Re Joyce

On the power and imagination of James Joyce's work

'We are still learning to be James Joyce's contemporaries, to understand our interpreter.'

Richard Ellman, James Joyce

I first encountered James Joyce as an English Literature undergraduate. As part of an introduction to European literature, we read A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man alongside works by Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and other big names from the canon. Joyce's book stood out immediately; it was clear from the first page that he seemed to reject the traditional forms other novels had adopted. In doing so, he appeared to be questioning the validity of representation itself, evoking a protagonist coming-of-age in a way that was self-conscious about its own linguistic construction. Quite a feat.

But this was not simply some contrary display of cleverness, some point-to-be-made that lead nowhere but intellectual cul-de-sacs and literary dead-ends. Oh, no. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man seizes upon this impasse, this challenge, and perceives its awareness of language and identity construction as an opportunity for liberation. If the novel's protagonist is never more than a linguistic composition then so be it, but Joyce joyfully manipulates this inconvenient truth and moulds a whole new form for the novel in the process.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man was not what I expected from a novel as an undergraduate; I was knocked-sideways by the daunting complexity of the prose, but intrigued by its rich and vibrant references and allusions. Joyce used classical archetypes and every-day experiences together in a way that deconstructing boundaries between high and low culture, while offering a whole new perspective on the novel and on human experience.

As a result, it was both grand and humbling at the same time. It was enlightening in some ways, but confusing in others. Exciting in one paragraph, infuriating in the next. But while Joyce's novel offered something of a hard slog to a reader such as myself, mired up to that time in classical realism and traditional narratives, it also offered more. It was rewarding, and much of the charm and wit and fun of the book stays with me today.

I haven't yet attempted to read Joyce's other novels. I never found the time for Ulysses, and Finnegans Wake was just too daunting. But over the last few months I've seen Joyce's name recur time and again. My interest in the writer Samuel Beckett is probably the root of the resurgance, a fellow Irish writer who as a young man spent much time in Joyce's company. As the older writer began to experience difficulties with his sight, Beckett was one of many friends/admirers on-hand to help in any way they could. While living in Paris, Beckett even aided the transcription of Finnegans Wake.

Much has been made of the influence James Joyce has held over Beckett's work, and all of the younger writer's earlier short stories and poems bear a distinctive imprint. None were so aware of this connection than Beckett himself, who affectionately confided to a friend that the style of some of his early writing 'stinks of Joyce'. As a result, Beckett later moved into forms and styles that he could more call his own; and to a large degree, the hallmark of his later works is also indebted to Joyce, if only insofar as they work in opposition. Joyce wrote through knowledge; Beckett wrote through ignorance. Joyce wrote with a rich and vibrant style; Beckett worked towards a prose 'without style', a prose of poverty.

And yet, despite their disparities, there is still much they have in common. Samuel Beckett, for instance, was renown for his interest in the outsiders, the mad, the old and the strange. But Beckett's affinity was in the commonplace, so often disregarded by novels in the English literary canon, and Joyce held a similar interest. In the introduction to Ellman's grand biography of James Joyce, there is a telling summary of the writer's approach to characters:

'[Joyce said:] 'Don't make a hero out of me. I'm only a simple middle-class man.' He surrounded himself with people who were mostly not known: some were waiters, tailors, fruitsellers, hotel porters, concierges, bank clerks, and this assemblage was as inevitable for Joyce's temperament as marquises and marchionesses were for Proust's. To those who admonished him for wasting his time, he replied, 'I never met a bore,' a remark that from most writers would sound merely sentimental. That he meant it is demonstrated by the thousands of phrases garnered mostly from undistinguished friends with which he filled his books. 'This book,' he said to Eugene Jolas of Finnegans Wake, 'is being written by the people I have met or known.'

