I’ve tried to read Joyce’s “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” at least 2 or 3 times in the past 30 years and finally succeeded. It’s not a very welcoming book for contemporary readers, unless (like me) you suffered a Roman Catholic education. My Catholic grade school was more like the one depicted in the 2008 movie “Doubt” by John Patrick Shanley than an Irish boarding school like Clongowes, but I did experience Jesuits in college. The novel is about a sensitive, intelligent boy growing up and making sense of his world.

Joyce uses a “stream of consciousness” technique to relay the thoughts of his autobiographical protagonist Stephen Dedalus, and the language reflects the boy’s intellectual development from early childhood until he enters university. Throughout the 5 chapters of this short book, we see Stephen as a very young child being read to by his father, a boarding school student at Clongowes being tormented by his classmates and unjustly punished by a cruel prefect, a 16-year old boy discovering sex with a prostitute and (overcome by self-loathing) desperately seeking confession and a return to God’s grace, and finally as a university student questioning his previous religious beliefs. Throughout the book, Stephen is portrayed as an outsider who doesn’t belong. He feels set apart from others due to his sensitivity and destiny to become an artist.

The transition in sophistication of language as well as the random jumping from thought to thought without logical connection may convey the way the mind actually works, but the technique makes for challenging reading. Some examples of a child’s perspective are amusing, such as when Stephen makes a game of modulating the sounds around him: “He leaned his elbows on the table and shut and opened the flaps of his ears. Then he heard the noise of the refectory every time he opened the flaps of his ears. It made a roar like a train at night. And when he closed the flaps the roar was shut off like a train going into a tunnel.” Earlier, Stephen tries to wrap his emerging intellect around the notion of infinity: “What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began? It could not be a wall but there could be a thin thin line there all round everything. It was very big to think about everything and everywhere.” Back at home for Christmas, Stephen witnesses a bitter political dispute between his governess “Dante” (Mrs. Riordan) and his father’s friend Mr. Casey. The scene is a nice example of the confusion children can experience when caught in the middle of adult conversations they cannot fully understand.

In addition to the development of individual consciousness, the book addresses other big themes such as religion and doubt, artistic sensibility, and the inferiority complex of the Irish and their cultural domination by the English. It rightly is a very famous book, and I’m glad I finally finished it. However, be prepared for it to feel like homework. It won’t be an easy read. ( )

I found this classic Joyce debut novel, or the character of the young artist, or Ireland in the years portrayed here frustrating. The very beginning is an alternately lovely and horrifying account of a very young boy at home and at school, and as his family slips down the economic and social ladder. But I found the Irish Catholic emphasis oppressing, and the artist himself more than a little overwrought with adolescent bravado. ( )

I resisted appreciating Joyce in college (and still don't appreciate his last two novels to this day), but in college I couldn't stand him because I resented every English Prof. I encountered (and it was practically every one) passing him off with hushed, reverent tones of obeisance like he were Holy Literature's Second Coming. Perhaps had I been that student now they would have passed him off with hushed, reverent tones of obeisance like he were the circa 2008, can-do-no-wrong, Barack Obama. Then, maybe, I would've resented James Joyce a little less, at least.

My fellow classmates and I -- excepting the always diligent-attending brightest and most brilliant ones among us heading on to their doctoral dissertations and on, undoubtedly, to their prestigious academic careers in lofty institutions of higher learning (smarmy smartypants, I was so jealous!) -- avoided attending absolutely every lecture given by what amounted to a professor-priest proselytizing upon the awesome sovereignty and singular sanctity of Joyce. James Joyce. Like he were double-O seven (007). It was sickening, the professorial suck-ups spewing Joyce is God, Joyce is God, every other utterance, so of course I skipped their classes-turned-sermons, like any normal Stephen King addict at the time would've done.

But had I known then (assuming I'd bothered to read my assigned books in college) how eerily similar my world perspective mirrored that of Stephen Dedalus during that time in my life, many full moons ago (meaning, again, had I not Cliff-Noted the The Portrait and bs'd the class papers on it), I'm sure I'd of been pleasantly surprised, if not shocked - as in shocked that I could relate to this Irish guy, James Joyce, and his autobiographically fictionalized self, Stephen Dedalus, the way that I could relate then to a light-weight Oscar Wilde wannabe, Stephen Morrisey - at how marvelously meaningful and relevant Joyce's first novel could be to a rebellious, church-boy-turned-irreligious-blasphemer like myself.

And my God! - Stephen Dedalus, in his teens, was socially awkward and inept in the extreme with the lovely young ladies, wasn't he? (also just like me!) Because girls and yours truly didn't mix much in high school/college. Girls? What were they? Unless they were making the first move -- ah rare and so blessed an occasion I remember each instance vividly, such a deep impression they set - forget it! Darn right I could've related to The Portrait had I given Joyce a chance back then. But no, I rejected Joyce before I really even knew Joyce just because he was so highly regarded by my intellectual superiors.

