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Аравия
Один из лучших рассказов сборника "Дублинцы"
5 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 1914
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About the author
James Joyce
1,702 books9,448 followersJames Joyce was an Irish novelist, poet, and a pivotal figure in 20th-century modernist literature, renowned for his highly experimental approach to language and narrative structure, particularly his pioneering mastery and popularization of the stream-of-consciousness technique. Born into a middle-class Catholic family in the Rathgar suburb of Dublin in 1882, Joyce spent the majority of his adult life in self-imposed exile across continental Europe—living in Trieste, Zurich, and Paris—yet his entire, meticulous body of work remained obsessively and comprehensively focused on the minutiae of his native city, making Dublin both the meticulously detailed setting and a central, inescapable character in his literary universe. His work is consistently characterized by its technical complexity, rich literary allusion, intricate symbolism, and an unflinching examination of the spectrum of human consciousness. Joyce began his published career with Dubliners (1914), a collection of fifteen short stories offering a naturalistic, often stark, depiction of middle-class Irish life and the moral and spiritual paralysis he observed in its inhabitants, concluding each story with a moment of crucial, sudden self-understanding he termed an "epiphany." This collection was followed by the highly autobiographical novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916), a Bildungsroman that meticulously chronicled the intellectual and artistic awakening of its protagonist, Stephen Dedalus, who would become Joyce's recurring alter ego and intellectual stand-in throughout his major works.
His magnum opus, Ulysses (1922), is universally regarded as a landmark work of fiction that fundamentally revolutionized the novel form. It compressed the events of a single, ordinary day—June 16, 1904, a date now globally celebrated by literary enthusiasts as "Bloomsday"—into a sprawling, epic narrative that structurally and symbolically paralleled Homer's Odyssey, using a dazzling array of distinct styles and linguistic invention across its eighteen episodes to explore the lives of Leopold Bloom, his wife Molly Bloom, and Stephen Dedalus in hyper-minute detail. The novel's explicit content and innovative, challenging structure led to its initial banning for obscenity in the United States and the United Kingdom, turning Joyce into a cause célèbre for artistic freedom and the boundaries of literary expression. His final, most challenging work, Finnegans Wake (1939), pushed the boundaries of language and conventional narrative even further, employing a dense, dream-like prose filled with multilingual puns, invented portmanteau words, and layered allusions that continues to divide and challenge readers and scholars to this day. A dedicated polyglot who reportedly learned several languages, including Norwegian simply to read Ibsen in the original, Joyce approached the English language not as a fixed entity with rigid rules, but as a malleable medium capable of infinite reinvention and expression. His personal life was marked by an unwavering dedication to his literary craft, a complex, devoted relationship with his wife Nora Barnacle, and chronic, debilitating eye problems that necessitated numerous painful surgeries throughout his life, sometimes forcing him to write with crayons on large white paper. Despite these severe physical ailments and financial struggles, his singular literary vision remained sharp, focused, and profoundly revolutionary. Joyce passed away in Zurich, Switzerland, in 1941, shortly after undergoing one of his many eye operations. Today, he is widely regarded as perhaps the most significant and challenging writer of the 20th century. His immense, complex legacy is robustly maintained by global academic study and institutions such as the James Joyce Centre in Dublin, which ensures his complex, demanding, and utterly brilliant work endures, inviting new generations of readers to explore the very essence of what it means to be hum
His magnum opus, Ulysses (1922), is universally regarded as a landmark work of fiction that fundamentally revolutionized the novel form. It compressed the events of a single, ordinary day—June 16, 1904, a date now globally celebrated by literary enthusiasts as "Bloomsday"—into a sprawling, epic narrative that structurally and symbolically paralleled Homer's Odyssey, using a dazzling array of distinct styles and linguistic invention across its eighteen episodes to explore the lives of Leopold Bloom, his wife Molly Bloom, and Stephen Dedalus in hyper-minute detail. The novel's explicit content and innovative, challenging structure led to its initial banning for obscenity in the United States and the United Kingdom, turning Joyce into a cause célèbre for artistic freedom and the boundaries of literary expression. His final, most challenging work, Finnegans Wake (1939), pushed the boundaries of language and conventional narrative even further, employing a dense, dream-like prose filled with multilingual puns, invented portmanteau words, and layered allusions that continues to divide and challenge readers and scholars to this day. A dedicated polyglot who reportedly learned several languages, including Norwegian simply to read Ibsen in the original, Joyce approached the English language not as a fixed entity with rigid rules, but as a malleable medium capable of infinite reinvention and expression. His personal life was marked by an unwavering dedication to his literary craft, a complex, devoted relationship with his wife Nora Barnacle, and chronic, debilitating eye problems that necessitated numerous painful surgeries throughout his life, sometimes forcing him to write with crayons on large white paper. Despite these severe physical ailments and financial struggles, his singular literary vision remained sharp, focused, and profoundly revolutionary. Joyce passed away in Zurich, Switzerland, in 1941, shortly after undergoing one of his many eye operations. Today, he is widely regarded as perhaps the most significant and challenging writer of the 20th century. His immense, complex legacy is robustly maintained by global academic study and institutions such as the James Joyce Centre in Dublin, which ensures his complex, demanding, and utterly brilliant work endures, inviting new generations of readers to explore the very essence of what it means to be hum
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December 17, 2024
But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
Only the name of Araby suffices to evoke the geography of the dream. Juicy fruit, aromatic spices, sublime fragrances, the intensity of the desert sun, sensual pleasures, the promise of a feast of the senses, the storytelling from the Arabian Nights. Infatuation opens a world beyond children’s play in the muddy, wintry streets of Dublin. Just as evanescent as a few drops of perfume scent however, the dream soon dissipates. Disappointment segues promise.
A sensuous and bittersweet story about yearning, sexual awakening and youthful expectation in which disenchantment eventually will shine through as the base note of the perfume once the alluring top notes have evaporated. After all, what is perfume more than a blend of alcohol and oil which turns out non-potable, leaving a bitter taste in the mouth when one nonetheless tries to imbibe it?
Part of Dubliners(1914), the story can be read here.
Only the name of Araby suffices to evoke the geography of the dream. Juicy fruit, aromatic spices, sublime fragrances, the intensity of the desert sun, sensual pleasures, the promise of a feast of the senses, the storytelling from the Arabian Nights. Infatuation opens a world beyond children’s play in the muddy, wintry streets of Dublin. Just as evanescent as a few drops of perfume scent however, the dream soon dissipates. Disappointment segues promise.
A sensuous and bittersweet story about yearning, sexual awakening and youthful expectation in which disenchantment eventually will shine through as the base note of the perfume once the alluring top notes have evaporated. After all, what is perfume more than a blend of alcohol and oil which turns out non-potable, leaving a bitter taste in the mouth when one nonetheless tries to imbibe it?
Part of Dubliners(1914), the story can be read here.
March 24, 2017
This is my favourite short story from Joyce’s excellent collection Dubliners because it shows the development of Western to Eastern perceptions in only just a few decades. And, not only that, the narrator grows from his initial state of ignorance and develops as a person, both intellectually and emotionally in just a few pages. It’s a great piece of writing.
Previously, all we have had with Victorian literature is a racist representation of the Orient. They saw it as underdeveloped compared to the West, though they also saw it as mystifying and seductive. It held a power over the white observer’s mind. I’m generalising here, but the authors I’m referring to here, to name a few, are Ryder Haggard, Joseph Conrad and Bram Stoker. Joyce is a modernist and he considers the East slightly differently.
Indeed, his story begins with a young naïve man who completely falls in love with a woman pretty much on first sight. He loves the idea of her. She tells him she is visiting the circus Araby and he becomes besotted with the idea. He falls in love with the location, a break from his boring life of monotony. He envisions her as a personification of this eastern seduction and the circus itself becomes an idea, an ideal location that is enchanting and orientalised. The boy observes this woman, and longs for the idea of her. She has complete power of his mind and she is none the wiser:
“My body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”
“The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me.”
