English     Literature

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                                             DUBLINERS: ARABY   ^{by JAMES JOYCE}   

             

 

          

          

                      

 

          

                      

 

 

 

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

        James Joyce  (1882—1941) was an Irish  poet and novelist noted for his experimental use of language and exploration of new literary methods in  such large works of fiction          as Ulysses (1922) and Finnegans Wake  (1939).  

        Joyce came from a middle-class family, who lived in the heart of Dublin,  where he attended his education all the way through to university.            He began to travel across Europe in his early 20s to  pursue a career as a teacher. He did this with his partner, and later, wife Nora  Barnacle. While teaching, he began to  cultivate his talents as a writer and set himself to begin producing his famous  works of art.  Joyce was a jaded and rather remarkable character for his time, in addition to an abusive father, he  renounced Catholicism at a young age. For an Irish person in the early  

20th century, this would have been almost unheard of at that time. These personal issues often reflected in his  work, giving his stories            a sense of rugged realism.

        James Joyce is considered to be one of the most important writers of the  20th century. He pushed the boundaries  

of literature with his inventive and innovative stream of consciousness  writing style. Among his notable works  were the short-storycollection Dubliners (1914) , and the novels A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man  (1916) and Exiles  

 (1918).

             

TASK      A.  Read the text about the author                      and answer the questions:    1 .   What is James Joyce famous for?  2.   Where did James Joyce live? 3.   Wha t were Joyce’s most important works?    TASK  B.  Read the text about Dublins                            and answer the questions:   1.                    Which historical moment is described in it?           2.                    What does the word ‘epiphany’ mean?   3.                    How many stories are included in the book?  4.                    What is known about the title of              Araby? 5.   Who is the main protagonist in Araby?   6.   What is the story Araby about?

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

       Dubliners is a collection of fifteen short stories by James Joyce, first published in 1914, which together trace the development of a child into an adult. The point of view in every third story changes from a young boy’s to that of a teenager’s. They form a naturalistic depiction of Irish middle class life in and around Dublin in the early years of the 20th century. The stories were written when Irish nationalism was at its peak, and a search for a national identity and purpose was raging; at a crossroads of history and culture, Ireland was jolted by various converging ideas and influences. They centre on Joyce's idea of an epiphany: a moment where a character experiences a life-changing self-understanding or illumination. Many of the characters in Dubliners  later appear in minor roles in Joyce's novel Ulysses. The initial stories in the collection are narrated by child protagonists, and as the stories continue, they deal with the lives and concerns of progressively older people. This is in line with Joyce's tripartite division of the collection into childhood, adolescence and maturity.       

       James Joyce’s  Dubliners  is a vivid and unflinching portrait of ‘dear dirty Dublin’ at the turn of the twentieth century. These fifteen stories, including such unforgettable ones as ‘Araby’, ‘Grace’, and ‘The Dead’, delve into the heart of the city of Joyce’s birth, capturing the cadences of Dubliners’ speech and portraying with an almost brute realism their outer and inner lives. Dubliners  is Joyce at his most accessible and most profound, and this edition is the definitive text, authorized by the Joyce estate and collated from all known proofs, manuscripts, and impressions to reflect the author’s original wishes.                             

       Araby is the last story of the first group of the collection and it borrows its title from a festival in Dublin. The boy, who narrates the story, lives with his aunt and uncle, and renames unnamed. His story is about a boy that falls in love with the sister of his friend, but fails in his quest to buy her a worthy gift from the Araby Bazaar.

 

       ARABY   

 

 

 

 

[<…> When the short days of winter came dusk fell before we

 had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the street the houses _{had grown sombre. The space of sky above us was the colour of} ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our  bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses where we ran the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the

 cottages, to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness. When we returned to the street light from the  kitchen windows had filled the areas. If my uncle was seen turning the corner we hid in the shadow until we had seen him safely housed. Or if Mangan’s sister came out on the doorstep to call her

 brother in to his tea we watched her from our shadodown the street. We waited to see whether she would remain or go w peer up and in and, if she remained, we left our shadow and walked up to

Mangan’s steps resignedly. She was waiting for us, her figure defined  by the light from the half -opened door. Her brother always teased her before he obeyed and I stood by the railings looking at her. Her dress swung as she moved her body and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side. ] <…>

 At last she spoke to me. When she addressed the first words to me I was so confused that I did not know what to answer. She asked me was I going to Araby. I forgot whether I answered yes or no. It would be a splendid bazaar, she said; she would love to go.

            “And why can’t you?” I asked.

While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could not go, she said, because there would be a

 retreat that week in her convent. Her brother and two other boys were fighting for their caps and I was alone at the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her neck, lit up

 her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand upon the railing. It fell over one side of her dress and caught the white border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease.

“It’s well for you,” she said.

