Define Appertaining To Books A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
| Title | : | A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man |
| Author | : | James Joyce |
| Book Format | : | Paperback |
| Book Edition | : | Special Edition |
| Pages | : | Pages: 329 pages |
| Published | : | March 25th 2003 by Penguin Classics (first published 1916) |
| Categories | : | Nonfiction. Autobiography. Memoir. Biography. Audiobook |
James Joyce
Paperback | Pages: 329 pages Rating: 3.61 | 123096 Users | 4942 Reviews
Chronicle During Books A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
The portrayal of Stephen Dedalus's Dublin childhood and youth, his quest for identity through art and his gradual emancipation from the claims of family, religion and Ireland itself, is also an oblique self-portrait of the young James Joyce and a universal testament to the artist's 'eternal imagination'. Both an insight into Joyce's life and childhood, and a unique work of modernist fiction, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is a novel of sexual awakening, religious rebellion and the essential search for voice and meaning that every nascent artist must face in order to blossom fully into themselves.Itemize Books In Pursuance Of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
| Original Title: | A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man |
| ISBN: | 0142437344 (ISBN13: 9780142437346) |
| Edition Language: | English |
| Characters: | Stephen Dedalus, Simon Dedalus, Fr. John Conmee, Mary Dedalus |
| Setting: | Clongowes Wood College, Kildare(Ireland) Ireland |
Rating Appertaining To Books A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Ratings: 3.61 From 123096 Users | 4942 ReviewsCommentary Appertaining To Books A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
An semi-autobiographic novel, featuring a fictionalized character as Joyce's alter-ego, it traces his formative childhood years that led him ambivalently away from a vocation in the clergy and into that of literature. There are sections which appealed to me (a priestly sermon on the damnation of ones soul into hell is particularly vivid), but by and large the plot line was too disjointed for me to engage with. Uncertain of exactly where I had been or what path the novel was taking me, I foundA Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman "Already in the preface to Richard Wagner it is asserted that artand not moralityis the true metaphysical activity of man; several times in the book itself the provocative sentence recurs that the existence of the world is justified (gerechtfertigt) only as an aesthetic phenomenon." Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of TragedyThe moon has been sighted, the siren is sounding through the air and Eid celebrations have begun here where I sit writing. The holy
Oh my god guys JOYCE. This is genuinely one of the best books I've read so far this year. Not really a plot driven novel but more a character study of the young Stephen Dedalus and his journey through his teen years. While some aspects of this novel may be difficult to understand if you don't have just a little knowledge of Irish history (names like Charles Stewart Parnell, Michael Davitt, and Wolfe Tone are mentioned quite a lot), I feel like that doesn't effect the enjoyment you can get from
Joyce delivers again. The first pages are the best - spent as they are in Stephen's consciousness when he was a very sensitive kid. I thought Stephen would be a born rebel (the way I had imagined Joyce to be) - but he seemed to be an obedient and meek child to began with and have taken a lot of time to make up his mind on various institutions (nationalism, religion, arts etc) In fact, for the most part, he is not an artist at all - the moment of epiphany which sets him onto path of becoming a
First off, I have too many shelves, so Joyce must sit on the "lit-british" shelf, spinning him in his grave no doubt. (No longer! now an Irish shelf!)I read the book first in college (not for a course), then a second time a couple years ago. The 40+ year gap provided an interesting test as to what would seem familiar and what wouldn't. I barely recognized the earlier parts of the novel, more recollection (not very detailed) as I progressed. Finally I reached the end, and was shocked as I read
His soul was swooning into some new world, fantastic, dim, uncertain as under sea, traversed by cloudy shapes and beings. A world, a glimmer or a flower? Glimmering and trembling, trembling and unfolding, a breaking light, an opening flower, it spread in endless succession to itself, breaking in full crimson and unfolding and fading to palest rose, leaf by leaf and wave of light by wave of light, flooding all the heavens with its soft flushes, every flush deeper than the other. Thus awareness
This book is a very dry, written version of the Dead Poets Society without Robin Williams. I was already grateful to Whoopi Goldberg this week for her reasonable comments about the most recent Sarah Palin ridiculousness, so I feel kind of bitter at having to be grateful for the other half of that daring duo. I had sworn them as my nemeses minor nemeses, yes, of nowhere near the caliber of Charlie Kaufman, David Lynch, or Harold Bloom, but nemeses nonetheless. Now, I find myself thinking, Its a
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