So initially we have an orientalised girl and location, but when the boy arrives at the circus he is hit with reality. The circus is not enchanting. It’s just an ordinary drab circus with a few basic things. There’s no sense of magic or wonder. And here in lies the crux of Joyce’s take on the East. He is, essentially, saying that this sense of seduction, though real to the perception of the West, doesn’t actually exist. How positively progressive! He moves forward from the Victorian representation that took such images for fact, and though he does use the stereotypes at the start of the story, it is only to move forward and represent this idea of disillusionment:
“Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.”
Of all the modernists, I think Joyce has the loudest voice. Well, he is my favourite anyway! There’s such a strong transformation within this story. I’m still reading through Ulysses and I have been for almost four months. But I’m taking my time with it. I’m taking it one line at a time, chewing it over slowly as I contemplate what he is trying to say. I’m only a third of the way through it, and eventually I will be leaving a rather large review of it on here. Joyce is, certainly, a great writer.
Previously, all we have had with Victorian literature is a racist representation of the Orient. They saw it as underdeveloped compared to the West, though they also saw it as mystifying and seductive. It held a power over the white observer’s mind. I’m generalising here, but the authors I’m referring to here, to name a few, are Ryder Haggard, Joseph Conrad and Bram Stoker. Joyce is a modernist and he considers the East slightly differently.
Indeed, his story begins with a young naïve man who completely falls in love with a woman pretty much on first sight. He loves the idea of her. She tells him she is visiting the circus Araby and he becomes besotted with the idea. He falls in love with the location, a break from his boring life of monotony. He envisions her as a personification of this eastern seduction and the circus itself becomes an idea, an ideal location that is enchanting and orientalised. The boy observes this woman, and longs for the idea of her. She has complete power of his mind and she is none the wiser:
“My body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”
“The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me.”
So initially we have an orientalised girl and location, but when the boy arrives at the circus he is hit with reality. The circus is not enchanting. It’s just an ordinary drab circus with a few basic things. There’s no sense of magic or wonder. And here in lies the crux of Joyce’s take on the East. He is, essentially, saying that this sense of seduction, though real to the perception of the West, doesn’t actually exist. How positively progressive! He moves forward from the Victorian representation that took such images for fact, and though he does use the stereotypes at the start of the story, it is only to move forward and represent this idea of disillusionment:
“Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.”
Of all the modernists, I think Joyce has the loudest voice. Well, he is my favourite anyway! There’s such a strong transformation within this story. I’m still reading through Ulysses and I have been for almost four months. But I’m taking my time with it. I’m taking it one line at a time, chewing it over slowly as I contemplate what he is trying to say. I’m only a third of the way through it, and eventually I will be leaving a rather large review of it on here. Joyce is, certainly, a great writer.
September 29, 2022
Short stories, like poetry, thrive on concision and precision. From the opening paragraph, Joyce delivers:
“North Richmond Street, being blind, was a quiet street except at the hour when the Christian Brothers' School set the boys free.”
Blind… quiet… Christian Brothers… free.
It continues:
“An uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end, detached from its neighbours in a square ground. The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.”
Uninhabited… detached… conscious… decent lives… imperturbable faces.
I’ve never been to Dublin, let alone before the wars, but I feel I know that little area already.
Expectations vs reality
It’s a simple vignette of a boy who is young enough to play on the streets with his friends:
“The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street… 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.”
But he’s also old enough to have his first serious, but unrealistic, crush:
“Her dress swung as she moved her body, and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side.”
He’s in that liminal time between childhood and puberty, at one point, literally looking down on his friends playing in the street as he thinks longingly of Mangan's sister.
Image: A journey that looks simple can be beset by hidden obstacles (Source)
He is suffocated literally and mentally by living in a home where an old priest died. Walking through “the flaring streets” amid drunkards, that heritage is clear:
“I imagined that I bore my chalice [of love] safely through a throng of foes.”
But sex is secular too. He daren’t tell of his feelings, but he watches, follows, and fantasises:
“My body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”
Such images are burned in memory forever:
“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.”
I, too, remember the weight of hope, burdened by desperate uncertainty about what to say and do.
She speaks to him! She asks if he’s going to Araby - “a splendid bazaar”.
“The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me… I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.”
Atheist though I am, I recalled 1 Corinthians 13, v11:
“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”
Hope and passion rise in expectation of exotic and erotic delights, of Araby and Mangan's sister.
See also
• The vast and daunting reputation of Ulysses means I hadn’t read anything by Joyce until now. This is one of fifteen short stories in Dubliners, and after this, I read The Dead, which is the last and longest story in that, and which I reviewed HERE. The reality of both far exceeded my expectations, though the latter only redeemed itself at the very end.
• The aspirations, agonies, and disappointments of sexual awakening reminded of Carson McCullers’ very different example in The Member of the Wedding, which I reviewed HERE.
Short story club
I read this as one of the stories in The Art of the Short Story, by Dana Gioia, from which I'm aiming to read one story a week with The Short Story Club, starting 2 May 2022.
You can read this story here.
You can join the group here.
“North Richmond Street, being blind, was a quiet street except at the hour when the Christian Brothers' School set the boys free.”
Blind… quiet… Christian Brothers… free.
It continues:
“An uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end, detached from its neighbours in a square ground. The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.”
Uninhabited… detached… conscious… decent lives… imperturbable faces.
I’ve never been to Dublin, let alone before the wars, but I feel I know that little area already.
Expectations vs reality
It’s a simple vignette of a boy who is young enough to play on the streets with his friends:
“The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street… 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.”
But he’s also old enough to have his first serious, but unrealistic, crush:
“Her dress swung as she moved her body, and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side.”
He’s in that liminal time between childhood and puberty, at one point, literally looking down on his friends playing in the street as he thinks longingly of Mangan's sister.
Image: A journey that looks simple can be beset by hidden obstacles (Source)
He is suffocated literally and mentally by living in a home where an old priest died. Walking through “the flaring streets” amid drunkards, that heritage is clear:
“I imagined that I bore my chalice [of love] safely through a throng of foes.”
But sex is secular too. He daren’t tell of his feelings, but he watches, follows, and fantasises:
“My body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”
Such images are burned in memory forever:
“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.”
I, too, remember the weight of hope, burdened by desperate uncertainty about what to say and do.
She speaks to him! She asks if he’s going to Araby - “a splendid bazaar”.
“The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me… I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.”
Atheist though I am, I recalled 1 Corinthians 13, v11:
“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”
Hope and passion rise in expectation of exotic and erotic delights, of Araby and Mangan's sister.
See also
• The vast and daunting reputation of Ulysses means I hadn’t read anything by Joyce until now. This is one of fifteen short stories in Dubliners, and after this, I read The Dead, which is the last and longest story in that, and which I reviewed HERE. The reality of both far exceeded my expectations, though the latter only redeemed itself at the very end.
• The aspirations, agonies, and disappointments of sexual awakening reminded of Carson McCullers’ very different example in The Member of the Wedding, which I reviewed HERE.
Short story club
I read this as one of the stories in The Art of the Short Story, by Dana Gioia, from which I'm aiming to read one story a week with The Short Story Club, starting 2 May 2022.
You can read this story here.
You can join the group here.
July 30, 2021
read this for uni, no never again. that is all
October 29, 2023
The Short Story Club
'Araby' is a short story from the collection 'Dubliners'. It tells us about the experiences no teenager can avoid - first love, romantic yearning, a collision with reality (the world of adults), disappointment, bitterness. It always takes me time to adapt myself to the 'density' of Joyce's text.
'(...) The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.'
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
'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.'
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
'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.'
'Araby' is a short story from the collection 'Dubliners'. It tells us about the experiences no teenager can avoid - first love, romantic yearning, a collision with reality (the world of adults), disappointment, bitterness. It always takes me time to adapt myself to the 'density' of Joyce's text.
