Retrato do artista quando jovem

De James Joyce

Retrato do artista quando jovem é o primeiro romance de James Joyce. Com fortes traços autobiográficos, o livro conta a história de Stephen Dedalus e seu processo de amadurecimento artístico e intelectual. Determinado a tornar-se um poeta, o jovem precisa primeiro vencer as forças que reprimem sua imaginação: as convenções da Igreja Católica, da escola e da sociedade irlandesa. Publicada pela primeira vez em 1916, a obra já apresentava características marcantes do estilo inventivo de Joyce, como o uso do monólogo interior e a grande preocupação com o psíquico, que o consagraram como um dos maiores escritores do século XX.
"Acreditamos em Stephen Dedalus como em poucos personagens da ficção." - H. G. Wells

• Idioma: Português
• Editora: Civilização Brasileira
• Data de lançamento: 22 de dez. de 2015
• ISBN: 9788520012963

James Joyce

James Joyce kam 1882 in Rathgar nahe Dublin zur Welt. Katholisch erzogen und ausgebildet wandte er sich nach dem Studium von der Kirche ab. 1904 verließ Joyce seine Heimat und lebte u. a. in Triest, Zürich und Paris. Das erste Prosawerk von Joyce war der Kurzgeschichtenzyklus „Dubliner“ (1914). Mit dem autobiografischen Roman „A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man“ (1916, dt. zunächst „Jugendbildnis“, später „Ein Porträt des Künstlers als junger Mann“) artikulierte Joyce in der Form des Künstler- und Bildungsromans die Position des modernen Schriftstellers, der sich aus den Bindungen der Kirche, des Staats und der Gesellschaft löst und auf künstlerischer Freiheit besteht. Der Roman „Ulysses“ (1922), der als moderne „Alltags-Odyssee“ in die Weltliteratur einging, gilt als Joyces Hauptwerk, als „der Roman des 20. Jahrhunderts“. In „Finnegans wake“ (1939) radikalisierte Joyce seine auf sprachliche Verschlüsselungen und Wortspiele zurückgreifende (und deshalb kaum übersetzbare) Schreibweise, u. a. indem er Traumfragmente verwendete. James Joyce starb 1841 in Zürich. Die drei erstgenannten Werke wurden – teils in intensiver Zusammenarbeit mit dem Autor – von Georg Goyert ins Deutsche übertragen. Aus „Finnegans wake“ übersetze Goyert das Kapitel „Anna Livia Plurabelle“.

Avaliações de Retrato do artista quando jovem

[petroglyph_1 · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

In Portrait, James Joyce dramatises incidents and periods from his own childhood and adolescence, and I don’t really know what to feel about this book. Parts of this were brilliant: the writing, the rhythm, the selection of words and images. This book is excellent at expressing the unscratchable ache that is growing pains: the death of a child’s naïve belief in Justice when unfair punishment is handed out; the intensity of adolescent frustrations, both sexual and religious; and the search for fundamental meaning in life. On the other hand, well, there were numerous occasions where I felt like rolling my eyes at the text, because I’ve read too many books about sensitive, intelligent, precious little main characters who struggle mightily against their schoolboy tormentors and an understimulating environment. I know that I can’t really hold that against this book -- the century of intervening literature that makes this kind of story feel so trite is not this book’s fault. But still: the story feels so trite in many places.This book left me feeling very ambiguous. For example: a very large section of this book is taken up by a series of fire-and-brimstone sermons delivered by a Jesuit hell-bent on frightening children into good old Catholic obedience through extensive and lascivious descriptions of torture. I can appreciate what Joyce was going for here, and it’s well done indeed: I can really taste the hunger for power, the emotional manipulation, the all-encompassing prison that this kind of mentality wants to enforce. But these sermons take up 12% of the text. 12%! That is way, way too long, and spoils the effect. Then there are later bits, where the main character expounds his views on beauty and art which serve as a replacement for his earlier religiosity, and which are intellectually impressive, but they are shoehorned in in the clumsiest of ways. Again, the effect is spoiled.Both of these -- the fire-and-brimstone, and the intellectualizing theories -- overstay their welcome and tip the balance from “Impressive, well done” into “Man, Joyce really loves hearing himself talk”. And self-important smugness is a sin I find hard to forgive. So yeah. Three stars?