Of course, Stephen Dedalus was not just a kook like me by any stretch of the imagination. He acted kookily at times, which made him so human and relatable, but he had too much hero in him to be considered a pure, classic kind of kook. When he marches up the stairs at his boarding school to the administrative offices and reports the unjust physical trauma he's received at the harsh hands of that twit substitute teacher...you know how much guts that took for a little kid to do that? so easily intimidated by 'always-right' adults?...we can't help but cheer for him like an esteemed underdog beating the odds and winning an Olympic race against a pompous competitor predicted to win; and, if you're like me, out pop those goosebumps gallore just considering the courage of young Dedalus demonstrated by his confrontational feat! It marked the first time he'd ever confronted authority; and it was an hugely heroic milestone in his young life, and gave him the idea and the fortitude, I believe, to ultimately think outside the realm of parental/authority-expectations; outside of that Mom-and-Dad mold that well meaning parents so often try and furiously fit their children's futures inside; and that event also planted some identity seeds as he'd later painfully contemplate who it was he truly wanted to be, and how, having abandoned his childhood faith - rejected God (oh man, can so many of us relate to brave Stephen Dedalus!) - he planned on getting there to his life-dream's destinations. And I think it was important to Joyce, in his ambition of erasing himself completely from the text, that his reader's deeply relate to Dedalus, as if Dedalus, and not Joyce, were the author of The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Dedalus, too, I think, has to be considered one of the most fascinating cats in world literature, doesn't he? His life depicted in The Portrait's like a lifelong (or, maybe, more accurately, childhood-to-the-brink-of-adulthood), longitudinal character study/experiment run by a master psychologist - Joyce. A character study covering not the mundane minutia of Joyce's subsequent descents into largely unreadable nor enjoyable, experimental 'novels,' but covering the key scenes, the most significant moments of Dedalus' development: the critical junctures in his boyhood, 'tween years, and adolescence, when he had to form decisions and forge his life's direction, and do so even though he lived with constant doubt. Sound familiar? It's called growing up, isn't it? But growing up is an incredibly complex, tricky process, and Joyce somehow in The Portrait fashions into visible, seamless shape, the abstract intellectual architecture under construction inside young Dedalus (just as its inside each of us) that makes the growing up process read so real and relatable and credible and makes Joyce's aims of authorial-erasure all the more amazing. Did Joyce really write this book, or did Stephen Dedalus?

The Portrait is the ultimate coming-of-age novel in my opinion (or, the ultimate bildungsroman, for the smarmy smartypants). It's both so psychologically and experientially astute at every level of childhood and adolescent development, that I think it should be taught as part of the curriculum of Childhood Development and Adolescent Psychology courses in universities. I'm not kidding.

I liken each developmental crossroads and decision Stephen comes to as being like a novelistic rendering of Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken.' Stephen Dedalus took the road less traveled - indeed he did - and for Joyce, and for us, Joyce's audience, it has definitely made all the difference. ( )

Definitely a disappointment, after the glowing reports I'd gotten from reviews and from friends' recommendations who've read the book. There were some inspiring passages that I really resonated with, like Stephen Dedaelus's conversion experience, eventually disinherited.. or his walk along the coast where he describes the scene in such detail that you know James Joyce is speaking out of personal experience... But if you don't identify with the author at any point, how can you even want to suffer through it? In general, this book is a rambling exercise in pointless intellectual thoughts, which is anticlimactic enough to feel entirely purposeless. What IS the story, anyway? Ok, a boy grows up... and fantasizes about girls and sex a lot. Where's the story there? I've rarely been this hard on a proven "classic" before, but I'll make an exception.

Note to editors: please don't put footnotes in your novels, it's incredible annoying no matter how much you might think it illuminates the text. Repeatedly suggesting that the reader isn't understanding something in a book SO vague that, clearly, NOTHING should be understood, and then only citing irrelevant history, dates & all, behind the song or the building or the person just mentioned, is infuriating. I mean, I take all this trouble to page ALL the way to the back of the book for an explanation that may somehow transform this whole tiresome reading experience for me, and you're giving me a 3-paragraph long HISTORY LESSON? How about making your first and only footnote about the elusive point of this book? ( )

The 1920s Modern Library edition I read - thus the plain green cover shown here - had no ISBN or LC classification, so I've kept the Penguin Classics paperback data. Someone donated the yellowed volume to the library where I work - with excellent penciled-in margin notes, part of a class assignment of yore no doubt.

I read this - or I think I read it - years ago. Maybe I just read parts of it. This time around (2009) most of it seemed new to me. I might as well have not read it at all before. So I've had the interesting experience of, effectively speaking, getting introduced to it after having spent years with Ulysses and Finnegans Wake.