'(...) The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.'
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
'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.'
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
'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.'
July 27, 2023
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This is a wonderful coming-of-age story by James Joyce that deals with a teenage boy who’s infatuated with a friend‘s sister. He projects into her his most intense and romantic feelings. As he finally gets a chance to speak with her, he promises to visit the bazaar ‚Araby‘ and to bring her a gift. Taking a great effort, he eventually makes it to the bazaar. But it is already late, dark and most of the stalls are closed. He’s lulled in a cloud of disappointment. The short story concludes that the boy gazes up into the darkness and comes to a sudden realisation:
He had been driven by vanity and, therefore he feels angry.
This short story encapsulates a perfect premise with flawless execution for self-reflection!
How many times are we disappointed by our idealisation of persons, places, materials, and our imaginations of love? James Joyce explains this emotional situation with the most logical conclusion. Isn’t it true that anger and frustration arise from disillusion? Isn’t anger and frustration caused by our actions driven by vanity?
Amazing short story with a face-slapping lesson learned to me!
Easy 5 stars! Highly recommended. Many thanks to the most fabulous short story club run by Leonard!!
IG: nilguen_reads
This is a wonderful coming-of-age story by James Joyce that deals with a teenage boy who’s infatuated with a friend‘s sister. He projects into her his most intense and romantic feelings. As he finally gets a chance to speak with her, he promises to visit the bazaar ‚Araby‘ and to bring her a gift. Taking a great effort, he eventually makes it to the bazaar. But it is already late, dark and most of the stalls are closed. He’s lulled in a cloud of disappointment. The short story concludes that the boy gazes up into the darkness and comes to a sudden realisation:
He had been driven by vanity and, therefore he feels angry.
This short story encapsulates a perfect premise with flawless execution for self-reflection!
How many times are we disappointed by our idealisation of persons, places, materials, and our imaginations of love? James Joyce explains this emotional situation with the most logical conclusion. Isn’t it true that anger and frustration arise from disillusion? Isn’t anger and frustration caused by our actions driven by vanity?
Amazing short story with a face-slapping lesson learned to me!
Easy 5 stars! Highly recommended. Many thanks to the most fabulous short story club run by Leonard!!
IG: nilguen_reads
October 18, 2022
Currently I am in a bit of a pickle. A self-made pickle many of you no doubt have experienced before. I happen to be reading 5 books, all brilliant so my spongey brain is saturated with facts, fiction, sage advice, beauty, horror, society's underbelly and class distinctions.
Hence the need, today, to refresh myself with a sweet cup of tea, two ginger nuts and a snappy short story. Something with a beginning an end, nicely tied off with a bow, all in a single sitting.
Enter Araby – by James Joyce. A charming story about a teenage boy infatuated with the sister of one of his mates. This girl lives over the road in an early 1900s Irish City, so our lad gets ample opportunity to see her.
Oh boy, this young fella lost his heart and mind. I’m not sure if teenage girls fall for someone in the same way, but the way Joyce described this lad’s infatuation was a blast from the past for this reader.
I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood
Anyway, he finally gets to speak to her – or more correctly listen to her, his replies are mumbled, he loses the ability to speak (been there). So, he decides to go to a local market, called Araby, to win her heart by buying her a wonderful gift.
How exciting! You’ll have to read this if you want to know what happens. Loved it – this one struck a chord with me. Joyce captured the mood of the boy and the surrounds of working class, early 20th Century Ireland wonderfully – all in 5 pages! The first person narrative made this all the more real.
Another wonderful offering from the highly recommended Short Story Club.
4 stars
Hence the need, today, to refresh myself with a sweet cup of tea, two ginger nuts and a snappy short story. Something with a beginning an end, nicely tied off with a bow, all in a single sitting.
Enter Araby – by James Joyce. A charming story about a teenage boy infatuated with the sister of one of his mates. This girl lives over the road in an early 1900s Irish City, so our lad gets ample opportunity to see her.
Oh boy, this young fella lost his heart and mind. I’m not sure if teenage girls fall for someone in the same way, but the way Joyce described this lad’s infatuation was a blast from the past for this reader.
I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood
Anyway, he finally gets to speak to her – or more correctly listen to her, his replies are mumbled, he loses the ability to speak (been there). So, he decides to go to a local market, called Araby, to win her heart by buying her a wonderful gift.
How exciting! You’ll have to read this if you want to know what happens. Loved it – this one struck a chord with me. Joyce captured the mood of the boy and the surrounds of working class, early 20th Century Ireland wonderfully – all in 5 pages! The first person narrative made this all the more real.
Another wonderful offering from the highly recommended Short Story Club.
4 stars
December 31, 2022
5★
“The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed.”
An Irish boy, playing with his mates, playing until Mangan absolutely must go home. They play until his sister calls, and then they watch to see if she goes back inside or stands impatiently outside, at which time he has to go.
Our boy has a crush on her, though I daresay her brother doesn’t know.
“ Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door. The blind was pulled down to with an inch of the sash so I could not be seen.”
I associate that more with nosy, lace-curtain-twitching old ladies keeping watch on the neighbours, (although I don’t picture them lying on the floor). He thinks of her always, even while helping his aunt with the shopping. He keeps it interesting for himself by making a crusade of his efforts, weaving through the throng of shoppers.
“On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the flaring streets,
. . .
These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes.”
In the old days, we’d say ‘He’s got it, and he’s got it bad!’ Shopping, he is brave. Around her, he seems tongue-tied.
“if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”
Poor kid – but then she speaks to him, asking if he’s going to the bazaar, Araby. Of course he isn’t and of course he says he is. Who is he to disappoint his true love?
“ ‘If I go,’ I said, ‘I will bring you something.’ ”
Promises, promises. This is a touching, accurate portrayal of how intensely young people experience attraction as they slide uneasily from childhood to adulthood, stumbling over all those bumps along the way, certain they are making fools of themselves most of the time.
It’s the third story in Dubliners, which was published in 1914 and is available in many libraries and online for free.
I enjoyed it with the Goodreads Short Story Club, which discussed it here (but wait until you’ve read it to have a look or join in).
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
“The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed.”
An Irish boy, playing with his mates, playing until Mangan absolutely must go home. They play until his sister calls, and then they watch to see if she goes back inside or stands impatiently outside, at which time he has to go.
Our boy has a crush on her, though I daresay her brother doesn’t know.
“ Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door. The blind was pulled down to with an inch of the sash so I could not be seen.”
I associate that more with nosy, lace-curtain-twitching old ladies keeping watch on the neighbours, (although I don’t picture them lying on the floor). He thinks of her always, even while helping his aunt with the shopping. He keeps it interesting for himself by making a crusade of his efforts, weaving through the throng of shoppers.
“On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the flaring streets,
. . .
These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes.”
In the old days, we’d say ‘He’s got it, and he’s got it bad!’ Shopping, he is brave. Around her, he seems tongue-tied.
“if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”
Poor kid – but then she speaks to him, asking if he’s going to the bazaar, Araby. Of course he isn’t and of course he says he is. Who is he to disappoint his true love?
“ ‘If I go,’ I said, ‘I will bring you something.’ ”
Promises, promises. This is a touching, accurate portrayal of how intensely young people experience attraction as they slide uneasily from childhood to adulthood, stumbling over all those bumps along the way, certain they are making fools of themselves most of the time.
It’s the third story in Dubliners, which was published in 1914 and is available in many libraries and online for free.
I enjoyed it with the Goodreads Short Story Club, which discussed it here (but wait until you’ve read it to have a look or join in).