[poetontheone · Nota: 4 de 5 estrelas]

Joyce's Portrait is a Kunstlerroman (a novel depicting the maturation of the artist), comparable in some basic ways to Hesse's Demian, released a few years later. We see Stephen Dedalus rise from the mysterious ether of childhood into worldliness, soon caught up in a crisis of Soul, and one of a particularly Catholic nature. His transformation into "the artist", really, is a late point in the work, though its brewing all the while before, a more subtle and altogether more implicitly tense period of development than of Hesse's Demian Sinclair. Joyce though, with good humor, does not leave all at this. He is not only tracing the profound development of the artist, but holding up a mirror of mockery to this development, accentuating maudlin emotion, pedantry, and conceit. Both aims work well most of the time, The latter when the text oozes absurdities. Latin as the preferred tongue of schoolyard talk, the college dean's ignorance of metaphor, the long and detailed hellfire sermon. Stephen's reactions to all of these. The whole last section, at the university, illustrates well his conceit and pedantry, though it is in part sincere and true, maybe to a fault insofar as it is not wholly effective. All that is sincere in this work about the artist is best conveyed, as it usually is, in moments of profound revelation. Joyce, a real craftsmen of language, executes these moments beautifully. The language makes the story, literally. Joyce's use of voice and language evolves along with the character. The concise sentences of the child and his internal, often confused, thought processes. The rambling explication and wisecracking of the adult artist, at the other end. Stephen Dedalus, transcends the bounds of country, religion, and language in his quest. Joyce, just as well, excavates what lays within those bounds of identity through all three components, especially the last.This book is a ripe peach. Bloated in the best ways and often sweetly rewarding, though it does have its hard and sour moments. No doubt I am stuck on Hesse's dark and pungent berries of Jungian transcendence. If I had come to this work first, I might have put it on a pedestal above all others, or given up on it, or worst of all, thought myself a prick. We are all Stephen Dedalus, us mad artificers.

[darkwater_1 · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

Beginning biographically, the novel orbits a young Stephen Daedalus, born to one Simon Daedalus, baptized in Christ, and a son of Ireland no less. Stephen is not only a one-time product of these institutions, but finds himself constantly immersed in the imperialist miasma of their expectations and responsibilities. As he comes of age and begins to ponder his identity, he precociously questions the dramatic effects that these parental, political, religious, sexual, and literary internalizations have had on its (his) construction. As he finds his own voice (non serviam), the form of the book changes with it and the once narrated Stephen becomes the narrator Stephen.“The soul has a slow and dark birth, more mysterious than the birth of the body. When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.”Stephen’s transcendence comes in the form of a psychological revolution, a mutilation of the old self and a willful, deliberate creation of the new. Asserting that man is (or at least can be) his own creation, he struggles to create his own father, supplanting his biological father (and other fathers) for a spiritual father of his own formation - what can be read as a miraculous self-begetting.For Ireland, Stephen’s story holds the key to spiritual freedom. With their victimization and oppression a national legacy, the Irish identity became strongly conflated with their role as victims. It became their destiny to be slaves, a people grown to love their enslavement and to fear freedom and its responsibilities, a people whose tradition had unconsciously become oppressing themselves.In Ulysses, Joyce later wrote, “History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.” In contrast to most schools of thought which presume that the wisdom needed today can be found in the past, Joyce confronts the dangers that come with its blind inheritance and concession to the conventional life that it creates and encourages.

[byebyelibrary · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

I am usually not a fan of big celebrities reading the classics. They tend to make it about the performance and not the work. Not so with Colin Farrell's brilliant rendition of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Farrell's tone is deadpan and understated. His reading makes the work sound as if it were written yesterday. Extremely entertaining and equally sublime.

