. ( A Little Cloud)
He had dismissed his wife so sincerely from his gallery of pleasures that he did not suspect that anyone else would take an interest in her. (A Painful Case)
He was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him. ( Ivy Day In The Committee Room)
She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed; and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male. (A Mother)
The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. (Grace)
The most vigorous clapping came from the four young men in the doorway who had gone away to the refreshment-room at the beginning of the piece but had come back when the piano had stopped. (The Dead)
When I tried reading Ulysses, 10 years ago, I was stunned by grandiose language but couldn’t quite get drawn into the book. It remains half-read to this day. I thought either Joyce must be over-rated or my literary taste is still not evolved enough to appreciate Joyce.
By chance, I started reading Dubliners on www.polyglotproject.com. And wow, I love it. The language here, in this earlier work of Joyce, is also stunning but the contrast can’t be more striking – he stuns you with the simplicity: the simplicity of narrative style and the simplicity of the plots. The narrative seems to be so non-judgmental and so detached, yet got me totally involved. The simplicity is also deceptive because it disguises the lyrical rhythm delectably. It is magical.
Sample this…many of these lines spring up at surprising spots, when they are least expected:
She said he just looked as if he was asleep, he looked that peaceful and resigned. No one would think he’d make such a beautiful corpse. (The Sisters)
— Ah, poor James! said Eliza. He was no great trouble to us. You wouldn’t hear him in the house any more than now. Still, I know he’s gone and all to that. (The Sisters)
Mrs. Mooney sat in the straw arm-chair and watched the servant Mary remove the breakfast things. She made Mary collect the crusts and pieces of broken bread to help to make Tuesday’s bread- pudding. (the sarcasm, hidden, without warning, somewhere in the middle of The Boarding House).
The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth. ( A Little Cloud)
He had dismissed his wife so sincerely from his gallery of pleasures that he did not suspect that anyone else would take an interest in her. (A Painful Case)
He was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him. ( Ivy Day In The Committee Room)
She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed; and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male. (A Mother)
The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. (Grace)
The most vigorous clapping came from the four young men in the doorway who had gone away to the refreshment-room at the beginning of the piece but had come back when the piano had stopped. (The Dead)
Posted by Kannan 
Books unread
December 26, 2007Everytime I step into a bookstore – and that is quite often, I have to buy something. The urge is insurmountable. The books, thus accumulated, are lying in a cluttered book shelf waiting to be devoured by me one day. If you judge me by the books that I have, I must be a voracious reader with delectable literary taste. Voracious reader, I once was. My delectable taste cannot be disputed either - it is something that I pride myself on. Unfortunately, my reading has not kept pace with the longingness to read. Lost in the corporate world, busy fighting everyday battles and recuperating when not busy, it is not easy to read. The more exotic one’s taste gets, the tougher it is to satiate it with a quick read. Most good literature deals with depressing topics and a depressing literary voyage is not the ideal recipe for a weekend rest for a mind already ravaged throughout the week.
However, little by little, I do get to undertake those literary voyages once in a while. In sudden spurts of inspiration or desperation (when I see a mountain of books that I have bought new), I manage to cover good ground. The latest books to be converted from my ‘books unread’ column to ‘books read’ catergory are two ‘Indian’ books - Identity and Violence by Amartya Sen and Khushwant Singh’s Train to Pakistan.
Amartya Sen’s book was a new attempt for me. I have never been a great reader of non-fiction outside of newspapers and magazines. This book told me why. It is a great book, no doubt. I agreed with most of what he said and there were some deep insights which leave a lasting mark on you. But, the book could have been compressed into a quarter of what it is – there is so much repitition of ideas that can help you pass an exam on the book. Amartya’s core philosophy or theory is intriguing – famines are caused not because there is not sufficient food for everyone but because sufficient food is not (made) available for everyone. Democratic governments, however irresponsible they are, will prevent famines to a great extent. Having seen Krishna and Chandrababu Naidu governments getting toppled because of farmer suicides, one has to agree with this view. Democratic societies will not allow people to die of hunger even while being blind to millions living with hunger.
Amartya also touched on the woes of partition. Khushwant Singh painted a complete picture in his novel. A very powerful story, simply told – interspersed with a few unnecessarily explicit narrations of sexual encounters (one must expect this in a Khushwant Singh book) and commentary on India (for the Western readers). A linear story told without plainly any jugglery of literary techniques. Raises questions on whether literature has been lost to technique in the last century. Even for my ‘delectable’ literary taste, a powerful story based on real life, narrated in a simple style, does have its attractions.