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
November 16, 2011
The most prevalent irony in this short story is the contrast between the dreamlike type of love he feels for the young woman, and the reality of his unrealistically high expectations. The metaphor for this irony is the bazaar Araby, after which the text is appropriately named. The prospect of attending Araby became a feverish obsession for the young narrator the minute the object of his affection expressed interest in the bazaar. When she told him she could not go, he made it his mission to attend and bring her back a memento. Initially it seemed as if the universe had conspired against his going, but like a typical young lover, the narrator used all his might to fight against any force that would prevent him from keeping his engagement. He looked forward to the magic of the bazaar like a young bride looks forward to the day of her marriage. And as if it often happens, the young man too, discovered that there is a gap as wide as the Atlantic Ocean between his expectation of his upcoming adventures, and the tangible reality that surrounds him.
When the day finally arrived and when he at last set foot on the bazaar, not only was it late and almost over, but it was nothing at all like what he expected. His heart dropped like a ton of bricks and his “eyes burned” in anger, shame, and disappointment. The bazaar was nothing like what he imagined, and the same disappointment would probably apply to the girl. The reader is not filled in with any details about the future of any romance between them, but given the fact that all the stories in this short story compilation by James Joyce typically have a cold ending to a bright expectation, it is safe to surmise that his fantasy never exited the realm of the imaginary.
When the day finally arrived and when he at last set foot on the bazaar, not only was it late and almost over, but it was nothing at all like what he expected. His heart dropped like a ton of bricks and his “eyes burned” in anger, shame, and disappointment. The bazaar was nothing like what he imagined, and the same disappointment would probably apply to the girl. The reader is not filled in with any details about the future of any romance between them, but given the fact that all the stories in this short story compilation by James Joyce typically have a cold ending to a bright expectation, it is safe to surmise that his fantasy never exited the realm of the imaginary.
October 2, 2022
The narrator's attitude toward Araby is almost like a secretive infatuation; something akin to the goodnight kiss in The Way by Swann's. The anxiety that prevents from doing all else, the love locked within that one word, the anticipation of visiting as the day wanes, the disappointment whilst facing the silence..
Overall, a beautiful read, and hope to finish Dubliners this year.
Also was reminded of an old Korean poem that evokes a similar feeling to reading Araby(I have roughly translated, as there were no previous translations; therefore it may not be perfect):
Overall, a beautiful read, and hope to finish Dubliners this year.
Also was reminded of an old Korean poem that evokes a similar feeling to reading Araby(I have roughly translated, as there were no previous translations; therefore it may not be perfect):
"He is coming, I finish an early dinner and walk through the inner gate, then the front gate, sit on the threshold, with my hands I screen my face and look across-is he coming?-at the mountains beyond and standing black and white; there he is.
I remove my "bosun(traditional Korean shoes)" and grip it in my hands and rush and scrabble and stumble my way through both muddy swamps and dry grassland, crashing my way through I try to whisper loving words to my beloved, I give him a sideways glance-alas! I have been tricked by the stem of a hemp planted into the field, July 4th of last year.
Thankfully it is night; had it been day, I must have been laughed at."
December 10, 2025
A primeira prova de amor assume neste conto de James Joyce a forma de uma incursão a um bazar, em que o jovem narrador tem de lutar contra a ansiedade e enfrentar vários contratempos para a superar. Requintado.
Até mim chegava a luz dum candeeiro distante, através da janela de outro prédio, e regozijava-me por não ver mais nada. Os meus sentidos dir-se-ia quererem esconder-se, como se soubessem que eu lhes fugia. Apertava as mãos uma contra a outra até que as palmas tremessem. “Amor! Amor!” murmurava então umas poucas de vezes.
Até mim chegava a luz dum candeeiro distante, através da janela de outro prédio, e regozijava-me por não ver mais nada. Os meus sentidos dir-se-ia quererem esconder-se, como se soubessem que eu lhes fugia. Apertava as mãos uma contra a outra até que as palmas tremessem. “Amor! Amor!” murmurava então umas poucas de vezes.
December 20, 2021
إن قلبي مُشفقاً على الفتى المُراهق وهو يقف وحيداً مُرتجفاً أمام عاصفة الحب...
الكاتب المُبدع " جيمس جويس" يتألق في توصيف حال الفتى ، وإن كانت بكلمات مقتضبة تبدو لك مُستغلقة ولكنها عميقة في حقيقة الأمر ، فمن خلال المونولوج الداخلي ترى الكلمات ما بين تلقي وارتداد تتفتح بالمعنى الذي يتضاعف بداخلها مُزهراً بجمال فريد...وإن بادرت بأن تقطتف إحداه يبزغ الآخر للتو وتقف حائراً متساءلاً ماذا عساي أن أفعل ؟!....
الشوارع صامتة تحتضن منازل تبدو قاتمة يحتمي بها أصحابها من ليال البرد القاسية...ومصابيح الإنارة الخافتة تؤكد على إن الأيام كئيبة رتيبة...
ولكن عندما يقع الفتى في الحب وفي أشد الأماكن صخباً بالأصوات المتلاطمة تراها تتلاشى ما أن ينطق اسمها...
يستحضر صورة طيفها غائمة مشوشة فهو لم يلتقيها إلا بلحظات عابرة ولم يتلقى منها سوى كلمات قليلة تكاد لا تشكل مقطعاً...
مسكين الفتى لم ينعم بلذة الحب ، لم يتراءى له حلماً ، لم يختلق حواراً يجمعهما ، كان مُعذباً أسيراً للهواجس ويتوق لإخفاء مشاعره التي يخونها تلك التمتمة التي تنسل من بين شفتيه " آه من الحب "...
ذاك الحب لم يكسر رتابة الأيام..ولم يقضي على مللها...
الفتى كان في حالة انتظار دائم لما يجهل ماهيته...
ها هو يتوجه إلى " بازار عربي" لكي يحضر لها شيئاً...
ما أن يصل ..تراه يتذكر بصعوبة لماذا هو هناك ؟!...
ينصت لمحادثة دارت بين فتاة وشابين :
هى : لم أقل شيئاً كهذا على الإطلاق
اوه بل قلتِ ذلك...
لم أقل ذلك
ألم تقل هى ذلك؟
بلى سمعتها..
أوه...هناك..كذب
محادثة تبدو لك صغيرة تتساءل وما جدواها ؟
كما لو أنها تخبرك بأن تمعن بحال الفتى، سيبدو لك يعيش في كذبة ما..وهم يستولي عليه يدعو للشك ...لا تدري أين الحقيقة ؟
بالنهاية تراه يحدق بالظلام ويرى نفسه مخلوقاً يقوده الغرور ويسخر منه وتشتعل عيناه ألماً وغضباً....
يرافقني طيفها حتى في أشد الأماكن عداءً للرومانسية....
الكاتب المُبدع " جيمس جويس" يتألق في توصيف حال الفتى ، وإن كانت بكلمات مقتضبة تبدو لك مُستغلقة ولكنها عميقة في حقيقة الأمر ، فمن خلال المونولوج الداخلي ترى الكلمات ما بين تلقي وارتداد تتفتح بالمعنى الذي يتضاعف بداخلها مُزهراً بجمال فريد...وإن بادرت بأن تقطتف إحداه يبزغ الآخر للتو وتقف حائراً متساءلاً ماذا عساي أن أفعل ؟!....
الشوارع صامتة تحتضن منازل تبدو قاتمة يحتمي بها أصحابها من ليال البرد القاسية...ومصابيح الإنارة الخافتة تؤكد على إن الأيام كئيبة رتيبة...
ولكن عندما يقع الفتى في الحب وفي أشد الأماكن صخباً بالأصوات المتلاطمة تراها تتلاشى ما أن ينطق اسمها...
يستحضر صورة طيفها غائمة مشوشة فهو لم يلتقيها إلا بلحظات عابرة ولم يتلقى منها سوى كلمات قليلة تكاد لا تشكل مقطعاً...
مسكين الفتى لم ينعم بلذة الحب ، لم يتراءى له حلماً ، لم يختلق حواراً يجمعهما ، كان مُعذباً أسيراً للهواجس ويتوق لإخفاء مشاعره التي يخونها تلك التمتمة التي تنسل من بين شفتيه " آه من الحب "...
