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A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916)

by James Joyce

Other authors: See the other authors section.

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21,294217199 (3.71)1 / 611
Classic Literature. Fiction. HTML:

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is semi-autobiographical, following Joyce's fictional alter-ego through his artistic awakening. The young artist Steven Dedelus begins to rebel against the Irish Catholic dogma of his childhood and discover the great philosophers and artists. He follows his artistic calling to the continent.

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» See also 611 mentions

English (202)  Spanish (4)  Dutch (3)  Italian (1)  Swedish (1)  Portuguese (1)  Catalan (1)  All languages (213)
Showing 1-5 of 202 (next | show all)
My relationship with this book is a private one, it can't produce a worthwhile review, thus I will simply reference the following excerpt:
To discover the mode of life or of art whereby your spirit could express itself in unfettered freedom. ( )
  antoni4040 | May 14, 2024 |
About story:
Stephen is born and raised in a religious context. He learns to interpret life through religion, through magical thinking, through the process of conforming to god's standards. If he gets some of the numerous rules wrong he will get the ultimate punishment - hell. If he gets all the rules right then he gets the ultimate reward - heaven. But the rule system is obscure, inconsistent with reality, with Stephen and with itself. He tries to twist himself into this weird cruel structure but finds himself turn into a shadow, a husk of a man. He loses interest in reality, he withers. At some point he has a breakthrough and jumps out of his mental jail into a bigger reality. After the release he stumbles around looking for a new mode of being but it's not that easy. Other structures also have their problems and limitations. In the end he attaches himself to art and goes off into the sunset.

To me the ending is inconclusive. We don't know if art is the true vocation for Stephen. What if he loses interest in it as well? But this inconclusiveness is kind of realistic. We never really know. We just live as we are until we are somebody else.

About form:
The writing was so beautiful that at times i just had to read it out loud in the most epic and expressive voices i could produce until my throat went out. The description of hell was actually really really terrifying - made me want to avoid it.
I don't think i've read anything like this novel. The combination of beautiful poetic prose with stream of consciousness with lots of skipping around time and place and vague ponderings on obscure feelings - it's like a dream, a dream of being alive.

( )
  rubyman | Feb 21, 2024 |
...Not for me.

I am very split on my review of this book. The themes and soul of it were strong, which I appreciate. The writing? You'd sooner engage me in engineering textbooks. I dragged myself through this book to finish it, which is not something I find regrettable but something which I would not do again. The back of my edition of this book describes Joyce's writing as "vivid" — that's certainly a kinder way to say what my thoughts are. Like many classics, I'm sure this works for some people, but I will be avoiding Joyce's other works from here on now if this is what's being offered. There are simply more engaging reads to spend my time on. ( )
  carr0tmunch | Jan 27, 2024 |
"Viver, errar, cair, triunfar, recriar a vida a partir da vida! Tinha-lhe aparecido um anjo rebelde, o anjo da juventude e da beleza mortais, um enviado das belas cortes da vida, para lhe abrir, num instante de êxtase, as portas de todos os caminhos do erro e da glória. Sempre em frente, em frente, em frente!"

"- A alma nasce - disse num tom vago - naqueles momentos de que te falei. Foi um parto lento e sombrio, mais misterioso que o nascimento do corpo. Quando a alma de um homem nasce neste país, lançam-lhe logo redes, para a impedir de voar. Fala-me de nacionalidade, de língua, de religião. Eu vou tentar voar para fora dessas redes."

"Não serei escravo daquilo em que já não acredito, quer se trate do meu lar, da minha pátria ou da minha Igreja; e tentarei expressar-me numa forma de vida ou de arte tão livremente quanto possa e tão plenamente quanto possa, usando para minha defesa as únicas armas que me permitirei usar: o silêncio, o exílio e a astúcia."

"Não receio estar só nem ser trocado por outro, nem deixar aquilo que tiver de deixar. E não receio cometer um erro, nem mesmo um grande erro, um erro com efeitos em toda a minha vida, ou talvez sobre toda a eternidade."

