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A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Modern Library)

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If you're gonna buy a copy of "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," you can't go wrong with the Wordsworth Classic edition. Its advantages are several:

1. It's extremely cheap.
2. It features a very long and immensely insightful (32-page) introduction by Jaqueline Belanger, which includes a biography, publishing background, sections on language structure, irony, etc. There are also many suggestions for further syntopic or critical reading.
3. The thing is complete and unabridged.
4. There are extensive footnotes at the end, which are keyed throughout in the text, explaining all the Latin and the extinct realia of Joyce's world.

In short, get it.

As for the work itself, it's a very good prepper for "Ulysses:" I started that novel without having done this one. Later I came back to this: much was made clearer. Don't make my mistake.

I'm always up for a good challenge, whether it be in books, music or movies, and from what I've heard Joyce is about as challenging as they come in the literary world. However, since it seemed like "Ulysses" or "Finnegan's Wake" would be a bit much to start with, I found myself reading "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" as an introduction to his work. And although I found this book about as easy to get into as Princeton, it was about as rewarding as well. "Portrait" is certainly anything but a light read. Joyce's meandering narrative and serpentine prose can be confusing to say the least, and on more than one occasion I had to read a sentence about five times in order to figure out what I had just read. For all its verbosity, though, "Portrait" is an essential read because the story of Stephen Dedalus carries so much resonance. I'm about the same age as Stephen was in this story, and I can relate pretty easily to his search for answers. Growing up in Ireland around the turn of the twentieth century, Stephen faces existential questions that should ring true for a young person coming from any culture at any time. He tries to find satisfaction by giving in to his lust, and when that doesn't work he goes all the way to the other end of the spectrum in seeking fulfillment through religious devotion. In the end, however, neither of these extremes provides Stephen with the answers he's looking for. Stephen's story demonstrates one unfortunate fact of life: when you're seeking meaning, there are no easy answers. Ultimately, as Stephen tells his friend Cranly, he decides that his solution is to "express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can," even if it means making mistakes or being spurned by society. In "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," Joyce outlines some important ideas that have since become prominent in literature, notably noncomformity, self-expression, coming of age, and the nature of religious belief. This book may not have been perfectly written, but since Joyce was aiming so high it's easy to overlook any imperfections in his style. "Portrait" was written with plenty of intelligence and soul, so it's easy to see why it's still read after all these years.

I've seen some reviews that criticize the book for being too stream of consciousness and others for not being s.o.c. enough. The fact is, for the most part it's not s.o.c. at all. (See the Chicago Manual of Style, 10.45-10.47 and note the example they give...Joyce knew how to write s.o.c.). A better word for A Portrait is impressionistic. Joyce is more concerned with giving the reader an impression of Stephen's experience than with emptying the contents of his head. What's confusing is the style mirrors the way Stephen interprets his experiences at the time, according to the level of his mental development.

When Stephen is a baby, you get only what comes in through the five senses. When he is a young boy, you get the experience refracted through a prism of many things: his illness (for those who've read Ulysses, here is the beginning of Stephen's hydrophobia - "How cold and slimy the water had been! A fellow had once seen a big rat jump into the scum."), his poor eyesight, the radically mixed signals he's been given about religion and politics (the Christmas meal), his unfair punishment, and maybe most important of all, his father's unusual expressions (growing up with phrases like, "There's more cunning in one of those warts on his bald head than in a pack of jack foxes" how could this kid become anything but a writer?)

It is crucial to understand that Stephen's experiences are being given a certain inflection in this way when you come to the middle of the book and the sermon. You have to remember that Stephen has been far from a good Catholic boy. Among other things, he's been visting the brothels! The sermon hits him with a special intensity, so much so that it changes his life forever. Before it he's completely absorbed in the physical: food, sex, etc. After it he becomes just as absorbed in the spiritual/aesthetic world. It's the sermon that really puts him on the track to becoming an artist. One reviewer called the sermon overwrought. Well, of course it's overwrought. That's the whole point. Read it with your sense of humor turned on and keep in mind that you're getting the sermon the way you get everything else in the book: through Stephen.

After Stephen decides he doesn't want to be a priest, the idea of becoming an artist really starts to take hold. And when he sees the girl on the beach, his life is set for good. That scene has to be one of the most beautiful in all of literature. After that, Stephen develops his theory of esthetics with the help of Aristotle and Aquinas and we find ourselves moving from one conversation to another not unlike in Plato (each conversation with the appropriate inflection of college boy pomposity). In the end, Stephen asks his "father" to support him as he goes into the real world to create something. I like to think that this is an echo of the very first line in the book. The father, in one of many senses, is the moocow story. The story gave birth to Stephen's imagination and now it's the son's turn to create.

This is such a rich and beautiful book. I suppose it's possible for people to "get it" and still not like it, but I really think if you read and re-read, and maybe do a little research, the book will open up to you the way it did to me.

If you're going to buy 'A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man' as a paperback, I strongly advise you to buy this--the Norton Critical Edition. It's depressing to see that the Penguin Classics edition is the number one selling version of this wonderful book.

This book is TWO DOLLARS more than the Penguin version. For that $2 you get better quality paper, ink, and binding. More importantly you get Editorial notes that explain Joyce's obscure terms, ultimately making the book more readable. You also get over a dozen other writings dealing with Joyces text. These extras (200 pages worth) provide background information on Joyce's three major themes--Irish politics, Roman Catholicism, and "Aesthetic". Also, there are critical essays which range from general interpretations of the book to specified studies (ie feminist perspective). Being a difficult book, the supplemental material greatly enhanced my appreciation for 'Portrait'.

For ONE DOLLAR -LESS, you could go with this: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Dubliners (Barnes & Noble Classics). Here, not only do you get Portrait of the Artist_, but also you get the collection of short stories, Dubliners. Not to mention better editing. You still get footnotes. And there's some (not a lot) of suplimental material.

For FIVE DOLLARS more than you would spend on the Penguin book, you could get A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Everyman's Library (Cloth)). If you're going to buy a book, why not get one that will last the rest of your life? Well then, that would be the Everyman's Clothbound you seek.

One of the great changes in literature in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was the birth of autobiographical literature. Even at the end of the 19th century, it was very unusual for any writer to make one's own life the basis for a purely literary work. To be sure, Dickens had put much of the London he knew in his youth into his novels, but there is no Dickens novel that can be described as purely autobiographical. Mark Twain had written memoirs that employed novelistic techniques and Samuel Butler put much of his own life into THE WAY OF ALL FLESH (a novel written in the early 1870s but not published until 1903), but it was only with such works as D. H. Lawrence's SONS AND LOVERS (1913) and James Joyce's PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN in the English-speaking world and Marcel Proust slightly earlier in Paris that authors began taking their own lives as material for works of fiction. In Lawrence's SONS AND LOVERS, a host of real life characters and actual life experiences became characters and scenes in novels. Likewise, most of the events of PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST were based on actual events. It isn't quite autobiography, but neither is it pure fiction. Because the genre of fictionalized autobiography has become such a common literary form in the century that has followed Proust, Lawrence, and Joyce's work, the importance of this work can hardly be overestimated.

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST is important also for the innovations Joyce made in narrative. While the events in the story occur along a time line, Joyce is not particularly concerned with most of the details in the timeline. The narrator is not concerned to tell a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, but instead wants to present a series of prose snapshots from various periods in the life of Stephen Daedalus, who is transparently based on Joyce himself. The narrator lays out the events, but he isn't concerned with explaining them or making them clear. There is, in fact, little or no interaction with the reader. Most narration presupposes the presence of the reader, but PORTRAIT ignores any reader. This leads to a certain coolness in the prose that some find discomfiting.

What cannot be denied is the brilliance and the genius of the prose. It is a prose that alters and matures gradually with the central figure of the tale. The first pages border on baby talk, while the final pages are as mature as Daedalus at the same age. In terms of form and execution, this is easily one of the most brilliant works of fiction of the past century. Moreover, it is a remarkably accessible work. For those who first come to Joyce through the agony of reading some of the more stressful sections of ULYSSES or, worse, FINNEGAN'S WAKE, read PORTRAIT will come as something of a shock. Compared to ULYSSES, this is remarkably easy going.

