My paperback is "with corrections" 1976. It's full of student type notes and marginalia, the likes of which I have dispensed with when reading today, though with second thoughts almost always.
Opening at random:
"Joyce was to turn thirty without any change in his misfortunes, and the year 1912, in which exacerbations multiplied, was the most disheartening of his life. On February 2 he celebrated his birthday by being unable to pay the rent, and after the middle of the month his new landlord, Picciola, gave notice" (329).
Joyce took his and his family and friends birthday celebrations seriously, always looking forward to the day and finding ways to honor and enjoy.
Photos include Joyce seated and playing a guitar, about which I posted to The Coming of the Toads, asking the question, which chord is Joyce playing? That post continues to draw readers.
https://joelinker.com/2012/08/28/james-joyces-guitar-chord-in-the-1915-ottocaro-... ( )

This may be the first literary biography I read. ( )

Previous training and hubris allowed me to waltz into the Joycean buzzsaw completely blind. That summer of 1994 I was recovering from knee surgery, catching a bad relationship in the solar plexus and discovering the World Cup. This tome was such a wellspring of delight during the hot, heady, and hobbled days of that summer. ( )

Full disclosure, I skipped most of the coprophilia and iritis parts. ( )

Well-rounded and meticulously researched biography of a literary giant and wonderfully ordinary man. Not without its mistakes, apparently, but an indispensable read for anyone who loves Joyce's work. ( )