ذاك الحب لم يكسر رتابة الأيام..ولم يقضي على مللها...
الفتى كان في حالة انتظار دائم لما يجهل ماهيته...
ها هو يتوجه إلى " بازار عربي" لكي يحضر لها شيئاً...
ما أن يصل ..تراه يتذكر بصعوبة لماذا هو هناك ؟!...
ينصت لمحادثة دارت بين فتاة وشابين :
هى : لم أقل شيئاً كهذا على الإطلاق
اوه بل قلتِ ذلك...
لم أقل ذلك
ألم تقل هى ذلك؟
بلى سمعتها..
أوه...هناك..كذب
محادثة تبدو لك صغيرة تتساءل وما جدواها ؟
كما لو أنها تخبرك بأن تمعن بحال الفتى، سيبدو لك يعيش في كذبة ما..وهم يستولي عليه يدعو للشك ...لا تدري أين الحقيقة ؟
بالنهاية تراه يحدق بالظلام ويرى نفسه مخلوقاً يقوده الغرور ويسخر منه وتشتعل عيناه ألماً وغضباً....
يرافقني طيفها حتى في أشد الأماكن عداءً للرومانسية....
October 15, 2019
You know, I think we've all had our own araby. Your career can be your araby, or your marriage, or your first love etc. What amazes me is how universal the theme of araby is. The juxtaposition between dreams vs reality is certainly spot-on and it acknowledges the reality that our own araby may not be as grand or as beautiful as how we expect it to be when we get there.
If you analyze the story superficially, you may find it cliche, but if you look at the sub-text or the hidden meaning behind the story, you'd start to see that araby isn't really about a blossoming young love. It's about our pre-conceived notions when it comes to our dreams, and how in reality, things aren't really as perfect as how we expect it to be when we get there and most of the time, we would end up disappointed.
Did I find the message of araby negative? No. It's pure realism if you ask me and just like with any good work incorporating realism, the scenario may be dark, but the reader is supposed to get something positive out of it. Araby may have ended on a sad note, but with every end comes a new beginning. I think the purpose of the bleak epiphany, is to efficiently strike the message to the readers. It allows us to understand and acknowledge this sad reality.
In my opinion, the author explored the theme in a marvelous and masterful way. The writing is skillful, the details are spot-on and the characters feel fleshed out even if the story is really short.
This might be my all time favorite short story so far.
If you analyze the story superficially, you may find it cliche, but if you look at the sub-text or the hidden meaning behind the story, you'd start to see that araby isn't really about a blossoming young love. It's about our pre-conceived notions when it comes to our dreams, and how in reality, things aren't really as perfect as how we expect it to be when we get there and most of the time, we would end up disappointed.
Did I find the message of araby negative? No. It's pure realism if you ask me and just like with any good work incorporating realism, the scenario may be dark, but the reader is supposed to get something positive out of it. Araby may have ended on a sad note, but with every end comes a new beginning. I think the purpose of the bleak epiphany, is to efficiently strike the message to the readers. It allows us to understand and acknowledge this sad reality.
In my opinion, the author explored the theme in a marvelous and masterful way. The writing is skillful, the details are spot-on and the characters feel fleshed out even if the story is really short.
This might be my all time favorite short story so far.
September 22, 2022
A boy on the verge of adolescence develops a romantic obsession with a girl who hardly knows him. He combines this romantic feeling with the idea of a religious hero and an idealized woman. As he's carrying parcels through the crowded market, he thinks:
"I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through the throng of foes. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. . . . I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires."
The girl is disappointed that she cannot visit the Araby bazaar, so the boy promises that he will buy her a keepsake from the fair. But when he gets to the bazaar, there is nothing magical or exotic. It's a wonderful work about the gap between expectations and reality.
"I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through the throng of foes. Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. . . . I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires."
The girl is disappointed that she cannot visit the Araby bazaar, so the boy promises that he will buy her a keepsake from the fair. But when he gets to the bazaar, there is nothing magical or exotic. It's a wonderful work about the gap between expectations and reality.
February 25, 2018
Even though this beautifully worded story ends on a sad note, its life still goes on. After all there is nothing tragic happened to whatever he has with the girl. She is still there, he will again see her. It is just an unlucky moment that makes him feel unwanted at the bazaar, too soon he gives up and wallows in resentment. But we know him better, we have seen very definitive streaks of a romancer in him– “My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration.” That will not disappear in him, that will most likely emerge with the dawn of the following night when he would see the brown face of the girl and when he would see “her dress swung as she moved her body and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side.”
While the whole notion 'exotic' (Orient) in Western canon is either dealt in very flowery terms or with an air of complete dismissal as irrational, strange and wicked. To a considerable extent, this still continues but in different garbs. Joyce's nameless boy too has huge expectations from the 'bazaar' but they all come tumbling down. Does Joyce suggest that how we often build castles in the air while reality is something totally different? Maybe not. We also know that the boy arrives late at the 'bazaar.'
The story shows us a certain aspect of a young boy's life; his passion and his days that are filled with ideas of love. He hardly knows the girl, they have not made each other promises. He is delusional, I suppose, both in regard to Araby and the girl to a certain extent. “I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.”
One should read this story because there is life in it that continues even when there are no words left on the page...
While the whole notion 'exotic' (Orient) in Western canon is either dealt in very flowery terms or with an air of complete dismissal as irrational, strange and wicked. To a considerable extent, this still continues but in different garbs. Joyce's nameless boy too has huge expectations from the 'bazaar' but they all come tumbling down. Does Joyce suggest that how we often build castles in the air while reality is something totally different? Maybe not. We also know that the boy arrives late at the 'bazaar.'
The story shows us a certain aspect of a young boy's life; his passion and his days that are filled with ideas of love. He hardly knows the girl, they have not made each other promises. He is delusional, I suppose, both in regard to Araby and the girl to a certain extent. “I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.”
One should read this story because there is life in it that continues even when there are no words left on the page...
September 30, 2022
Another one of my “favorite” short stories! This one truly is a 5+.
The plot is about a boy from Dublin who promises his first love he will buy her something from the bazaar. While at the bazaar, he sees something that makes him realize his surroundings and true love for what they truly are —and he despairs at himself for not having seen the truth and all the darkness.
Joyce regifts us those feelings of first love. He made me feel again the child/young adult who has no control over the daily ins and outs of life. But he also gives us images of darkness, odors, sickness in the neighborhood, religious symbols throughout, and allusions to our girl being other than just a girl.
The clever word choices are a joy to read and my mind spins with all the feelings I have as I connect with Joyce and I feel Joyce telling me about his childhood and his homeland. Tell me more.
The plot is about a boy from Dublin who promises his first love he will buy her something from the bazaar. While at the bazaar, he sees something that makes him realize his surroundings and true love for what they truly are —and he despairs at himself for not having seen the truth and all the darkness.
Joyce regifts us those feelings of first love. He made me feel again the child/young adult who has no control over the daily ins and outs of life. But he also gives us images of darkness, odors, sickness in the neighborhood, religious symbols throughout, and allusions to our girl being other than just a girl.
The clever word choices are a joy to read and my mind spins with all the feelings I have as I connect with Joyce and I feel Joyce telling me about his childhood and his homeland. Tell me more.
January 27, 2024
3 star
نکته ای که در این داستان وجود دارد، احساس افزون شونده تنهایی است.. یعنی عدم وجود همدردی میان پسر و دوستان، معلم و اعضای خانواده او.... در بخشی از داستان که نشان دهنده عمق این تنهایی است می گوید " در خیال می دیدم که جامم را سالم در دست گرفته ام و از میان گروهی دشمن می گذرم"""
او به گونه ای پیروزمندانه و ظالمانه از جهان عادی پیرامون خود جدا شده است... تنها یک بار با دختری که دوستش دارد صحبت کرده و چنان گیج و منگ شده که نمی داند چگونه به او پاسخ دهد...به هرحال امیدوار است که بتواند از بازار اعرابی هدیه ای برای دختر تهیه کند تا ارتباط احساسی اش با دختر حفظ و تقویت شود...
او به بازار می رود و مشاهده می کند که بازار در حال تعطیل شدن است به غیر از یکی دو غرفه که در یکی از آنها دو پسر با یک دختر در حال گفت و گو هستند . زن جوان با آن دو پسر رابطه صمیمانه و جلفی دارد... رابطه ای در تقابل رابطه او با خواهرِ مانگان
این جهان خارق العاده و اشرافی است و پسر نمیتواند در آن نفوذ کند
" فروتنانه به گلدان های بزرگ که چون نگهبانان شرقی در هر دو سوی در ورودی تاریک غرفه قرار داشتند نگاه کرد""""" ر
اما زن جوان و آن دو پسر بی آنکه آگاه باشند که بر زمینی مقدس ایستاده اند که نگهبان بر آن گماشته اند، به گونه ای طنز آمیز با شوخی هایی سطحی و جلفِ خود دنیای مرموزی را می آلایند و بی ارزش جلوه می دهند که پسر حق ورود به آن را ندارد...
بدین ترتیب صحنه کلی تنهایی پسر، با جمله آخر برجسته می شود
" با تاریک شدن ناگهانی بازار پسر خود را موجودی میبیند که او را غرور به تمسخر گرفته و طرد کرده است""""
پسر انزوای خود را پذیرفته و حتی نسبت به آن احساس غرور می کند، جهان نه تنها از راز او بی خبر است بلکه آن را حقیر می شمارد، استعاره جامی که از میان گروه دشمن عبور داده می شود، در جای درست خود در داستان، حاکی از نوعی تقدیس است که مومن مسیحی به کار میگیرد.... و به عبارتی به واسطه اِلِمان های مذهبی، نگرش پسر توضیح داده می شود...
این داستان به تقابل به ایدئالیسم و رئالیسم در دوران زندگی انسان می پردازد.... در دوران جوانی و نوجوانی فاصله بین واقعیت و ایدئال ها کم است اما این موضوع و تقابل بین این دو برای انسان بزرگسال در هر شرایطی یک دشواری همیشگی است
داستان اعرابی صرفا گزارشی از یک مرحله از روند رشد نیست، بلکه ارائه نمادین کشمکشی اساسی در عرصه تجربه بزرگسالی است، راوی که الان دیگر بزرگ شده و در حال روایت داستان عشق دوران نوجوانی اش است ( از نحوه توضیح و رو به رو شدن او با معشوقه اش دریافت می شود) او می داند که روزی آشفته خاطر بوده و دلیل آن چه بوده... او در دوران جوانی همه چیز را با هم می خواسته است..... او می خواسته که بین واقعیت و ایدئال های خودش پیوند بزند در حالیکه این امر کاری دشوار است.. او در دوره بزرگسالی که هم اکنون در آن قرار دارد حکیمانه با این تقابل مواجه می شود
نقد : رابرت پن وارن
نکته ای که در این داستان وجود دارد، احساس افزون شونده تنهایی است.. یعنی عدم وجود همدردی میان پسر و دوستان، معلم و اعضای خانواده او.... در بخشی از داستان که نشان دهنده عمق این تنهایی است می گوید " در خیال می دیدم که جامم را سالم در دست گرفته ام و از میان گروهی دشمن می گذرم"""
او به گونه ای پیروزمندانه و ظالمانه از جهان عادی پیرامون خود جدا شده است... تنها یک بار با دختری که دوستش دارد صحبت کرده و چنان گیج و منگ شده که نمی داند چگونه به او پاسخ دهد...به هرحال امیدوار است که بتواند از بازار اعرابی هدیه ای برای دختر تهیه کند تا ارتباط احساسی اش با دختر حفظ و تقویت شود...
او به بازار می رود و مشاهده می کند که بازار در حال تعطیل شدن است به غیر از یکی دو غرفه که در یکی از آنها دو پسر با یک دختر در حال گفت و گو هستند . زن جوان با آن دو پسر رابطه صمیمانه و جلفی دارد... رابطه ای در تقابل رابطه او با خواهرِ مانگان
این جهان خارق العاده و اشرافی است و پسر نمیتواند در آن نفوذ کند
" فروتنانه به گلدان های بزرگ که چون نگهبانان شرقی در هر دو سوی در ورودی تاریک غرفه قرار داشتند نگاه کرد""""" ر
اما زن جوان و آن دو پسر بی آنکه آگاه باشند که بر زمینی مقدس ایستاده اند که نگهبان بر آن گماشته اند، به گونه ای طنز آمیز با شوخی هایی سطحی و جلفِ خود دنیای مرموزی را می آلایند و بی ارزش جلوه می دهند که پسر حق ورود به آن را ندارد...
بدین ترتیب صحنه کلی تنهایی پسر، با جمله آخر برجسته می شود
" با تاریک شدن ناگهانی بازار پسر خود را موجودی میبیند که او را غرور به تمسخر گرفته و طرد کرده است""""
پسر انزوای خود را پذیرفته و حتی نسبت به آن احساس غرور می کند، جهان نه تنها از راز او بی خبر است بلکه آن را حقیر می شمارد، استعاره جامی که از میان گروه دشمن عبور داده می شود، در جای درست خود در داستان، حاکی از نوعی تقدیس است که مومن مسیحی به کار میگیرد.... و به عبارتی به واسطه اِلِمان های مذهبی، نگرش پسر توضیح داده می شود...
این داستان به تقابل به ایدئالیسم و رئالیسم در دوران زندگی انسان می پردازد.... در دوران جوانی و نوجوانی فاصله بین واقعیت و ایدئال ها کم است اما این موضوع و تقابل بین این دو برای انسان بزرگسال در هر شرایطی یک دشواری همیشگی است
داستان اعرابی صرفا گزارشی از یک مرحله از روند رشد نیست، بلکه ارائه نمادین کشمکشی اساسی در عرصه تجربه بزرگسالی است، راوی که الان دیگر بزرگ شده و در حال روایت داستان عشق دوران نوجوانی اش است ( از نحوه توضیح و رو به رو شدن او با معشوقه اش دریافت می شود) او می داند که روزی آشفته خاطر بوده و دلیل آن چه بوده... او در دوران جوانی همه چیز را با هم می خواسته است..... او می خواسته که بین واقعیت و ایدئال های خودش پیوند بزند در حالیکه این امر کاری دشوار است.. او در دوره بزرگسالی که هم اکنون در آن قرار دارد حکیمانه با این تقابل مواجه می شود
نقد : رابرت پن وارن
November 18, 2025
با این که شخصاً از داستان زیاد لذت نبردم از نظرات یه استاد ادبیات خوب و دوستان اندیشمند و اهل مطالعه بهره بردم. ^-^
داستان روایت دورهای در زندگی پسریه که به دختر همسایه دل بسته. بهطرز وسواسگونهای بهش فکر میکنه، نگاهش میکنه، دنبالش میره و هیچوقت شجاعت این رو نداره که باهاش حرف بزنه، تا اینکه دختر خودش با راوی حرف میزنه و ازش میپرسه آیا به بازار «عربی» رفته یا نه.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
از اینجا به پایین درباره داستان نوشتم و اسپویل کردم.
پسر اینجا عزمش رو جرم میکنه که به بازار عربی بره و چیزی برای دختر بگیره و بیاره. «عربی» برای مخاطب غربی خود به خود تصاویر شرقی، زنده، ایدهآل، رنگارنگ، پرحس، جادویی و اگزاتیک رو القا میکنه، نمادی از تمام چیزهای ایدهآلشده و دور از واقعیت، نمادی از این «عشق» پسرک. تمام مدت حواسش پرته؛ دیر خونه اومدن عموش هم باعث میشه نتونه بره اما اون بالاخره سوار قطار ساعت نُه میشه و یک ساعت بعد به بازار میرسه، بازاری در حال بستن و کیلومترها دورتر از تصویر ایدهآلی که در ذهن پسرک بود. اکثر غرفهها بسته شدن و چراغها قراره خاموش بشه، مردم سکهها رو میشمارن و با لهجهی انگلیسیشون صحبتهایی میکنن که مال دنیای پسرک نیست. نه خبری از جادوست نه رنگ و زیبایی و چیزهای عجیب و شرقی و اگزاتیک. این همه تلاش و درگیری ذهنی برای این، فقط همین.