Richard Ellman, James Joyce

Joyce celebrates a grandiose presentation of every-day life that uses language jubilantly to express and elevate the mundane. There are a number of fantastic introductory books on Joyce's life and his writing, Richard Ellman's biography and Anthony Burgess's Re Joyce being particularly good, but there is perhaps nothing quite so engaging as the novels and short stories themselves. I'm beginning to think that I should give Joyce another whirl, and see where it leads me.

Ellman has said that Joyce 'requires that we adapt ourselves in form as well as in content to his point of view. His heroes are not easy liking, his books are not easy reading. He does not wish to conquer us, but have us conquer him. There are, in other words, no invitations, but the door is ajar.' All of the great writers, musicians and artists have produced works that do not come to us, we are always expected to go to them. And there is nothing to stop us. The door is ajar.

Judging a book...

30 Books Worth Buying for the Cover Alone

'Years ago, some research was done into book buyers' purchasing habits. Especially in the paperback market, the study showed that most people in bookshops will decide to buy a book they don't know (but may have heard of) in something between 10 and 20 seconds.'

Robert McCrum, The Guardian

The Guardian website has picked up on an interesting promotional strategy from internet supplier AbeBooks. The article discusses Beth Carswell's 30 Novels Worth Buying For the Cover Alone, and pays homage to the 'great, but often forgotten contribution made by designers' to classic and contemporary paperbacks.

The Guardian article isn't terribly detailed ('years ago', 'some research', 'most people', 'the study'), but offers some interesting points. There's a nod to some of the great unheralded book designers of the twentieth century, and a brief discussion of the art and its significance. This is all neatly tied into current conceptions of consumer purchasing, and the importance of icon and image to the aspirational consumer.

McCrum is cautious to add that 'Of course, a dud book with a fabulous cover is still a dud book. AbeBooks should not forget that content is king; readers will buy a book wrapped in newspaper if they want its contents badly enough. Still, it's good to be reminded that, as an artefact of civilised life, the printed book is still – and always will be – an object of desire.' A good point, if a little trite.

I must confess that I've often fallen prey to dud novels with a delicious cover or a sleek dust jacket. For me, the artwork of a desired book can often seem as important as the content within, and it feels like an integral and essential part of the whole reading experience.

You can read Robert McCrum's short article by clicking here. Alternatively, you can head straight on over to AbeBooks and cast your eye on their top thirty.

Reading on Roland Barthes on Reading

The cultural critic's preferred approach

'[...] I do love to read. But I am not a great reader, I'm a casual reader, casual in the sense that I very quickly take the measure of my own pleasure. If a book bores me, I have the courage, or cowardice, to drop it. I'm freeing myself more and more from any superego in regard to books. So, if I read a book, it's because I want to.'

Roland Barthes, 'Twenty Key Words for Roland Barthes'

Critical theory has always been something of an undisciplined discipline, where writers have a freedom to express themselves from a multitude of cultural or philosophical standpoints, drawing upon scores of academic influences and integrating supposedly contradictory or oppositional ideas. Critical theory is famously difficult to categorize, defined rather through concepts of plurality and diversity than one straightforward view or ideology. It is a movement that endeavours to analyze and discuss cultural structures and meanings rather than espouse its own. And to a newcomer, this can feel daunting.

After spending some time reading critical theorists and cultural critics, Roland Barthes came like a breath of fresh air. His approach was deceptively simple. Through essays and newspaper articles he began to discuss every-day cultural phenomena, from traditions to events to common household objects; in doing so, he gradually woke people up to the way meanings and cultural values are circulated in a given society.

One of the aspects I loved most about Barthes was his insistence on an analysis of the common, the mundane, and the every-day. For Barthes nothing was so significant as the seemingly insignificant. And for me this felt like more than just an ideological liberation, more than a way of understanding what makes our societies tick. It was a way of engaging with the so-called real world in a way that everyone everywhere could do.