           “If I go,” I said, “I will bring you something.”

What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious intervening days. I chafed against the work of school. At night in my  bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came between me and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and

 cast an Easbazaar on Saturday night. My aunt was surprised and hoped it was tern enchantment over me. I asked for leave to go to the not some Freemason affair. I answered few questions in class. I watched my master’s face pass from amiability to sternness; he

 hoped Ithoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work  was not beginning to idle. I could not call my wandering of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child’s play, ugly monotonous child’s play. <…> When I came  home to dinner my uncle had not yet been home. Still it was early. I

sat staring at the clock for some time and, when its ticking began to irritate me, I left the room. I mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house. The high cold empty gloomy rooms  liberated me and I went from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my companions playing below in the street. Their cries reached me weakened and indistinct and, leaning my forehead

 against the cool glass, I looked over at the dark hlived. I may have stood there for an hour, seeing nothing but the ouse where she brown-clad figure cast by my imagination, touched discreetly by the lamplight at the curved neck, at the hand upon the railings and at  the border below the dress.When I came _{downstairs again I found Mrs Mercer sitting at the}  fire. She was an old garrulous woman, a pawnbroker’s widow, who collected used stamps for some pious purpose. I had to endure the  gossip of the tea-table. The  meal  was  prolonged  beyond an  hour 

   

TASK C.  Read the story, do the task and answer the questions:

 

1.    Single out words in unexpected word combination and explain their               usage in their immediate context:

 

a)    feeble lanterns                          c)   to ruin the gauntlet

b)    the career of our play                                d)   dark dripping gardens

e)    to shake the music from the buckled harness

f)     my waking and sleeping thoughts             g)   my soul luxuriated

 

2.    What is the main idea of the story? 

 

       Although the narrator and the central character of the story is the                same person, their ages differ. What is the idea of such a difference?

 

3.    Translate the first and the last paragraphs into your language.

 

and still my uncle did not come. Mrs Mercer stood up to go: she was sorry she couldn’t wait any longer, but it was after eight o’clock and she did not like to be out late as the night air was bad for her. When she had gone I began to walk up and down the room, clenching my fists. My aunt said:

“I’m afraid you may put off your bazaar for this night of Our Lord.”

At nine o’clock I heard my uncle’s latchkey in the halldoor. I heard him talking to himself and heard the hallstand rocking when it had received the weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he was midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money to go to the bazaar. He had forgotten.

“The people are in bed and after their first sleep now,” he said.

I did not smile. My aunt said to him energetically:

“Can’t you give him the money and let him go? You’ve kept him late enough as it is.”

My uncle said he was very sorry he had forgotten. He said he believed in the old saying: “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” He asked me where I was going and, when I had told him a second time he asked me did I know The Arab’s Farewell to his Steed. When I left the kitchen he was about to recite the opening lines of the piece to my aunt.

I held a florin tightly in my hand as I strode down Buckingham Street towards the station. The sight of the streets thronged with buyers and glaring with gas recalled to me the purpose of my journey. I took my seat in a third-class carriage of a deserted train. <…> In a few minutes the train drew up beside an improvised wooden platform. I passed out on to the road and saw by the lighted dial of a clock that it was ten minutes to ten. In front of me was a large building which displayed the magical name. <…>

I could not find any sixpenny entrance and, fearing that the bazaar would be closed, I passed in quickly through a turnstile, handing a shilling to a weary-looking man. I found myself in a big hall girdled at half its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater part of the hall was in darkness. I recognized a silence like that which pervades a church after a service. I walked into the centre of the bazaar timidly. A few people were gathered about the stalls which were still open. Before a curtain, over which the words Café Chantant were written in coloured lamps, two men were counting money on a salver. I listened to the fall of the coins.

Remembering with difficulty why I had come I went over to one of the stalls and examined porcelain vases and flowered tea-sets. At the door of the stall a young lady was talking and laughing with two young gentlemen. I remarked their English accents and listened vaguely to their conversation.

“O, I never said such a thing!”

“O, but you did!”

“O, but I didn’t!”

“Didn’t she say that?”

“Yes. I heard her.”

“O, there’s a ... fib!”

Observing me the young lady came over and asked me did I wish to buy anything. The tone of her voice was not encouraging; she seemed to have spoken to me out of a sense of duty. I looked humbly at the great jars that stood like eastern guards at either side of the dark entrance to the stall and murmured:

“No, thank you.”

The young lady changed the position of one of the vases and went back to the two young men. They began to talk of the same subject. Once or twice the young lady glanced at me over her shoulder.

[ I lingered before her stall, though I knew my stay was useless, to make my interest in her wares seem the more real. Then I turned away slowly and walked down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two pennies to fall against the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of the gallery that the light was out. The upper part of the hall was now completely dark. Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger. ]