Dubliners by James Joyce
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Why do we wish to live this life; life, which at times seem to accompany the vague impressions we have long since been comfortable to carry along; the ideas, the choices, which have become a second nature to us. How many times do we stop and think about them? Particularly, as readers, as the ones who have been challenged, and hence in a way made aware by written word; how many times do we stop and think - life cannot always be a search, it cannot always be a constant exploration into unknown, a desperate call to something which is striven for, for the attainment of something decisive. Or is it? Perhaps. But what when the decisive is attained, is conquered? Where does one go from there? Surely, in search of something still unknown, still unconquered! But we forget to stop in between. Or we rather choose to ignore that which comes in between, because we are too afraid to stop. And that is life. I remember this very beautiful quote by Allan Saunders:

“Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans.”

We forget that sometimes, life is also the acceptance of that which is presented to us by mere chances, or more than that, by the long witnessed “usual”.

So, when I picked up Dubliners, while still continuing with The Rebel, I was at first annoyed because nothing seemed unusual or interesting there. But then, I just strove ahead because I had loved “A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man” and so I wanted to give this a chance. Some more stories and I realized the simple idea with which these stories might have been penned. I realized that author might have wanted to portray life, as actually experienced and lived by the characters, who might in fact had been real people around him. People, who had lived a life, set by routine patterns and where nothing out of ordinary had ever happened. This realization made me sit straight and question myself. How many right ways can be there to live a life? One or two or more; Is it ours or theirs or still, somewhere between the two? I don’t even know if these are the right options. But what I do understand is that, either way it is life we are talking about. Life which is lived, both consciously and unconsciously, which may be different in living but which in the end culminates into the same. Oh, but by this I do not undermine one way or the other but simply wish to express the value of understanding both.

It was the last story of the collection i.e. “The Dead” which deeply touched and gave me more food for thought. It actually brought to eyes something unusual from the rest of the stories :) [(view spoiler)[See, the incorrigible me! (hide spoiler)]] Gabriel, the protagonist of the story realized one day after a party that he didn’t know much about his wife Gretta, who seemed to have been in love with someone else all along. The story is not only about this awareness but also about love which gets shattered, even when the man in question has been long dead, and signifies the end of life as lived by Gabriel.

The story ends with snow falling:

“His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the Universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”

I do not doubt Joyce’s genius as a writer. After reading “Portrait” and few pages of “Ulysses”, this collection seemed just way too simplistic. But the thoughts it provoked after reading, is what makes it so readable.

Definitely recommended.




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