A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
From Modernism Lab Essays
Like T.S. Eliot’s “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” James
Joyce’sPortrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916), though a work of
youth, seems prematurely aged. Joyce treats his fictional version of his
younger self with a mixture of irony and sympathy. The novel tells the story
of Stephen Dedalus, a young Irishman, from earliest childhood until
his decision to leave Ireland for Paris and become a writer. Before
achieving his destiny as an artist, however, the young man experiences
various epiphanies, mostly misleading ones.
The early chapters of the novel chronicle Stephen’s confusions as
a small boy at a strict Jesuit school; in his adolescence, he visits
prostitutes and wallows in sin; later, he becomes deeply religious and
considers entering the priesthood; finally, he recognizes that his destiny
is to become not a Catholic priest but a writer, “a priest of
eternal imagination, transmuting the daily bread of experience into the
radiant body of everliving life.” Joyce signals Stephen’s premature
agedness when, after hearing the catalogue of his sins, “a squalid stream
of vice,” at confession, a priest asks him his age and Stephen responds:
“Sixteen, father.”
The distinctive characteristic of Joyce’s storytelling is his attempt
to represent each stage of the boy’s developing consciousness in
the language through which the child himself perceives the world. Thus,
the narrative itself demonstrates the artist’s exploration of language. On
the opening page, the novel relates the child’s impressions of hearing a
fairy tale and wetting the bed: “When you wet the bed first it is warm
then it gets cold. His mother put on the oilsheet. That had the queer
smell.” As the novel progresses, Stephen continually meditates on sights,
sounds, smells, and especially words: green, maroon, suck, queer, Dolan,
Heron, foetus, sin, home, Christ, ale, master, tundish, esthetic, lyrical,
epical, dramatic. In earlier semi-autobiographical novels about the life
of an
Expectations (1860- 61), the narrator generally speaks from a
safe distance. He has undergone some transformation or maturation
and remembers childhood from afar. In Portrait, the remembered
childhood is narrated from the perspective of the child. Joyce
accomplishes this linguistically, through a development of the technique
of free indirect discourse.
The critic Hugh Kenner named Joyce’s version of free indirect
discourse the “Uncle Charles Principle” and illustrated it with this
passage: “Every morning, therefore, uncle Charles repaired to his outhouse
but not before he had creased and brushed scrupulously his back hair and
brushed and put on his tall hat.” One critic objected to “repaired to the
outhouse” as euphemistic, but Kenner noted that the expression is what
Uncle Charles himself would say. For the most part, the novel seems to be
told from the perspective and with the language of Stephen himself at
various ages, but at times, the narrator is relating not what Stephen
himself thinks, but what the character being described (such as Uncle
Charles) thinks, or perhaps what Stephen thinks that the character thinks,
so that we are getting Stephen’s own artistic way of viewing the world
through the minds of others. This complex play with perspective
became characteristic of modernism and is closely related to Woolf’s later experiments
in To the Lighthouse(1927).
Joyce explicitly modeled his techniques on Flaubert’s. If Flaubert
leaves the reader in some doubt as to how to judge Emma Bovary,
however, Joyce gives the reader virtually no external information with
which to judge Stephen Dedalus. The final pages of the novel consist of
Stephen’s diary for the days before his departure for Paris. In the
penultimate entry, he writes “Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the
millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my
soul the uncreated conscience of my race.” Joyce refuses any comment.
The reader must decide whether Stephen will succeed in this glorious goal
or whether, like Icarus the son of Daedalus, his wings will melt and he
will fall into the sea. The close identification between author and
hero combined with the absence of a distinct omniscient narrator who
can comment on the action, leaves the question of Joyce’s irony
towards Stephen wide open.
The attempt to render Stephen’s growing consciousness can be seen as
a precursor of the stream- of-consciousness novel, which represents
the thoughts of a character in a sort of continuous present as they
pass through his or her mind. The long time frame and focus on
development in Portrait distinguish it from the stream-of-consciousness
novel in this narrower sense, but passages like Stephen’s diary hint at
Joyce’s later
experiments.
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