A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Penguin Classics) by James Joyce

By James Joyce

James Joyce's coming-of-age tale, a journey de strength of fashion and technique

The first, shortest, and such a lot 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 collage 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 relatives, tradition, and race. Exuberantly artistic well-liked, 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, existence, and artwork: “to forge within the smithy of my soul the uncreated moral sense of my race.”
 
This Penguin Classics version is the definitive textual content, approved by means 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 major writer of vintage literature within the English-speaking global. With greater than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a world bookshelf of the simplest works all through heritage and throughout genres and disciplines. Readers belief the sequence to supply authoritative texts more advantageous via introductions and notes through uncommon students and modern authors, in addition to up to date translations through award-winning translators.

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Example text

That was the infirmary. He was sick then. Had they written home to tell his mother and father? But it would be quicker for one of the priests to go himself to tell them. Or he would write a letter for the priest to bring. Dear Mother, I am sick. I want to go home. Please come and take me home. I am in the infirmary. Your fond son, Stephen How far away they were! There was cold sunlight outside the window. He wondered if he would die. You could die just the same on a sunny day. He might die before his mother came.

He paused. Mr Dedalus, lifting his head from the bone, asked: —And what did you do, John? —Do! said Mr Casey. She stuck her ugly old face up at me when she said it and I had my mouth full of tobacco juice. I bent down to her and PHTH! says I to her like that. He turned aside and made the act of spitting. —PHTH! says I to her like that, right into her eye. He clapped his hand to his eye and gave a hoarse scream of pain. —O JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH! says she. I'M BLINDED! I'M BLINDED AND DROWNDED! He stopped in a fit of coughing and laughter, repeating: —I'M BLINDED ENTIRELY.

Simon Moonan told him not to because the prefect was looking. The fellow turned to Simon Moonan and said: —We all know why you speak. You are McGlade's suck. Suck was a queer word. The fellow called Simon Moonan that name because Simon Moonan used to tie the prefect's false sleeves behind his back and the prefect used to let on to be angry. But the sound was ugly. Once he had washed his hands in the lavatory of the Wicklow Hotel and his father pulled the stopper up by the chain after and the dirty water went down through the hole in the basin.

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