[rosecityreader · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

Portrait is certainly more accessible than Ulysses or Finnegans Wake, but it lacks the delightful wordplay and zany, ambitious flights that leave the reader in wonderment. It has its obscure parts, but for the most part chronicles Stephen Dedalus's life from young childhood through college, recording everything that influenced him.Some of these influences were recorded in more meticulous detail than makes for entertainment. For instance, the long, long passage giving the priest's sermon on sin and Hell was a flawless rendition of a classic fire and brimstone harangue. To describe it is to describe the problem with it.I thought I had read this in college, but listening to the audio version made me wonder. If I did read it, I deserved a very bad grade for comprehension and retention.

[deltaqueen50 · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

I have never read James Joyce before and I had heard that A Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man is considered to be his most accessible work so I decided this was where I would start with this author. In this book we follow the early years of Irishman Stephen Dedalus, starting from his boyhood and taking us through to the end of his university years. It is apparent immediately that James Joyce is a master wordsmith. His writing paints vivid pictures but I disagree with those who call this book timeless. I felt it was quite dated and specific to it’s time and place. It is a barely concealed autobiographical piece and takes the main character through his adolescence while he searches for his own identity. His views on family, religion and the very essence of being Irish clearly date this piece as early 20th century writing. Joyce is brilliant but I struggled through this short and quite readable book so I am not reassured that I will appreciate his more complex works and I expect they will be pushed to the bottom of the 1,001 pile.

[andreablythe · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

In youth, Stephen begins to experience doubts about god and the church, as well as his faith in the way he perceives the world. Finally as a young man, he solidifies his beliefs in the world and moves toward creating his life as an artist. There is some really beautiful writing in this book, and I most enjoyed those sequences when he's walking through whatever town he's living in at that time and his emotions are fluctuating as he experiences the world around him. However, there are also long bouts of sermonizing and lecturing, discussing things in a purely theoretical manor, which really dragged on the story. I lost a lot of interest through those passages. While I definitely can't claim that this is a great book, I saw enough beauty throughout much of it to make it through to the end.

[alanteder · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

[Review of the Naxos Unabridged Audiobook Edition]I'm trying something new for me with listening to Irish narrators read James Joyce and this audiobook edition of his "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" performed by actor Jim Norton was a terrific start to this. Norton's performance of the narration along with his singing of all the musical rhymes and lyric sections bumps this up to a 5/5 rating with the 1 hour long section of 'hell and damnation' sermons delivered at Stephen Dedalus's Belvedere College alone worth the price of admission and quite chilling to boot. Joyce's stream-of-consciousness style may be a bit hard to follow aurally though and I did find myself referring to my old paperback copy frequently and still looking up some of the more obscure Irish and Latin references (easy to do on-line these days) but those are minor quibbles. 2012 is a big year for Joyce fans with his works entering the public domain and already one test case (google "The Cats of Copenhagen") of someone breaking grandson Stephen Joyce's previous publishing embargoes, so if you've been intimidated by Joyce previously, consider trying out an audiobook version.

[antao-3 · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

(Original Review, 1981-02-16)"April 27. Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead."How much I love/hate Joyce when I read about him...how could he have denied his mother on her deathbed? That act disturbed me - he did not even kneel when she died.I am not speaking of hypocrisy here just thinking of a young poseur who was thinking of himself above all - as you do at that age - especially if you are the ''favourite'. How much are the writings of Joyce autobiographical? Is the 'real 'Stephen Dedalus - AKA Joyce - a 'self-obsessed arsehole' - and did Joyce realise that about himself during his writing? As regards the Portrait Joyce changed the original title from ‘Stephen Hero’ - why did he do that? When did Stephen stop being a Hero?Read it again recently - skipped loads of 'the sermon because being brought up a Catholic have kind of heard it all before but have never been on a Retreat where apparently, in the olden days, you would receive the hell-fire message in spades. I found it interesting in the book that Stephen had to find an anonymous confessor to his 'sins'. He seemed too proud or ashamed to confess to a priest at the school who may have recognised his voice.I think one of the best things I learned from The Portrait was how much Joyce loved his jovial, irascible Father. The last chapter in The Portrait seems a bit of a 'cop-out' with its diary entries...a bit rushed-but maybe that was all meant.The last entry is particularly poignant (vide quote above)The bits that stick in my mind aside from the obvious passages (Hell Fire Sermon ) are the childhood passages, Dedalus remembering his uncles' tobacco smoke, listening to and trying to make sense of the adults arguing about current affairs as a bystander, the bewilderment of starting a new and strange school and trying to understand and navigate the adult rules and language of the constitution chimed with my own memories of childhood. The child is the father of the man, I think Joyce says we cannot shake off these experiences, they form who we are. You are always going to be an exile from them even if you leave physically and geographically.

