Reading James Joyce has had its impact on me… Meaning his pretentiousness has crept into my writing style to the point where even my Economics long answers sound like shallow existential colloquiums. (The teacher who will mark my exam will have a wonderful time!)
I would have liked to say something intelligent about his work, however I only just started Dubliners and am finding it dull in a weird way. Perhaps the problem is that I was told it was beautiful… And I fail to see its beauty — maybe they meant beautiful in an improbable way. But all I see is mundane, relatable, amazing pieces of writing about routine being disrupted or failing to be disrupted.
And don’t get me wrong, that is very important and interesting; I was just led into expecting something else.
Having said that I feel I must highlight the fact that I am enjoying it thoroughly in a way I was not expecting. It is staying with me. Its truths are compelling and very much relevant even in this day and age! Maybe — and this thought just occurred to me — the stories start off dull because that’s life, isn’t it? How many of us can sincerely say that they lead lives that are exciting at all times?
The answer is none.
And now that my writing has gone back to normal, now that my nest friend has texted me back, now that I feel content with this blog post, I should go. Wouldn’t want to bore anyone.
As always, thank you for giving me the time of day!
P.S. The featured image is courtesy of eyeforireland.
betices. 