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Reauthorizing Joyce
This work transforms the popular image of Joyce's institutional authority by offering a more complicated model of Joyce's methods of reading. The author presents new readings of Joyce's major works with an increased awareness of the politics of style.
240 pages, Hardcover
First published July 29, 1988
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
January 21, 2023
Excelente y le pondría diez estrellas. Para mi gusto se centra un poco demasiado en temas textiles pero está todo tan increíblemente bien escrito que a punto estoy de empezármelo otra vez.
May 1, 2024
This is a feast for thought which Vicki got us. While digging through Joyce's corpse and its literal remains she finds gold, emerald and all possible shiny and fascinating stuff that tingles my brains in a pleasant way and force my eyes to see everything from some quite a lot of different new angles. She stays true to original, while making her own words be said through Joyce's. A fresh blood pumped into every book he wrote.
The terms "author" and "authority" the author writes (pun is intended) share the same root and in some way have the same meaning - the one who's in command. She manages to snatch that shit out of dirty oldfarts making living out of deading James Joyce into her vicious and oh-so-delightfully clever hands and into ours as readers. She's sort of Robin Hood, who stole from rich academia a privilege to enjoy and fabricate your own Joyce, back to people. She is Prometheus of Joyce, in one of the few good senses it means.
Joyce is just a vehicle for her witty and ever interesting thought, which could be only tithed down
to one single and solid (in a good bad way) idea: text and texture is the same thing. The idea turns out to be so fruitful that stems with a shifting perspectives for a reading, one not excluding the other, enhancing and making it fuller and more rich. We all are just clothes, she says, everything is in a sense. There is not single core to the onion of human, only layers and layers of textures. And it's ugly and beautiful at the same time and none of that. The whole point is in the acceptance of fragmentarity and rejection to reduce anything to one.
It was a pure joy(ce) to read. It made me struggle though another 10 pages of Finnegan's Wake.
The terms "author" and "authority" the author writes (pun is intended) share the same root and in some way have the same meaning - the one who's in command. She manages to snatch that shit out of dirty oldfarts making living out of deading James Joyce into her vicious and oh-so-delightfully clever hands and into ours as readers. She's sort of Robin Hood, who stole from rich academia a privilege to enjoy and fabricate your own Joyce, back to people. She is Prometheus of Joyce, in one of the few good senses it means.
Joyce is just a vehicle for her witty and ever interesting thought, which could be only tithed down
to one single and solid (in a good bad way) idea: text and texture is the same thing. The idea turns out to be so fruitful that stems with a shifting perspectives for a reading, one not excluding the other, enhancing and making it fuller and more rich. We all are just clothes, she says, everything is in a sense. There is not single core to the onion of human, only layers and layers of textures. And it's ugly and beautiful at the same time and none of that. The whole point is in the acceptance of fragmentarity and rejection to reduce anything to one.
It was a pure joy(ce) to read. It made me struggle though another 10 pages of Finnegan's Wake.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews