James Joyce

Tis a shame I haven't read a novel written by an author from the land of my ancestors. But upon promises from a friend for delightful stories of the youth of Ireland and their adventures in Dublin, I figured this would be a good book to start with.

The Dubliners, was not what I expected. Instead of light hearted skipping and hijinx, the short stories were all dreadfully sad. I want to use another word instead of sad, but I think it's the best one. Beautifully sad maybe, but sad either way. Apparently Joyce intended for each story to have an illumination, or moment of clarity for the protagonist. Turns out these illuminations were all usually regarding the harsh realities of love, religion, and the social restraints in early 20th century Dublin. For example the best story in my opinion, The Dead, told the tale of a man at a dinner party with friends around the holidays. Everyone is having a great time conversing about the opera, playing piano, and of course drinking stout. As the party winds down the protagonist notices how lovely his wife is and how aroused it makes him. Counting the seconds until they can close the door to their hotel room, he notices she is crying. He finds out she was reminded of a love and still deeply misses this boy from her past. He comes upon the realization that he doesn't love her because he doesn't feel the same way she did towards the boy.

Of course I am summarizing and there is much more to his stories than that, but either way I don't know why I was surprised with stories of dark and dismal sadness by an Irish author.

James Joyce, check.