پسر اینطور روایتش رو به پایان میرسونه:
لحظهی فروپاشی قصر تصورات و خیالات.
و درباره بازی جیمز جویس با کلمات و نثر:
اگه این جمله رو بلند بخونید، واژه آخر رو مثل idol خواهید خوند. دقیقاً کاری که پسر داره انجام میده، از یه دختر معمولی و از چیزی که «عشق» مینامه بُت میسازه. غافل از اینکه قراره با واقعیتها روبهرو بشه، و همهچیز مثل تصوراتش نیست: قرار نیست مثل یه شوالیه جام طلایی رو از بین دشمنان عبور بده و قرار نیست به عشق جاویدان و جادویی برسه. همهچیز تصورات بچگانهی خودش بود.
همچنین داستان پر از اشارات مذهبیه، از کشیش مُرده گرفته تا مدرسهی مذهبی و تصورات مذهبی پسرک (جام، با اشاره به جام مقدس حاوی خون مسیح) و حتی اشارههای گذرایی مثل این:
درخت سیب، آدم رو یاد درخت سیبی میندازه که آدم و حوا میوهش رو خوردن و بلافاصله بعدش تصورات آرمانی و بهشت خیالانگیز از بین رفت و باهاش تبعید شدند به دنیای واقعی.
داستان روایت دورهای در زندگی پسریه که به دختر همسایه دل بسته. بهطرز وسواسگونهای بهش فکر میکنه، نگاهش میکنه، دنبالش میره و هیچوقت شجاعت این رو نداره که باهاش حرف بزنه، تا اینکه دختر خودش با راوی حرف میزنه و ازش میپرسه آیا به بازار «عربی» رفته یا نه.
But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
از اینجا به پایین درباره داستان نوشتم و اسپویل کردم.
پسر اینجا عزمش رو جرم میکنه که به بازار عربی بره و چیزی برای دختر بگیره و بیاره. «عربی» برای مخاطب غربی خود به خود تصاویر شرقی، زنده، ایدهآل، رنگارنگ، پرحس، جادویی و اگزاتیک رو القا میکنه، نمادی از تمام چیزهای ایدهآلشده و دور از واقعیت، نمادی از این «عشق» پسرک. تمام مدت حواسش پرته؛ دیر خونه اومدن عموش هم باعث میشه نتونه بره اما اون بالاخره سوار قطار ساعت نُه میشه و یک ساعت بعد به بازار میرسه، بازاری در حال بستن و کیلومترها دورتر از تصویر ایدهآلی که در ذهن پسرک بود. اکثر غرفهها بسته شدن و چراغها قراره خاموش بشه، مردم سکهها رو میشمارن و با لهجهی انگلیسیشون صحبتهایی میکنن که مال دنیای پسرک نیست. نه خبری از جادوست نه رنگ و زیبایی و چیزهای عجیب و شرقی و اگزاتیک. این همه تلاش و درگیری ذهنی برای این، فقط همین.
پسر اینطور روایتش رو به پایان میرسونه:
Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
لحظهی فروپاشی قصر تصورات و خیالات.
و درباره بازی جیمز جویس با کلمات و نثر:
I watched my master's face pass from amiability to sternness; he hoped I was not beginning to idle.
اگه این جمله رو بلند بخونید، واژه آخر رو مثل idol خواهید خوند. دقیقاً کاری که پسر داره انجام میده، از یه دختر معمولی و از چیزی که «عشق» مینامه بُت میسازه. غافل از اینکه قراره با واقعیتها روبهرو بشه، و همهچیز مثل تصوراتش نیست: قرار نیست مثل یه شوالیه جام طلایی رو از بین دشمنان عبور بده و قرار نیست به عشق جاویدان و جادویی برسه. همهچیز تصورات بچگانهی خودش بود.
همچنین داستان پر از اشارات مذهبیه، از کشیش مُرده گرفته تا مدرسهی مذهبی و تصورات مذهبی پسرک (جام، با اشاره به جام مقدس حاوی خون مسیح) و حتی اشارههای گذرایی مثل این:
The wild garden behind the house contained a central apple-tree and a few straggling bushes.
درخت سیب، آدم رو یاد درخت سیبی میندازه که آدم و حوا میوهش رو خوردن و بلافاصله بعدش تصورات آرمانی و بهشت خیالانگیز از بین رفت و باهاش تبعید شدند به دنیای واقعی.
August 2, 2019
Quando me perguntarem o que é o amor, vou recomendar este conto de Joyce.
Se isto não é das melhores coisas que já li, não percebo nada de literatura.
*****************
(Lido na colectânea de contos de Joyce "Gente de Dublin", de cujos contos favoritos farei opinião à parte. É o caso deste.)
Se isto não é das melhores coisas que já li, não percebo nada de literatura.
*****************
(Lido na colectânea de contos de Joyce "Gente de Dublin", de cujos contos favoritos farei opinião à parte. É o caso deste.)
October 26, 2015
Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and
my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
November 23, 2019
I came upon this in a textbook called The Story and Its Writer aka Mwana's way to complete her read-200-books challenge.
I have more to say about Joyce than I do about this short story- which is part of the collection Dubliners. I will say it's so goddamn magical, my mind swooned.
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 narrator is infatuated with a neighbour and he has the reaction I ordinarily have to money.
...her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
If this is the calibre of the stream of consciousness that he used to create that Odysseus fanfiction, I'm sold. I will definitely be reading Ulysses next year. (Please don't hold me to this).
EXTRA EXTRA read all about it.
FYI, James Joyce is my patronus. I wanna meet this man's brain and just marinate in it. Seriously.
James Joyce's love letters to Nora.
I have more to say about Joyce than I do about this short story- which is part of the collection Dubliners. I will say it's so goddamn magical, my mind swooned.
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 narrator is infatuated with a neighbour and he has the reaction I ordinarily have to money.
...her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
If this is the calibre of the stream of consciousness that he used to create that Odysseus fanfiction, I'm sold. I will definitely be reading Ulysses next year. (Please don't hold me to this).
EXTRA EXTRA read all about it.
FYI, James Joyce is my patronus. I wanna meet this man's brain and just marinate in it. Seriously.
James Joyce's love letters to Nora.
December 11, 2025
"Her name sprung to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand."
*for a short story, i enjoyed this quite a bit. i'm liking analyzing it w/ psychoanalysis <3
*for a short story, i enjoyed this quite a bit. i'm liking analyzing it w/ psychoanalysis <3
March 26, 2020
Mm, well that was incredibly boring.
I truly felt nothing while reading this short story. I get the point, but I also feel like it could have been much better delivered. The writing style and descriptions are nice enough, but it takes more than a nice setting and words for me to enjoy a short story.
I truly felt nothing while reading this short story. I get the point, but I also feel like it could have been much better delivered. The writing style and descriptions are nice enough, but it takes more than a nice setting and words for me to enjoy a short story.
September 29, 2022
A short story from the collection Dubliners. I've been rereading some of these stories as I work my way through Edna O'Brien's James Joyce.
In "Araby" a boy is obsessed with an older girl, and promises to bring her something from the bazaar. That's about it. For atmosphere, the former tenant of the house on North Richmond Street was a priest who had died in the back drawing-room. North Richmond Street was a blind street, which seems to mean a dead end. However, for such a blind street there is much watchfulness and spying.
As in the previous story "An Encounter" the boy discovers something about himself. The End.