[soylentgreen23 · Nota: 2 de 5 estrelas]

This is as far as my Joyce adventure will go, I think. I've looked at "Ulysses" and "Finnegan's Wake", and I doubt I will make it any further. "A Portrait..." was interesting, if not exactly world-changing; perhaps I approached it in the wrong frame of mind, and wasn't open to the possibilities it suggests and has suggested in others.

[meditationesmartini · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

Overweening bastard that he is, Stephen Dedalus goes to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of his soul the uncreated conscience of his race. And I think: Wow, now I finally understand what Ulysses was all about. It was Joyce's great thesis and his canticle of canticles, his attempt to speak of Irish ghosts in their own language. And Portrait needs to come first, set the scene. Ye Artificer his Remarkable Historie.

But it's so much more. It's an incredible invocation of the fears and fancies of childhood in a dark and brutal island off the coast of civilization, for we scattered generations of the Commonwealth a shivering memory of the disciplinary yoke of the imperial world-system out of which we came, its origin on another small cold island and its combination, in enchanted Ireland, with an ancient tyranny of soulmongers--Church and Charter, Christ and King. Joyce teases out the stunted schoolboy resistance that persists furtively under that hideous weight and, in the first section, makes it stand tall and proud and relate one small victory in a way that makes it an exemplar, a rebel ballad which will echo and shift, with none of the unavoidable self-neutering fascism of Another Brick in the Wall. When the dean offers to chastise the priest that paddled young Stephen, I want to throw my cap in the air, clutch my rock candy and shout "Haroo!"

It is also, and here I see how Riddley Walker is the Dedalus of his culture, an ecstatic linguistic myth. Stephen languishes in phantasmagoria, transfixed by the Church's imagery even as its language leads him down scholastic and aesthetic rabbit holes. No site of resistance in thee, O Lord. He breaks free, but languishes too in sex and jealousy and a sense of his sex as sin that keeps him yoked to Sweet Baby Jay as much as he was when he thought he had a vocation--more, since there is now no intellectual tradition for him to inhabit and hone to a rapier point. And like Wittgenstein, this is what brings him back to language--the emptiness of any Irish emancipatory project that is not reflexive, that doesn't come to terms with rape and pillage of a people's speech and culture. The fact that the ghosts of Eire are now strangers, hostile and hungry ghosts. English priests will come and run your parish schools and be rebelled 'gainst in a mummer's show, but there ain't no English firbolg. The fact that the working and peasant classes are as estranged, slouched low inside the Celtic soul, and Stephen/young Joyce is so transfixed and compromised as to attack the people on one side with the class attitudes of the oppressor while still grasping after the deep insights and magic words with which the house Irish or say the native boy can convincingly and with the heart of a believer--one that no matter how effete and Anglified, hates righteously the foreign muck that encrusts him--can fight back as comfortable in his weapons as the car-bomber or the Gaelic association athlete or the balladeer. "Oh tell me Sean O'Farrell" is an anti-colonial weapon too, no doubt about it, but it's not the right one for Joyce/Dedalus, the freaky eyepatch, the adept who feels and the aesthete who believes and the fart-sniffing genius who moves away to Paris and unsettles the whole non-Celtic and imperial world with the queerness of his offerings.

