On December 29th, after a semester learning about Irish film, literature, and history, I set off on a two and a half week tour of Ireland and Northern Ireland. I have a lot of issues with travel, so I was delighted to find that I actually enjoyed myself (besides the stomach cramps and Martian death flu, of course) and I spent a lot of time thinking, as well as rushing about from site to site with my tour group. Because we covered so much ground, my coverage of my trip will take up a few posts—three, most likely, but perhaps more if more comes back to me.
Dubliners by James Joyce
I’ve always eyed James Joyce warily. You see, stream of consciousness and I do not get on at all. Well, okay, we got on fine in the film adaptation of A Single Man, but for the most part, I find the technique pompous and pretentious. I’m happy to work hard to dig deeper into the text, but when breaking ground takes an unusual amount of exertion, I’m a little miffed. (All of this, by the way, comes from my encounter with Faulkner in high school. Please feel free to recommend me something that will prove me wrong.) So the very concept of Ulysses puts me off, but luckily, I didn’t have to read Ulysses for my Irish Literature class—I just had to read Dubliners.