For me, what is perhaps most engaging and inspirational about Roland Barthes is his insistence on being himself. Not only did he go out of his way to discuss the ideas and themes that interested him personally, but he was willing to share his personality and his character through his work - if only to exhibit its culturally-composite nature.

I recently read an interview with Barthes entitled 'Twenty Key Words', where the cultural theorist was asked to comment on ideas, concepts, people and things that were most important to him. There are some fascinating and insightful remarks, but what strikes me most of all is his candour.

When I read his comments on the practice of reading - just the stone-cold reality of sitting on a chair or a couch with a book in your hand - I almost jumped up in excitement. I identified with what he said to such a degree, it felt like an uncanny moment:

'My reading schedule is not at all a regular and placid ingestion of books. Either a book bores me and I put it aside, or it excites me and I constantly want to stop reading it so that I can think about what I've just read - which is also reflected in the way I read for my work: I'm unable, unwilling, to sum up a book, to efface myself behind a capsule description of it on an index card, but on the contrary, I'm quite ready to pick out certain sentences, certain characteristics of the book, to ingest them as discontinuous fragments. This is obviously not a good philological attitude, since it comes down to deforming the book for my own purposes.

Roland Barthes, 'Twenty Key Words for Roland Barthes'

Barthes has written many essays, articles and prolonged discussions on critical and cultural theory, but the most important lesson his writing has taught me is the importance of questioning the things I take for granted, and to be myself.

A Cheat's Guide to James Joyce's 'Ulysses'

How to unravel one of the 20th Century's most intimidating works of fiction

'I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy.'

James Joyce, Ulysses

To celebrate Bloomsday back in 2004, the BBC published a brief online guide to James Joyce's Ulysses. While working at the library I've encountered many a summary and brief guide (though, it must be said, none so brief as this one) but it's probably not surprising that none of them really cut the mustard.

What is most interesting to me is that each summary confines the trajectory of the book to its central narratives, or its plot, in order to render it cohesive and understandable. It's either that or all events and characters are seen in relation to the allegory of Homer's Odyssey. One can't blame critics for doing this, but is does seem to be missing the point in a novel that is so famously rich and complex. But, if you're a busy commuter that doesn't have time for bulky literary tomes, then perhaps the BBC have done you a great service.

You can read the 'irreverent simple chapter-by-chapter guide to the key events, characters and Homeric parallels' by clicking here.

Francis Bacon on the South Bank Show

Melvyn Bragg interviews the great Irish painter

'I paint for myself. I don’t know how to do anything else, anyway. Also I have to earn my living, and occupy myself.'

Francis Bacon

What's nicer after a hard day's work than a documentary on Francis Bacon? Very little, I suspect. Especially if it's not so much a documentary as a one-to-one with the man himself.

Last night I found a classic episode from the archives of The South Bank Show, a long-running late-night arts programme that profiled some of the greatest artists, writers and celebrities of the twentieth century. The episode in question offers a glimpse into the life, work and passions of Irish-born painter Francis Bacon. We begin in the storeroom of the Tate Gallery in London, where a series of Bacon's works are run through a projector with Bacon himself offering his thoughts. It's an intimate setting, and a great introduction to Bacon's unique artistic approach.

What I liked most of all was the way the programme manages to dispel some of the key myths related to Bacon and his work. Not only do we get a real sense of the artist's sensibilities, but the public image of Bacon as a tortured and difficult artist is almost immediately put to rest. There's no doubting that his work deals with difficult, troubling, even horrofic themes, but it soon becomes clear that Bacon is an optimist at heart. He has a sweet, disarming smile and does not dwell on the negative as such, but rather attempts to express in his work the reality of the world. The reality of sensation.

Among the highlights of the programme are the privileged glimpses we receive of Francis Bacon's inner world: his home in London and his social haunts. The locations are rich with images, from the chaos and detritus of the painter's famously messy studio, to the dark, gothic setting of his local bar. It's fascinating to see the characters that surround him as he talks about life, painting, and his passion for alcohol and gambling. He doesn't seem like an ideal role model, losing coherence at a restaurant table and pouring himselfanother glass of wine, but as he talks on about art and the meaning of life it's easy to feel his passion. It's easy to question whether it's the alcohol that makes him slurr his words or simply his enthusiasm. (A little of both, I suspect.)