Meaning: Joyce's Sean O'Farrell is "Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo". Dedalus's pikes hidden under haystacks and gleaming together at the rising of the moooooon are "The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea" and "Come forth Lazarus! And he came fifth and lost the job" and "If others have their will Ann hath a way" and perhaps even "End here. Us then. Finn, again! Take. Bussoftlhee, mememormee! Till thousandsthee. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs". Speaking English like a foreign language, like not only your Irish politics and desires and fears but indeed your Irish lips and mouth and brain are different. The extraordinary final third of Portrait of the Artist is where a callow young smartass engages intensively with others of his ilk in words, words, words, leavened with occasional fists; learns to quit yammering about what needs to be done and think about how to just maybe start to do it; and understand that the first step for the poor tongueless Irishman is to make words strange. This book reveals Ulysses and Finnegans Wake as, at least in part, a great project of national liberation. It is their prospectus and methodology.

[bastet_2 · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

This is the only Joyce book I've ever been able to get through. I loved it though. I thought it would prime me for Ulysses, but I've never been able to handle that book.This was marvelous. Magical even.

[salmondaze · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

Alright, I’m not going to lie: it’s probably best that you not go into these books unprepared. The journey from Dubliners to Finnegans Wake (which includes Portrait and Ulysses) is studded with hardship and probable failure. Let’s take a good hard evaluation of where you are: you’ve just finished Dubliners. I know you have, because if you haven’t, then you need to re-evaluate your position and realize that you’re going to get nowhere and fast. It’s said that a number of people fail to finish Ulysses. This is true because a lot of people don’t do their homework and read Dubliners first. It’s also true because Ulysses is James Joyce’s most famous book, and readers often like to think they’re hot shit and can start with that.Many a reader ends up fallen on the road of Ulysses, but don’t let that lead you to rashness when you read Portrait. In fact, I would argue that most of the people who failed to read all of Ulysses would have just as soon failed at Portrait. It contains in essence early versions of techniques that would appear in Ulysses. That being said, is A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man a lesser work of James Joyce’s? That is to say, is it one of those works of art that just so happens to get eclipsed by a later piece by the same artist?Probably the best example I can think of outside of this would be Reservoir Dogs to Pulp Fiction. To me, Reservoir Dogs showed many of the things that would make Pulp Fiction great, but what makes Pulp Fiction the superior movie can pretty much be summed up in the character of Jules Winfield, who has an epiphany and decides to change directions in his life- much like a story out of Dubliners, albeit highly stylized and exaggerated.That being said, does this mean that Leopold Bloom is Ulysses’s Jules Winfield? I will discuss further when the topic comes up. For now, I can only tell you positively that A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is no Reservoir Dogs. It is, in fact a masterpiece in its own right, and any supposed inferiorities it must contain only appear as such because it pales in comparison to Ulysses, the greatest novel of the 20th century- and that by a good length of head and shoulders. How can I say this? Simple. All you have to do is compare this relatively small book (Joyce’s smallest novel) to anything William Faulkner ever wrote and you shall quickly see not only where Faulkner derives his technique, but who achieves that technique to a greater degree and with more skill. Yes, it’s that good.Also, we can note that there are quite a few properties that differentiate this incredibly interesting small novel from its younger, bigger, more well-known brother. First, the text has been touted as being outright autobiographical by James Joyce. Naturally, it covers a lot more time than the diurnal Ulysses or the nocturnal Finnegans Wake. It gives the reader an excellent start on Ulysses by introducing the characters of Stephen Dedalus (who is James Joyce) and Simon Dedalus (who is John Joyce), both playing large characters in that work. It also shows itself to different in its themes from Ulysses. While the latter can be said to be variously about father-son relationships, the love between man and woman, and Shakespeare (amongst others), the former is about the roles country, religion, and family play in life, the development of the artist as such, and Aristotle and Aquinas (amongst others).To discuss further the plot, the novel traces the life of Stephen Dedalus as he goes through childhood and adolescence and chronicles his personal journey to become an artist. True to habit, James Joyce loved to use real life for his fiction and used it extensively not only for this book but for all of his books and all of his other work. There’s not much in terms of science fiction or invention here, although I have read an unconvincing argument Cliff’s Notes tried to rally that Stephen Dedalus was not James Joyce at all. It really pointed to what are ultimately minor differences between the character and the person.The book chronicles an accident Stephen had where he broke his glasses, was forced to read without them despite the fact that his doctor told him not to, had a stand with a prostitute in Dublin, and experienced a fiery sermon (or catechism) by a priest and felt subsequent guilt about his stand, and then explained his complex philosophy to his peers which derived from Aristotle and Aquinas. These events are important enough on their own, but the real draw is in having Stephen’s thoughts presented on the events throughout. Once again, not light reading by any stretch, but something akin to reading The Sound and the Fury if you need a point of reference.