The complaint that I hear some make of the book is that nothing happens. That is true, if by "happens" one means an interesting and unusual plot. The "story" if there is one is that of a young man growing up, gradually gaining consciousness of the world in which he lives, and eventually rejecting the Catholic vocation urged upon him to become a writer. The book is stuffed with details from Joyce's own life, from the political preoccupations of his family (though Joyce himself was amazingly unconcerned with politics) to the family obsession with singing (both Joyce and his father possessed a near-operatic quality singing voice).

I would urge those who do not care for the book because "nothing happens" to at least entertain the possibility that there is more than one way for a novel to be brilliant. If one can see the ways that PORTRAIT expanded and developed the possibilities for prose, it will be easy to appreciate it for the work of genius that it is.

"A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" is an impressionistic, semi-autobiographical work in which Joyce, through the character of Stephen Dedalus, relates the events and impressions of his youth and young adulthood. The novel flows effortlessly from Stephens first memories as "baby tuckoo" to his final journal entries before embarking on a promising literary career in Paris. In the pages between, Joyce's virtuosity of prose explodes in passages with frightening intensity. Even those who dislike Joyce's confusing, sometimes-infuriating style, should be awestruck by his undubitable writing ability.

However, as anyone reading this review should already know, despite his virtuosity, Joyce is not for everyone. He is simultaneously one of the most beloved and despised writers of the twentieth century. For those of you who are unfamiliar with his work and hesitantly contemplating becoming acquainted with it, here is some food for thought: first, start with "Portrait," it is far more accessible than his subsequent works and a better introduction to them than the also-excellent "Dubliners" is. Second, do not try to judge "Portrait" by the same standards as other books. Joyce is not trying to tell an amusing story here, he is trying to relate the impressions of a young man torn between two existences: a religious or an aesthetic. If you are a meat-and-potatoes type of reader, meaning the kind of reader who prefers a "story," Joyce will not be your cup of tea. Lastly, Joyce's reputation perhaps does his works injustice. Yes, he is extremely encyclopedic and takes on many themes in his works. But perhaps too many readers get sidetracked from the aesthetic merits of his works by concentrating solely on the intellectual values. It is his prose which can be universally appreciated, whether you understand the ideas it portrays or not. His prose is his bread-and-butter. Some people pompously brag of their "getting" Joyce without actually appreciating what he does. I don't claim to be a bonafied Joyce scholar, but it is my experience that to enjoy Joyce is to appreciate "literature for literature's sake." If you enjoy literature, poetry or prose, than you should enjoy the style with which Joyce writes, that is to say, all styles. And he has seemingly mastered all styles. That is not to say that the many thematic levels in which his novels succeed are to be ignored, for their expression is not seperate from the means with which Joyce does it, but congruous with it.

To read Joyce is to revel in the limits of artistic creation and then to read on as the limits are then stretched further.

Bon Apetite!

Depending on one's taste and level of concentration, James Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" is either tedious flop or a wonderful cornerstone of world literature. (I believe the latter.) I won't go into a discussion of "A Portrait" here because if you are looking at this particular Viking Critical edition, you've already committed yourself to reading it. The value of this edition lies in the critical essays and notes at the end. The notes will help the reader along, as they explain some of the terms and/or conditions that are particular to Joyce's Ireland. The essays are, each and every one, valuable tools. Whether it's an examination of Joyce's life, the creation of "A Portrait", the influences it would have, etc., every essay is a heavy-weight that enchances an understanding of the book. (At least it did for me.) If you're seriously considering reading "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" this is the edition to use.

This book is one that has stayed with me and continues to infiltrate my thoughts and ideas daily. I often find myself mulling over the path of Stephen Dedalus through this book. He begins as an innocent child mired in the sins of his family, country, and religion. He finishes by breaking the bonds that chain him to the earth to soar from Dublin as a great "artificer."

The painful, glorious growth of a soul reaching for truth and beauty is chronicled here in sharp intensity. When Stephen is castigated unfairly by Father Dolan he bravely reports the breach to the rector. This bravery is soon rewarded with sneering jibes by his father who relays to Stephan that he has had a good laugh about the incident with Father Dolan. "'You better mind yourself, Father Dolan,' said I,'or young Dedalus will send you up for twice nine.' We had a famous laugh together over it. Ha! Ha! Ha!" The betrayal by both his father and the church is very intense and painful, a slap in the face.