Bacon is in many ways a natural speaker, approachable and articulate about the things that are personally important to him. And The South Bank Show interview offers us a chance to see just that, with an unmistakeable sense of intimacy. There are six parts in all, and combined they total approximately one hour. You can watch them consecutively or browse at will by clicking on the links below:

Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

Keep Calm and Carry On

World War II mantra adopted for modern times

'...you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.'

Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable

A relic from wartime Britain, the phrase 'Keep Calm and Carry On' was once a hallmark of the restrained stiff-upper lip response to adversity. The message was spread on a series of minimalist posters, the zenith of design simplicity, in a typeface familiar to anyone who has travelled the London Underground.

The slogan is a short and convenient mantra for anyone prone to anxiety: whether at war, feeling stress in the workplace, or in the throes of complete existential breakdown. It even has its own website: keepcalmandcarryon.com.

Thanks to Owen Hatherley's website, Sit Down Man, You're a Bloody Tragedy, for drawing my attention.

'As The Wind Takes Me': Beckett in Hamburg, 1936

A retrospective of Beckett's travels in Germany

'Beckett had already planned his own departure. By 19 September, he could write that 'The prospect of getting away is a great relief', although he had no specific plans except to travel to Germany and then 'selon le vent' (as the wind takes me).'

James Knowlson, 'Damned to Fame: The Life of Samuel Beckett'.

One of the things that distinguishes James Knowlson's biography of Samuel Beckett from its predecessors is the unprecedented access it had to the writer's so-called 'lost years'. And they were lost in more ways than one: it was a period of wandering and of solitude for Beckett, as he toured the art galleries and cultural sights of the major European cities. It was also a period 'lost' in the sense that no documentation appeared to remain from this time in his life. Knowlson's biography was written and published upon the discovery of a series of notebooks, previously hidden away from view, that Beckett wrote while traveling.

Often referred to by Beckett scholars as 'The Unknown Diaries', the notebooks detail the author's experience of Germany between 1936 and 1937, shortly before he finally settled permanently in Paris. The diaries offer a snapshot not just of the development of a great writer, but of Europe at a time of tumultuous political struggle, artistic censorship and the inexorable rise of National Socialism.

There is a website online that offers readers a glimpse at Samuel Beckett's diaries during this period, and publishes highlights from his nine-week stay in Hamburg in 1936. The website originates from 'the research done by Roswitha Quadflieg around the Hamburg chapter of Samuel Beckett's German Diaries [and] was first shown in the winter of 2003 at the Freie Akademie der Künste in Hamburg [...] as an homage on occasion of Samuel Beckett's 100th birthday.'

The online exhibition of Beckett in Hamburg 1936 comes complete with a partial transcription of the writer's diaries over the entire period of his stay, and an interactive calendar with quotes, photographs and explanatory notes. It's beautifully designed and fun to browse. Available in German or English translation, you can see it for yourself by clicking here.

I'll Go On: An Afternoon of Samuel Beckett

Reflections on Beckett's life and work

'...when it comes to those bastards of journalists, I feel the only line is to refuse to be involved in exegesis of any kind. That’s for those bastards of critics.'

Letter from Samuel Beckett to Alan Schneider, 1957

The Philoctetes Centre for the Multidisciplinary Study of the Imagination (pardon me?) has introduced a series of roundtable discussions on a range of topics, from art and literature, to philosophy, to neuroscience, poetry and jazz improvisation. Aside from sounding like an intellectual cult, the centre presents talks on a wide range of topics from a broad selection of multidisciplinary approaches.