[aaronmaples · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

Very enjoyable for its influential literary style. As someone reading from quite a different generation, the story wasn't enough to keep it afloat on its own but more than makes up for it in punctuation. Moved through it fairly quickly, so would be worthy of a second read to reveal more depth- it is certainly there.

[billmcn_1 · Nota: 4 de 5 estrelas]

The exception to my rule that novels whose protagonists are sensitive young men aspiring to be novelists are too insufferably self-regarding to be enjoyable. Joyce pulls it off, but he is a really good writer I guess. I still love the fifty page sermon about hell.

[aethercowboy · Nota: 4 de 5 estrelas]

James Joyce. Really, what more needs to be said about something bearing his name?If you haven’t ever read Joyce, I imagine I should probably go on. In A Portait of the Artist as a Young Man, Joyce sets off on a novel that defines Joyce in the literary annals. The novel, a semiautobiographical account of Joyce’s own upbringing, starts with the Artist (called Stephen Dedalus) as a young child, and progresses through his young adulthood. As he ages, not only does he glimpse the world through older and clearer lenses, but also the writing style and vocabulary reflects his advancement in learning.Reading the book provides the participant two things (among others): First is the interesting way through which Joyce crafts his narrative to age with the protagonist, and second is the interesting story it tells.I recommend this, especially if you are considering scaling Ulysses or Finnegans Wake. Portrait will give you a glimpse of what to expect as you’re dangling from one dangerous precipice or another.

[trotsky731 · Nota: 4 de 5 estrelas]

Good. Not Great. This being the only Joyce book that I have read so far, I can see how many academics see him as one of the greatest writers ever. However I can't see what their love affair with this book is. I think it was a well-written book but nothing jumped out at me that said that this book is one of the all time top five, as it is constantly rated. It is just a story of a young boy in Ireland who becomes a man but it doesn't come across as some work of brilliance. Again it is good not great. A great storyteller with a not so great story.

[ericfitz08 · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

My all time, hands down, favorite book. The classic coming of age tale of Stephen Dedalus in late 19th, early 20th century Dublin is the golden stadard of wordsmanship. A Portrait is challenging but rewarding with pleanty of depth but more accessible than some of Joyce's later works.

[kendrarenee · Nota: 2 de 5 estrelas]

Definitely a disappointment, after the glowing reports I'd gotten from reviews and from friends' recommendations who've read the book. There were some inspiring passages that I really resonated with, like Stephen Dedaelus's conversion experience, eventually disinherited.. or his walk along the coast where he describes the scene in such detail that you know James Joyce is speaking out of personal experience... But if you don't identify with the author at any point, how can you even want to suffer through it? In general, this book is a rambling exercise in pointless intellectual thoughts, which is anticlimactic enough to feel entirely purposeless. What IS the story, anyway? Ok, a boy grows up... and fantasizes about girls and sex a lot. Where's the story there? I've rarely been this hard on a proven "classic" before, but I'll make an exception. Note to editors: please don't put footnotes in your novels, it's incredible annoying no matter how much you might think it illuminates the text. Repeatedly suggesting that the reader isn't understanding something in a book SO vague that, clearly, NOTHING should be understood, and then only citing irrelevant history, dates & all, behind the song or the building or the person just mentioned, is infuriating. I mean, I take all this trouble to page ALL the way to the back of the book for an explanation that may somehow transform this whole tiresome reading experience for me, and you're giving me a 3-paragraph long HISTORY LESSON? How about making your first and only footnote about the elusive point of this book?