The very pleasing result of that is to accept it on its own merits, and not simply as a stepping stone on Joyce's way to those later works. According to Joyce's own aesthetics as explained herein, it is a lyric work, really not to be compared to the epic Ulyssess and the dramatic FW. Unquestionably his "stream of consciousness" technique expanded in scope after the Portrait. But those later developments of the technique wouldn't have fit appropriately into this earlier lyric world.

The book itself, then, considered as it is by itself, is a masterpiece. The power and beauty of the writing, the devastating honesty of the author's self-portrait, the marvels of style as we hear Stephen's language change through the years, the surging presentations of religious excess, the daring temporal jump-cuts, the substitution of hyphens for quotation marks that further interiorizes each page - superb!

Except for my praise, I have nothing new to add to the thousands of reviews written through the decades about this book. I keep the book on my desk. I pick it up regularly, opening it at random to a page, and deriving great pleasure from it. It's so rare to be able to enjoy craftsmanship at this level of inspired excellence. ( )

My first venture into Joyce, making my way to Ulysses. I look forward to continuing. ( )

remarkable: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man relates the mental growth of Stephen Dedalus, who represents the author James Joyce. Very little actually happens in this book. It is almost completely a reference to the changes that occur in Dedalus as he grows from an innocent, somewhat oblivious boy, to the psychologically restless young man all too aware of the forces that buffet the Ireland of his day. It is a remarkable work that should not be missed by the serious reader.

The notes at the end by Seamus Deane do present points of clarification and interest, but for anyone who can't pass on a footnote without reading it (ahem), it does interrupt the flow of the narrative a great deal.

I don't know what to say to people who don't like this book. It took me a few tries to get through it, but I can't think of another book so magical. ( )

A difficult read, for sure, but some very fascinating writing style and patterns here, images, etc. ( )

I read this as a precursor to attacking Ulysses and was not sure what to expect. It was not a difficult read but it does demand your attention -it certainly wasn't the book I picked up when I was tired.

It follows the development of a young Irish boy, Stephen (closely modelled on Joyce's own life) to adulthood.

What I loved about it was Joyce's grasp of language, his use of his erudition and the sheer daring of some of its passages in dealing with its subject matter- particularly with respect to Catholicism and the political and religious tussles in Ireland at that time as well as the temptations that both test young Stephen and inform his choices.

Each of the five chapters follows its own arc and I found that I felt quite differently about each of them. As Stephen ages, the complexity of the langauge and ideas evolve with him and by the final chapter, having been to hell and back, I was completely convinced by the mental development of Stephen and his mastery over his own conscience.

If you are interested in originality, style and economy of words to convey a plethora of connections and ideas, then don't let it languish on the shelf any longer! ( )

My reactions to this novel were very mixed. The book is not a conventional novel, and this was Joyce's intention, as you can glean from his conversation about aesthetics in the last chapter. A strange blend of semi-autobiographical material and fiction, with a voice that mimics the age and maturity of the main character, Stephen, and thus changes as he changes. I got the impression that Joyce was writing himself into a story that was a bit different from his true story, in an attempt to reinvent himself through words. Indeed, Stephen dwells on the power of words extensively throughout the novel.

Is the book well written? Yes. Does it follow standard forms of plot and character development? No. Does it complete its own mission of becoming something new and original, breaking away from tradition? Yes. Did it always hold my attention? No.

I enjoyed the first chapter, which chronicles Stephen at his youngest age in the book, and is told with a childish perspective, straight forward and yet often fragmentary. I've read that some people have a hard time understanding this section, but I found it easy to interpret, maybe because of the copious notes in my Penguin edition. Chapter 2 waned in interest for me, and yet I was engrossed by Chapter 3 (the infamous hell chapter, which turns many people off), although I wouldn't say that I enjoyed it. It was just very interesting. Then I found Chapter 4 mediocre but with a fantastic ending, and I had to slog my way through most of Chapter 5, which consists of long philosophic debates.

In the end, this is one of those books that I am glad I read because it is masterfully written, and because it rightly occupies an honored position in western literature for its innovation. Also, I hope to read [Ulysses] soon, and this book is its precursor, of sorts. Some of the passages were simply stellar in the imagery and metaphor. The end of Chapter 4, where Stephen experiences his own 'rebirth', was beautiful.