One of the roundtable discussions, entitled I'll Go On: An Afternoon of Samuel Beckett, is based on the performance-aspect of Beckett's dramatic works, along with some of the prose. The wonderful Lois Oppenheim hosts the discussion, an acclaimed Beckett academic in her own right, and successfully negotiates the speakers while weaving the topics together. The setting is very informal, with John Turturro, Edward Albee, Tom Bishop and Alvin Epstein surrounded by curious spectators.

Lasting over an hour and a half, it's easy to understand why they labelled the clip 'An Afternoon with...' and there are times when the conversation seems to drag. Having said that: Lois Oppenheim is always good value, and offers critical insights with a characteristic restraint. John Turturro, who played Hamm in a recent production of Endgame, is certainly one of the quieter members of the group, but one has the impression that his comments are among the most interesting. 

Before the first ten minutes have elapsed, one thing becomes clear: Edward Albee, renowned playwright and friend of Beckett, is undoubtedly leading the discussion. And for all the wrong reasons. I have read and enjoyed his accounts of Beckett's personality, and of his work, in numerous books and articles over the last year or so; so when Albee began to tell one of his favourite anecdotes to the audience, I was engaged and interested. Yet there was something awry about his recollections. Albee's body language was louche, and almost hostile, as he competed for space and airtime in the group. As one personal story drifts aimlessly into the next, I couldn't help rolling my eyes and shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

I'll Go On: An Afternoon of Samuel Beckett offers some interesting comments, and is useful to the newcomer who is interested in finding out more. But with the exception of John Turturro and Lois Oppenheim, who were a joy, there was a sniff of elitism in the air that I suspect will turn more people off than on. There comes a point where I feel that instead of going on I'll Go Somewhere Else, Thank You.

If I've enticed you, I'll Go On: An Afternoon of Samuel Beckett is available here.

How to Write Like Samuel Beckett

In just a few easy steps

'To make a short Beckett piece:

take some silence,

mix well with faint light

and a hint of darkness

stir in some chaos

(any arbitrary force will do),

add a breath of life,

regret it,

promise to extinguish it,

then don't.'

Merrie London, 'To make a short Beckett piece'

Working at a university library is not without its perks. There's a vast collection of music to take advantage of, not to mention the latest films and television shows on DVD. There are even books to read, should we feel inclined.

As I'm interested in the work of Samuel Beckett, I often find myself perusing volume upon volume of Modern Drama, an academic journal that critically analyzes the latest and greatest theatrical works. Every volume from the 1970s onwards appears to contain at least one article, essay, or review of a Samuel Beckett work - written from just about every theoretical angle. But the writers don't simply review specific performance aspects of the play, they take Beckett's work in a larger context in an attempt to understand its meaning, or its essence.

As I flicked through the pages of an unknown volume, I happened across Merrie London's 'To make a short Beckett piece', and it struck me that she's managed to hit the nail right on the head. In a few fines, she seemed to summarize every review and every essay I had read so far. London's article, which parodies the form of one of Samuel Beckett's short prose works, offers its reader a guide on creating their own authentic Beckett masterpiece.

The article has obviously been written in jest, as an affectionate lampoon of one of central figures in modern drama But I think in writing it, London has articulated the very essence of all literary criticism. In order to understand something, we are all compelled to rewrite it in a way that we find coherent. What is a review of Hamlet if not a summary of its plot and an organization of its major themes, or subtle nuances? 'How to write a short Beckett piece' is a reminder of that process, the attempt we all make to understand something - and of course, it offers some excellent style tips.

Samuel Beckett and the Grove Press

On the Irish writer and his American publishers

[With] regard to my work in general I hope you realize what you are letting yourself in for. I do not mean the heart of the matter, which is unlikely to disturb anybody, but certain obscenities of form which may not have struck you in French as they will in English [...] The problem therefore is no more complicated than this: are you prepared to print the result?

Samuel Beckett to Barney Rosset, Summer 1953.