[engpunk77 · Nota: 1 de 5 estrelas]

Required reading, college. I have no interest in stream of consciousness writing. It drives me mad.

[dinadansfriend · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

An autobiographical novel, it is very conventional compared to where he was going for the rest of his life. He chooses his framework characters, the male parts of the Daedalus family, and thyeir relationships to the growing Stephen.

[pummzie · Nota: 4 de 5 estrelas]

I read this as a precursor to attacking Ulysses and was not sure what to expect. It was not a difficult read but it does demand your attention -it certainly wasn't the book I picked up when I was tired. It follows the development of a young Irish boy, Stephen (closely modelled on Joyce's own life) to adulthood.What I loved about it was Joyce's grasp of language, his use of his erudition and the sheer daring of some of its passages in dealing with its subject matter- particularly with respect to Catholicism and the political and religious tussles in Ireland at that time as well as the temptations that both test young Stephen and inform his choices.Each of the five chapters follows its own arc and I found that I felt quite differently about each of them. As Stephen ages, the complexity of the langauge and ideas evolve with him and by the final chapter, having been to hell and back, I was completely convinced by the mental development of Stephen and his mastery over his own conscience. If you are interested in originality, style and economy of words to convey a plethora of connections and ideas, then don't let it languish on the shelf any longer!

[evertrap · Nota: 1 de 5 estrelas]

Totally worthless.

[pockettheroach · Nota: 4 de 5 estrelas]

I don't much care for the later parts in the book, but the beginning--Stephen's childhood--is, in my opinion, one of the greatest and most beautiful bits of words ever put to paper. That alone is reason to pick this up, and as a sort of "gateway" book between the easy-to-read Dubliners and the notoriously difficult Ulysses, it works beautifully.

[anabellebf · Nota: 3 de 5 estrelas]

I read this in preparation for a Joyce class I will start next week, focusing on Ulysses. I am very glad I did, because this book has inventive style, a gripping storyline and a representation of social issues not unlike Quebec's in the 50's and 60's - and is a good introduction to the kind of experiments Joyce makes in Ulysses.The development of an artistic mind striving for freedom is fascinating when put in Joyce's lyricism and grand eloquence. I was scared by Joyce at first but now I feel more confident than ever that I can enjoy and appreciate his work.

[mind_wanderer · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

I have read one other book by James Joyce and was prepared for the dense language that is the first hurdle in reading his work. But aside from having to reread lines and paragraphs, or even pages at a time I thoroughly enjoyed this book.It is the life of a young Irish man named Stephen Dedalus, growing up from childhood to adulthood, and encountering everything his life was set up to be. It is the story of his struggle to accept religion, and his path to what he will one day become. The story shines the light on this young inquisitive mind, and the processes the mind takes from being a boy to being a man. You encounter the turbulence it goes through via religion, love, lust, friendship, and passion; and how the mind is ever changing on the quest of life and purpose.

[lisamaria_c · Nota: 4 de 5 estrelas]

