[LISTENED TO: October 20, 2010] Dubliners Part II
This collection covers the last five stories from the book. They are all longer stories, especially the fantastic novella “The Dead,” which runs well over an hour. The titles included in Part II are:
A Painful Case
Ivy Day in the Committee Room
A Mother
Grace
The Dead
These last five stories look at (continuing the theme from my previous post) middle age and later life. The protagonists are all older, and as with the first part, they all must deal with harsh realities and even death.
“A Painful Case” is the first story in the book where the title doesn’t directly apply to the protagonist (even though, of course, it does). Mr Duffy is a solitary man. He goes out from time to time but is not really social. At a concert he meets Mrs Sinico and they form a friendship. Her husband approves of the friendship because he believes that Mr Duffy is really after their daughter. The relationship grows stronger and stronger and Mrs Sinico feels closer to him than she does to her husband. Then, Mrs Sinico make a gesture indicating she’d like a more intimate relationship. Mr Duffy is immediately turned off by this and vows to himself to see her no more. This leads to a quote that I assume is not original to Joyce, and yet it is still common today: “Love between man and man is impossible because there must not be sexual intercourse and friendship between man and woman is impossible because there must be sexual intercourse.” The strange thing about this story is that it then jumps ahead four years. We learn that Mrs Sinico took the dissolution of their friendship very hard indeed. And naturally, Mr Duffy is made to rethink his life choices. It’s yet another story of despair.
“Ivy Day in the Committee Room” more than any other story requires knowledge of politics and Irish history. The story is set in a room with local Irish politicians, and although there is a lot more going on behind the talk of politics–issues of betrayal crop up, as they do–knowing who Parnell was and what Nationalism is are certainly helpful in this story. As the tensions in the room grow, someone mentions that it is Ivy Day (which commemorates Charles Stuart Parnell) and it gives the men pause in their accusations. It’s a good story for what’s going on underneath the chatter, but aside from learning how to open a corked bottle in a fire (and the pleasing “pok” sound the corks make), this is probably his least compelling story for contemporary readers.
“A Mother” looks at an overprotective mother, Mrs Kearney. Her daughter Kathleen is an up and coming pianist and singer. She is booked to perform at an Irish Revival organized by Mr Holohan. When sales of this concert are not up to snuff, Mrs Kearney fears that Kathleen will not be paid what she is owed. She gets her defenses up and makes a scene. The story revels in gender issues and the way women were treated at the time (although I’m not sure if Joyce was really trying to address that). It also demonstrates how principles can cause a downfall. This story is interesting for its larger look at Dublin society as well as the people involved in the events.
“Grace” is the longest story of the collection besides the novella “The Dead.” It begins with a body lying on the floor of a pub. The body is Mr Kernan’s, an older man who, in a drunken state fell down a flight of stairs. When he is finally escorted home, long suffering Mrs Kernan explains to his escort that Mr Kernan has been spending his money on drink and neglecting his family (but has stopped beating her, at least). Mr Kernan is laid up in bed (the specific reason why is quite amusing) and while he’s there, his wife arranges a meeting with a group of his friends who are going to try to convince him to sober up.
The story switches to Mr Kernan’s room and the four men who are there to help him. One of these men is Martin Cunningham (who we saw in Ulysses). The men talk about an upcoming Jesuit retreat and try to convince Kernan to come along. Cunningham is the leader of the bunch and is hilariously roundabout in his way of trying to get Kernan to commit. (Cunningham’s wife is a also a drunk who pawns everything he buys for them (not funny in reality but a strangely funny detail)). The men’s discussion of the retreat and the priest who is holding it is also funny because it is wildly inaccurate. (The story assumes a fairly strong knowledge of Catholicism for this to be funny). I found much of the story funny although I’m sure I missed a lot of details (at least reading the Wikipedia summary, I know that I did) about the chatter. The audio book’s representations of the drunken Kernan (and the different accents of the men) are rather amusing, and go a long way to helping to distinguish who is who.
This is the first story in the bunch where the ending isn’t a real downer (there’s a lot going on in it, and there’s definitely some downer moments, but there’s the possibility of redemption).
“The Dead” opens with the a party scene. Two older women are hosting their annual holiday party and Lily, the caretaker’s daughter is there to help them men with their belongings. As the women fret about the party, they await their nephew Gabriel. Once he arrives we see that the story is really about him. Gabriel is an educated man who has left the confines of his parent’s generation and has tried to make a better, shall we say, more modern life for himself and his wife. When he returns for this party, he tries to down play his successes, not wanting to appear too above the others. But he finds himself falling flat nevertheless (two women in particular rebuff him, even though he means no harm).
The night proceeds with Gabriel having to look out for drunken Freddy Malens and fretting about his big speech. But by the time the dancing has commenced, he’s ready to simply have a good time. It’s here that he has his second rebuff, from a woman who jokingly insults his politics. And this joke puts a dark cloud over him for the rest of the party. By the time he is prepared to give the annual toast, he’s feeling completely out of sorts about the night.
We then cut to the toast. It is loudly appreciated, and he basks in the guests admiration. He begins to feels better about himself, satisfied. Then, as the party draws to a close, a beautiful melody floats through the room and Gabriel sees his wife, lost in emotion as she hears the song. His heart goes out to her and he imagines that they are reminiscing about the same aspects of their life together.
The more he thinks of their life together, the more he can’t wait to get back to their hotel for some privacy. But, as in the beginning, he greatly misreads yet another woman and we are right in his head as he rifles through a whole range of emotions.
It’s a very powerful and affecting story, full of mirth, family, singing, joy, sadness and heartbreak. And yes, there are some wonderfully funny details in the story (the men who applaud the loudest for the music are the ones who left the room to avoid hearing it; Freddy’s drunken excessive praise at Aunt Mary Jane’s singing).
When I read this many years ago I felt that Gabriel was a pompous ass, imposing his ideas on those around him, sounding off about women and acting the proud peacock. But this time I felt more sympathy for him. He’s a smart man, used to a certain life. When he returns home, he’s out of his element, appreciated and yet misunderstood. He wants to put others at their ease but he doesn’t really know how to anymore. And Gabriel is not alone in failing to understand a person’s frame of mind. While it’s true that he is rather pompous, and his anger makes him unlikable, it also makes him incredibly human. It’s a wonderfully deep study of one man.
This collection of short stories (Joyce’s only collection of short stories) takes a peek at the various stages of life in Dublin. From childhood to adulthood and death, although the stories are not directly related, there is a feeling of progression, of the stages of life. And Joyce’s fiction is, yes, top-notch. His word choices are beautiful. The imagery in the final scene of “The Dead” is symbolic and also real. The emotions are completely human.
It’s fascinating to me that Joyce’s output consists of these beautiful, tight concise stories, one fairly conventional novel and then Ulysses, which is so far afield from these, that it’s quite an astonishing leap. Ulysses is universally regarded as one of the best novels ever. The short stories of Dubliners are fantastic. The only thing left is A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (because even I’m afraid of Finnegans Wake).
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