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.