By James Joyce
James Joyce's coming-of-age tale, a travel de strength of favor and technique
The first, shortest, and so much approachable of James Joyce’s novels, A Portrait of the Artist as a tender Man portrays the Dublin upbringing of Stephen Dedalus, from his younger days at Clongowes wooden university to his radical wondering of all conference. In doing so, it offers an indirect self-portrait of the younger Joyce himself. At its middle lie questions of beginning and resource, authority and authorship, and the connection of an artist to his kin, tradition, and race. Exuberantly artistic standard, the radical subtly and fantastically orchestrates the styles of citation and repetition instrumental in its hero’s quest to create his personal personality, his personal language, lifestyles, and paintings: “to forge within the smithy of my soul the uncreated moral sense of my race.”
This Penguin Classics version is the definitive textual content, licensed by way of the Joyce property and collated from all identified proofs, manuscripts, and impressions to mirror the author’s unique wishes.
For greater than seventy years, Penguin has been the best writer of vintage literature within the English-speaking global. With greater than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a world bookshelf of the easiest works all through background and throughout genres and disciplines. Readers belief the sequence to supply authoritative texts greater through introductions and notes by way of unique students and modern authors, in addition to updated translations via award-winning translators.
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Extra resources for A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Penguin Classics)
He tried to think of Wells's mother but he did not dare to raise his eyes to Wells's face. He did not like Wells's face. It was Wells who had shouldered him into the square ditch the day before because he would not swop his little snuff box for Wells's seasoned hacking chestnut, the conqueror of forty. It was a mean thing to do; all the fellows said it was. And how cold and slimy the water had been! And a fellow had once seen a big rat jump plop into the scum. The cold slime of the ditch covered his whole body; and, when the bell rang for study and the lines filed out of the playrooms, he felt the cold air of the corridor and staircase inside his clothes.
Forge ahead! Jack Lawton looked over from his side. The little silk badge with the red rose on it looked very rich because he had a blue sailor top on. Stephen felt his own face red too, thinking of all the bets about who would get first place in elements, Jack Lawton or he. Some weeks Jack Lawton got the card for first and some weeks he got the card for first. His white silk badge fluttered and fluttered as he worked at the next sum and heard Father Arnall's voice. Then all his eagerness passed away and he felt his face quite cool.
I'm sorry. The face and the voice went away. Sorry because he was afraid. Afraid that it was some disease. Canker was a disease of plants and cancer one of animals: or another different. That was a long time ago then out on the playgrounds in the evening light, creeping from point to point on the fringe of his line, a heavy bird flying low through the grey light. Leicester Abbey lit up. Wolsey died there. The abbots buried him themselves. It was not Wells's face, it was the prefect's. He was not foxing.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Penguin Classics) by James Joyce