"Livre. Alma livre e imaginação livre."

"Sê bem-vinda, ó vida! Vou, pela milionésima vez, ao encontro da realidade da experiência, para moldar na forja da minha alma a consciência da minha raça." ( )
  inesaparicio | Jan 25, 2024 |
I feel like i missed a couple of things. ( )
  Sum_Thing | Jan 22, 2024 |
Showing 1-5 of 202 (next | show all)
"Øynene hennes hadde kalt på ham, og sjelen hans hadde sprunget henne i møte. Å leve, å feile, å falle, å seire, å gjenskape liv av liv! En vill engel hadde vist seg for ham, ungdommens og skjønnhetens - forgjengelighetens engel, et sendebud fra livets fagre hoff som var kommet for i et øyeblikk av ekstase å åpne for ham porten inn til all verdens synd og herlighet. Videre og videre ... "

Stephen Dedalus er et portrett av James Joyce som ung mann. Historien om Stephen Dedalus ble påbegynt i 1904, først påtenkt som novelle under tittelen Stephen Hero, etter hvert utviklet til en roman. Deler ble først trykt i tidsskrifter; hele boken utkom i USA i 1916, i England året etter.
added by kirstenlund | editwww.cappelendamm.no (Apr 19, 2004)

» Add other authors (125 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Joyce, Jamesprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Alonso, DámasoTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Anderson, Chester G.Editorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Atherton, J.S.Introductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Atterbom, EbbaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Bindervoet, ErikTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Brown, RichardIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Deane, SeamusContributorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Ellmann, RichardEditorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Franken, GerardineTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Henkes, Robbert-JanTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Jacques, RobinCover artistsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Keogh, BrianIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Kerner, HughIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Knuth, LeoTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Lee, JohnNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Masterman, DodieIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Norton, JimNarratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Olofsson, TommyTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Pavese, CesareTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Rathjen, FriedhelmTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Reichert, KlausTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Skoumal, AloysTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed

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"Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes." ~ ovid, metamorphoses VIII, 188
Con deidica di Simone
First words
Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo....
Sometimes a fever gathered within him and led him to rove alone in the evening along the quiet avenue. The peace of the gardens and the kindly lights in the windows poured a tender influence into his restless heart. The noise of children at play annoyed him and their silly voices made him feel, even more keenly than he had felt at Clongowes, that he was different from others. He did not want to play. He wanted to meet in the real world the unsubstantiated image which his soul so constantly beheld. He did not know where to seek it or how, but a premonition which led him on told him that this image would, without any overt act of his, encounter him. They would meet quietly as if they had known each other and had made their tryst, perhaps at one of the gates or in some more secret place. They would be alone, surrounded by darkness and silence: and in that moment of supreme tenderness he would be transfigured.
O! In the virgin womb of the imagination the word was made flesh. Gabriel the seraph had come to the virgin's chamber. An afterglow deepened within his spirit, whence the white flame had passed, deepening to a rose and ardent light.
The verses passed from his mind to his lips and, murmuring them over, he felt the rhythmic movement of a villanelle pass through them. The roselike glow sent forth its rays of rhyme; ways, days, blaze, praise, raise. Its rays burned up the world, consumed the hearts of men and angels: the rays from the rose that was her wilful heart. /
Your eyes have set man’s heart ablaze
And you have had your will of him.
Are you not weary of ardent ways?
And then? The rhythm died away, ceased, began again to move and beat. And then? Smoke, incense ascending from the altar of the world. /
Above the flame the smoke of praise
Goes up from ocean rim to rim
Tell no more of enchanted days.
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Classic Literature. Fiction. HTML:

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is semi-autobiographical, following Joyce's fictional alter-ego through his artistic awakening. The young artist Steven Dedelus begins to rebel against the Irish Catholic dogma of his childhood and discover the great philosophers and artists. He follows his artistic calling to the continent.


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Legacy Library: James Joyce

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See James Joyce's legacy profile.

See James Joyce's author page.

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