This is also one of those books, though, that took a bit of work to finish, and was not always an enjoyable read. I can appreciate Joyce's skill without agreeing to his life philosophy. In fact, I'm sure that he would despise mine. Stephen is a judgmental young man. (In one section, after he has abandoned his Catholic faith, a friend asks him if he will become a Protestant. His response? "I may have abandoned my faith, but not my self respect." Heh. Thanks for that, Joyce.) I feel accomplished having finished it, but don't plan on a reread. ( )

Good. Not Great. This being the only Joyce book that I have read so far, I can see how many academics see him as one of the greatest writers ever. However I can't see what their love affair with this book is. I think it was a well-written book but nothing jumped out at me that said that this book is one of the all time top five, as it is constantly rated. It is just a story of a young boy in Ireland who becomes a man but it doesn't come across as some work of brilliance. Again it is good not great. A great storyteller with a not so great story. ( )

Some amazing writing, some real down moments; lovely book. ( )

This book initiated my love affair with words... ( )

et ignotas animum dimittit in artes
Ovid, metamorphoses, viii, 18 ( )

One of the great shames of my life is that I gave up on Ulysses after only 30 pages. I am the kind who finishes a book – no matter what. But somehow I couldn’t do it – I just couldn’t build up the gumption to read through Ulysses.

With the promise to myself that, someday, I would dive in and attack Ulysses again, I decided I would take a shorter route to approaching Joyce. Accordingly, I picked up this book. When I started, I was afraid I was in for disappointment again. The “moocow” and “tuckoo” and songs that smack the reader at the start of this book are not conducive to “Maybe I’ll just pick this up and read it on the plane.” (Of course, no one approaching Joyce should think that – I just use it as an example.) But, in relatively short order, the sequence of events and story that was emerging began to make sense and the tale began to draw me in. This story is in parts interesting (primarily in the telling of tales) and in parts boring (primarily in giving us far too much theory and philosophy of why the people are who they are) and, as a whole, a decent look at Stephen Daedalus’ growing up.

With all that being said, what makes this so great a book and Joyce so great a writer? I cannot tell you. I found it an interesting book, well-written, but with nothing to make me think it is a classic. After completing the book I read the introduction (I learned the mistake of introductions and spoilers in other books) in order to gain new insights. I only made it so far. It was dense academese that, had I indeed read first, would have driven me away from ever trying to read this book. So, I will just have to go on without understanding why this book should be considered more than good, indeed great. However, it is good and, as with any good or great book, there will be images that stay with me. And now I am encouraged to return to Ulysses and try again. (I’m just going to guess it will still be a couple of years.) ( )

Dubliners is more readable, but not the most brilliant. Ulysses is the most brilliant, but not really that readable. This one is right in between. ( )

This is not an easy read for the beach! But it is an amazing book.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man portrays Stephen Dedalus's Dublin childhood and youth, providing an oblique self-portrait of the young James Joyce. At its center are questions of origin and source, authority and authorship, and the relationship of an artist to his family, culture, and race. Exuberantly inventive, this coming-of-age story is a tour de force of style and technique. ( )

Very thoughtful about religion and Irish politics. I'm not really sure what I got out of it. the part about hell was kind of disturbing and far too long. the end seemed unconnected from the beginning (because it was written at a different time) I liked the part about boarding school the best. (the beginning) ( )

I am immediately distrustful of any book which has a massive biography of the author in its preface. If the book is only good if you've memorised the author's life, that seems to me like it's actually a big pile of self-indulgence rather than literature. I mean, understanding the historical context and that sort of thing is good for a lot of books, because you can get the references and understand the characters' points of view and so on. But if I'm reading a "semi-autobiographical" novel, why do I need the biography as well?

(see http://tronella.livejournal.com/63751... for more) ( )

Did I like this book? I am still trying to decide. I definitely appreciated it. It was a lot more readable than I had expected it to be. I thought the stream-of-consciousness was interesting, although I sometimes got confused by the way the narrative jumped from the present to memories or just random thoughts in Stephen's head. However, that is how our minds work. I enjoyed the way he showed Stephen maturing through the writing style, and even kind of enjoyed the big long sermon about hell, although that part got a bit grim. This was my first experience with James Joyce,and I plan to read Dubliners soon. ( )

I read this in high school. I liked it all right, but I like Joyce's short fiction better. I had to read it again in a class I took in the spring of 2007, but a misunderstanding in our assignments meant I fell behind and had to skip sections 3 and 4 so I could give a presentation on section 5. So I slotted the book into my list, and finally got around to reading those missing sections. They're the parts where Stephen renounces sin (following the amazing description of hell) and then, some time later, also rejects the priesthood. Which ties into what our professor told us-- Stephen has to reach a point where he doesn't make one of two choices, but rejects the choice altogether. Whatever. It's James Joyce, and he really needs to discover the quotation mark. (originally written January 2008)

Another one of those I tried to read in High School and just couldn't finish. When I sat down as a grown-up and rea it, I cursed myself for waiting so long. Beautiful, captivating, and a great introduction to Joyce, who's not exactly an easy read overall. He's worth it though. ( )

my personal review:

http://lullabies-n-kisses.blogspot.co... ( )