James Joyce's Ulysses from what I can gather is Ground Zero for all I detest in modern literature: the stream of consciousness technique with its confusing nonsequitors, the lack of quotation marks, and often crudeness. On the other hand, I do remember very much liking his short story collection, Dubliners. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is midway between Dubliners and Ulysses. In fact, I read it because I decided I wanted to give Ulysses a fair chance and was told reading Portrait first is a must, since it's something of a prequel. It's the coming of age story of Stephen Daedalus, one of three central characters in Ulysses.Portrait does have those hallmarks of modern literature I feel so much distaste for. Quotation marks are replaced with dashes--I read that James Joyce found them "eyesores." So now I know who to curse for all those wannabe artistes utilizing a practice that makes dialogue much, much harder to parse. Thanks ever so much Joyce! Although it was less confusing I admit than with a lot of faux Joyces--Joyce has a way with the rhythm and structure that did make things flow well. And stream of consciousness? Yes, it's there--although with a lighter touch than in say Virginia Woolf's Mrs Dalloway, and I never found myself going "Huh???" And there are the occasional crudities--prostitutes, lice, fart jokes. We're not in Victoria's Britain anymore!For all that, yes, I did like this a lot more than I expected. I have to admit it--a lot of the prose really was beautiful and called out to my magpie soul transfixed by the shiny. The title is a misnomer for we don't start with a young man, but with an infant and two-thirds of the book are taken up with childhood and adolescence. And that stream of consciousness technique worked beautifully in the beginning in evoking the mind of a child. Starting with a "once upon a time" fairy tale beginning and ending with the diary entries of the emerging artist, Joyce brilliantly depicts the different stages of a maturing psyche from small boy to devout teen to angry and estranged (and inspired) young man. There were times I wanted to cheer for and hug Stephen--such as when he as a small boy dared to go to the Rector to complain about the brutality of a teacher. And times when I surprisingly could recognize myself in him.I rather admire aspects of Joyce's writing rather than loving it here enough to call this a true favorite. Among other things, Joyce does go on and on at times. Such as one really, really long drawn-out discussion between Stephen and a friend about aesthetics that made my eyes glaze over. And I still don't much like the modernist touches in Joyce's style. Give me Austen or Forster--or Chabon or Byatt or Atwood for that matter. The brother to William Faulkner and Virginia Woolf and father of Don Delillo, E. L. Doctorow, and Cormac McCarthy? Not so much. But even I can admire the psychological richness and the pretty, pretty prose in this one.

[dreamingtereza_1 · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

Impossibly good (as is all Joyce). For weeks after finishing this one, I wished that I were an Irish Catholic schoolboy, and I threw myself into a fit of reading Byron.

[cecrow · Nota: 5 de 5 estrelas]

This novel took me three times as long to read as it might have. A third of my time I spent reading it, a third reading about it, and another third lost in daydreaming and memories as time after time Joyce hit something from my experience so squarely on the nose that it sent me reeling.It didn't begin at all well. A title that reads like a subtitle, an opening line about a moocow, a stream-of-consciousness narrative with glimpses of scenes in fits and starts ... I feared the whole novel would be like this, until I understood it was a child's apprehension of the world. Confusion swiftly gave way to respect. James Joyce had a great talent for recapturing not only the events of childhood but also the much more difficult to remember perceptions, how a young boy takes in and processes what he learns about the world. I would never have recalled it quite this way, and yet it echoes with truth. The boy ages and the same truth shines from the page with each passing year and event, as how he perceives and what he perceives alter with time. He discovers the world is not black-and-white, that not all arguments have tidy resolutions, that the opposite sex is only human too, that religion cannot provide definitive answers, that destiny calls from within. He's still got his blind spots, though: he's stubborn about letting the world in, about taking responsibility for anyone or caring about his roots, and he's far too full of himself and his accumulated learning. But what's an artist without a surfeit of pride?I took the title to be self-referential to Joyce, but it's meant more generically; this is the development of a fictional artist's mind from childhood to self-identity as such, although with biographical elements borrowed from Joyce's own life. Surprisingly accessible (if not so much as "Dubliners"), the only sticking part for me were the big long diatribes about hell and damnation which don't really get examined but pull no punches as an example of what was being knocked into Catholic Irish boys' heads, and maybe still are in some dark corners of the world. I'm bound to deeply admire this book, one I'm stunned by for how well it got inside my head and toured me through episodes from my own life, like a tourist guide who remembers me better than I do.

[mnlohman · Nota: 2 de 5 estrelas]

I know it's a great classic, and I love things Irish, but I couldn't make it through this book. Autobiographical story of james Joyce's youth. The Thomas Wolfe of Ireland; doesn't know when to quit writing description. Pages upon pages about how the Catholic church laid plenty of guilt on and caused major political rifts among families. Give me Angela's Ashes anyday!