[On] 18 June 1953, Barney Rosset, new owner and sole editor of a fledgling press, wrote to a new author promising to make his work known in America. The letters from an obscure American publisher to a little-known author began one of the most extraordinary relationships in publishing history, as Rosset guided a small reprint house, which he bought in 1951 for $3,000, into the most aggressive, innovative, audacious, politically active and often wreckless publishing concern in the United States.

Stanley Gontarski and C. J. Ackerley, 'The Grove Companion to Samuel Beckett'

The American publisher Grove Press is one of the most distinctive brand names in world literature. Since the 1950s, with Barney Rosset at the helm, this modest publishing house became the centre of some of the most vitriolic censorship storms in twentieth century history. Rosset published the unexpurgated edition of Lady Chatterley's Lover in 1959, and went on to release Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer in 1961. But my own interest in Grove began with William Burroughs' The Naked Lunch, first released in 1959.

Grove Press were also responsible for finding Samuel Beckett an audience in the United States. After gaining the rights to Waiting for Godot and other dramatic works, Grove went on to publish translations of Beckett's prose, notably the three novels (Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnameable).

Gontarski and Ackerley argue that although Rosset and Beckett were very different personalities, one 'a classically educated taciturn Irish artist' while the other a 'scrappy, street-smart American entrepreneur', both felt a strong personal bond for the other. Their correspondence not only developed Beckett's reputation in America, but gave him the impetus to begin writing in English once again after a series of exclusively French works. Beckett produced All That Fall and Krapp's Last Tape 'and thereafter wrote in both languages.'

The writer's sole experiment with motion pictures was also instigated by Rosset, who commissioned a film script in 1963. The result was Film, a short almost-silent philosophical meditation on being and perception, filmed in America with Beckett on-set. Buster Keaton played the lead role.

Grove Press still owns the American rights to all of the major prose and dramatic works, and kindles a keen interest in Beckett scholarship and criticism. On the hundredth anniversary of Beckett's birth in 2006, the Grove Centenary Edition of Samuel Beckett's work was released, edited by the author Paul Auster and introduced by recognizable figures of contemporary literature - from J.M. Coetzee to Salman Rushdie. With few exceptions, the Centenary Edition includes everything Samuel Beckett wrote in his lifetime, and is presented in four beautiful hardback volumes.

Now, Grove are re-releasing some of Beckett's work in new paperback editions. The typefaces are typically gorgeous and easy-to-read, as one would expect from a Grove edition, and each book is set in a glossy jet-black. For the prose, photographs of Beckett from late in his career adorn the covers; for the drama, John Haynes' minimalist portraits of actors in acclaimed productions - notably John Hurt's performance in Krapp's Last Tape. All of the new covers are interesting, nice to look at, and distinctively modern.

I'm happy to say I acquired the Centenary Edition recently, so I won't be scurrying off in search of the new paperbacks anytime soon - much as I would like to. But if there's anyone out there looking to get acquainted, or maybe needing a replacement for their dog-eared copies on the shelf, the new Grove editions are a superb chance to do just that.

You can browse a selection of Grove Press publications of Samuel Beckett's work by clicking here.

Bertrand Russell Retrospective

Good nature is, of all moral qualities, the one that the world needs most, and good nature is the result of ease and security, not of a life of arduous struggle. Modern methods of production have given us the possibility of ease and security for all; we have chosen, instead, to have overwork for some and starvation for others. Hitherto we have continued to be as energetic as we were before there were machines; in this we have been foolish, but there is no reason to go on being foolish forever.

Bertrand Russell, 'In Praise of Idleness'

Today marks the anniversary of the death of Bertrand Russell, Welsh philosopher, mathematician, logician, pacifist and advocate of social reform. He also won the Nobel Prize for Literature - no mean feat for one who praised the idle life. BBC Wales' Arts section is running a profile of Bertrand Russell's life and work, which you can read by clicking here.