During his adolesence Stephen endures overwhelming sexual desire coupled with a contrary and all consuming reverance for the teachings of the Catholic church. These two opposing compulsions come to a crisis with the retreat in honor of Saint Francis Xavier. During this retreat, Father Arnell gives sermons on the four last things: death, judgement, hell and heaven. This is an intense odyssey into the nature of eternal damnation. I am not Catholic nor Christian, but I must admit that this section did make me squirm at times. The depth and breadth of the torment of hell is communicated herein with excruciating detail by Father Arnell. In mortal terror Stephan confesses his sins and attempts to lead a pure and devotional life. The life of devotion ends when he is later offered the priesthood. He realizes at that moment that he must renounce the church and choose to "learn the wisdom of others himself wandering among the snares of the world." Free of the church and father, Stephen finally must confront the bonds that his friends, mother, and country claim on him in the final section. One by one through discusions and encounters with his classmates he slips these bonds and resolves to go away from Dublin and all that keeps him earthbound. This is a beautiful novel of growth and deliverance. It will be one of my cherished books always. As a final note I want to let readers know that the edition I am reviewing, The Modern Library Hardcover 1996 edition, has several misspellings and punctuation errors. It almost seemed as if the publisher had used a spell check type of program to proof read the book instead of a person. This is extremely irritating in that I bought the Modern Library edition so as to always have a sturdy, well made edition of this beautiful book. I find it insulting to the author and the reader that more care was not taken in the publication of this edition.

James Joyce is one of the very few writers (John Steinbeck is another) who realizes what can be accomplished with the act of writing and achieves it. Certainly, some people may be lacking interest in this book, but the reason it is such a classic is because it pulls off things most books never even try to do. The simplest of events are described exactly as Joyce sees them, and he does not try to make them "interesting" or "exciting". He sees things for what they are and presents them without total honesty. Reading "Portrait" is like reading a picture, with every detail brought to light. Those who find it boring should not blame their blindess on what they cannot see.

James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is a semi-autobiographical story of Stephen Daedelus as he grows from a young child to a young adult. Virtually every word Joyce uses is deliberate. The novel is not one that a person can read and understand without completely focusing on what Joyce is saying.
Joyce uniquely uses language to portray the young Daedelus as he grows and matures. The language is very simple in the beginning, following a stream of consciousness format that portrays Stephen's young age and undeveloped thought process. As he grows in all aspects of his being - physical, emotional, social, spiritual, and mental - the language reflects his growing complexity. Joyce also uses language to show the changes in Stephen's relationships with others - especially his family - that result from his growth. Throughout the novel, Stephen goes through various periods and levels of alienation. During his early years in boarding school, Stephen feels distant from the other boys and counts the days until he can return home. However, after a heated discussion over Christmas dinner with his family, he feels as though they are somewhat remote. He cannot figure out which adult to side with over the political issues concerning the Catholic Church and the Irish State. Thus, his young mind experiences its first feelings of alienation from his family. These feelings mark the first instance of a desire to break from traditional viewpoints, and the point at which the language begins to change.
Gradually, this emotional separation becomes more pronounced as he starts to notice his father's imperfections, such as his excessive spending habits and the tasteless company he chooses to keep. By looking down on his father's actions, Stephen widens the distance between himself and his father. Thus, he loses his childhood naiveté and sees his father as an imperfect human being. Joyce reflects this change in the language by replacing childish phrases with more experienced reflections.
As the novel progresses, the language Joyce uses becomes even more complex in structure and content. This illustrates Stephen's progression as his ideas and views of life become more his own. As Stephen's family sinks into the slums materially and socially because of his father's excessive spending, Stephen develops the courage to break away from them and stand independent with his own ideals and views.
His emotional separation from his family finally leads to his physical separation from the familial and social environment he was raised in. He embarks from Ireland, leaving everything he opposes: his family, the Catholic Church, Irish Patriotism, and his old self. The language of the novel follows Stephen's internal progression as he moves from simplistic and undefined views, to his eloquent and personal theories about art and life. It is at this point of resolution that Joyce shifts his language from a distant point of view to the first person narration of journal entries - only after Stephen finds his own independent voice.