4.5 stars sounded down, because you can't love everything Joyce wrote even though Joyce himself thought pretty highly of his own work. (Or else possibly was insecure and thin-skinned—you decide).
In "Araby" a boy is obsessed with an older girl, and promises to bring her something from the bazaar. That's about it. For atmosphere, the former tenant of the house on North Richmond Street was a priest who had died in the back drawing-room. North Richmond Street was a blind street, which seems to mean a dead end. However, for such a blind street there is much watchfulness and spying.
As in the previous story "An Encounter" the boy discovers something about himself. The End.
4.5 stars sounded down, because you can't love everything Joyce wrote even though Joyce himself thought pretty highly of his own work. (Or else possibly was insecure and thin-skinned—you decide).
November 12, 2022
This is a short story by James Joyce, and another first time read of this author’s work, as I continue my journey through classic literature.
This is a lovely short story where the narrator describes his development from childhood play through to early adolescence, whereupon he favours his friend’s sister from afar, really never having spoken to her.
The writing is delightfully descriptive conjuring up the feel of weather, the smells in the streets, the bustling neighborhood, the emotions of fantasy. Although his amorous feelings are not disclosed, he quickly learns a lesson in young love, and comes to the realization that emotional development can be crushing to a young man’s expectations.
Well done in only a few pages.
This is a lovely short story where the narrator describes his development from childhood play through to early adolescence, whereupon he favours his friend’s sister from afar, really never having spoken to her.
The writing is delightfully descriptive conjuring up the feel of weather, the smells in the streets, the bustling neighborhood, the emotions of fantasy. Although his amorous feelings are not disclosed, he quickly learns a lesson in young love, and comes to the realization that emotional development can be crushing to a young man’s expectations.
Well done in only a few pages.
July 5, 2021
كانت بداية القصة حلوه جدا بس النهاية مبتورة مالهاش معني فمش هكتب ريفيو عنها.
رغم ذلك أحببت الجزء الخاص بكيف غيّر الحبُّ الفتي و قَلَبَ حياته.
" لم أكن أعرف إن كنتُ سأتحدّث معها يومًا أمْ لا. وإنْ تحدّثتُ معها، فكيف لي أن أخبرَها بإعجابي المضطرب؟ لكنّ جسدي كان مثلَ القيثارة ، وكانت كلماتُها وإيماءاتُها مثلَ الأصابع التي تحرّك أوتارَ تلك الآلة. "
" وفقدتُ كلَّ صبر ممكن على العمل الجادّ في الحياة، وهو عمل بات يقف حائلًا بيني وبينها ، فبدا لي أنّه لعبٌ طفوليّ؛ لعبٌ طفوليّ قبيحٌ ورتيب. "
" تمنّيتُ لو أمحو الأيّامَ المملّةَ قبل رؤيتها من جديد ".
لو حد فهم النهاية يبقي يفهمني 🤣
هسيب لينك بيها تحت في الكومنت
رغم ذلك أحببت الجزء الخاص بكيف غيّر الحبُّ الفتي و قَلَبَ حياته.
" لم أكن أعرف إن كنتُ سأتحدّث معها يومًا أمْ لا. وإنْ تحدّثتُ معها، فكيف لي أن أخبرَها بإعجابي المضطرب؟ لكنّ جسدي كان مثلَ القيثارة ، وكانت كلماتُها وإيماءاتُها مثلَ الأصابع التي تحرّك أوتارَ تلك الآلة. "
" وفقدتُ كلَّ صبر ممكن على العمل الجادّ في الحياة، وهو عمل بات يقف حائلًا بيني وبينها ، فبدا لي أنّه لعبٌ طفوليّ؛ لعبٌ طفوليّ قبيحٌ ورتيب. "
" تمنّيتُ لو أمحو الأيّامَ المملّةَ قبل رؤيتها من جديد ".
لو حد فهم النهاية يبقي يفهمني 🤣
هسيب لينك بيها تحت في الكومنت
January 31, 2018
But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
I have never once thought that I would love a text, given to me in English lessons. But this, this is something special.
As short as it is, Joyce skilfully paints an ethereal image which is so simple yet, deep, down to its core. The delicacy of his words in every sentence to the eccentricity and depth of each character, succinctly manifests a thought provoking message by the end.
One of, if not the, most beautiful short story I've come across. Definitely worth a read.
4/5 ★
I have never once thought that I would love a text, given to me in English lessons. But this, this is something special.
As short as it is, Joyce skilfully paints an ethereal image which is so simple yet, deep, down to its core. The delicacy of his words in every sentence to the eccentricity and depth of each character, succinctly manifests a thought provoking message by the end.
One of, if not the, most beautiful short story I've come across. Definitely worth a read.
4/5 ★
February 8, 2022
There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned — ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, ACT 1 SCENE 1, LINE 15; ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA
Although this story is told from the first person perspective of its juvenile protagonist, we do not receive the notion that a boy tells the story. As an alternative, the narrator seems to be a man matured well beyond the experience of the narrative.
The adult man reminisces about his youthful anticipations, cravings, and aggravations. More than if a boy's mind had reconstructed the events of the story for us, this fastidious way of telling the story allows us to recognize evidently the distress, which the youth experiences when ideals, concerning both sacred and earthly love, are destroyed by a swiftly unclouded view of the real world.
Because the man, rather than the boy, recounts the experience, a sarcastic view can be presented of the institutions and persons surrounding the boy. This sardonic view would be unfeasible for the adolescent, expressively involved mind of the boy himself. Only an adult looking back at the high hopes of "foolish blood" and its ensuing obliteration could account for the ironic viewpoint.
Throughout the story, however, the narrator time after time maintains a filled compassion to his youthful anguish.
From first to last we sense the reality to him of his earlier naive dream of beauty.
Joyce concentrates on character rather than on plot to reveal the ironies inherent in self-deception.
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind — A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM, ACT 1 SCENE 1, LINES 234-35; HELENA
On one level "Araby" is a story of commencement, of a boy’s expedition for the ideal. The expedition ends in a letdown, but results in an inner consciousness and a first step into manhood.
On another level the story consists of a grown man's remembered experience, for the story is told retrospectively by a man who looks back to a picky moment of passionate meaning and insight.
As such, the boy's experience is not restricted to youth's encounter with first love.
Rather, it is a representation of an ongoing predicament all through life: the inappropriateness of the ideal, of the dream as one wishes it to be, with the cheerlessness of reality. This double focus --- the boy who first experiences, and the man who has not forgotten-provides for the theatrical exposé of a story of first love told by a narrator who, with his wider, adult vision, can utilize the sophisticated use of irony and figurative metaphors necessary to disclose the story's meaning.
The boy's character is obliquely suggested in the opening scenes of the story. He has grown up in the backwash of a disappearing city.
Symbolic images show him to be an individual who is sensitive to the fact that his city's energy has ebbed and left a scum of unfilled piety, the faintest echoes of romance, and only symbolic memories of an active concern for God and fellow men.
Although the young boy cannot catch it mentally, he feels that the street, the town, and Ireland itself have become ingrown, self-satisfied, and dull.
It is a world of spiritual stagnation, and consequently, the boy's outlook is relentlessly limited. He is uninformed and therefore guiltless.
Forlorn, ingenious, and inaccessible, he lacks the perception necessary for evaluation and outlook. He is at first as sightless as his world. Joyce prepares the reader for his ultimate perceptive initiation by tempering his blindness with an insensible rejection of the spiritual stagnation of his world.
The boy's manner of thought is also made clear in the opening scenes.
Religion controls the lives of the inhabitants of North Richmond Street, but it is a fading religion and receives only lip service. The boy, however, entering the new experience of first love, finds his vocabulary within the experiences of his religious training and the romantic novels he has read.
The consequence is a romantic and confused construal of love based on quasi religious terms and the imagery of romance. This meeting of two great myths, the Christian with its symbols of hope and sacrifice and the Oriental or romantic with its fragile symbols of heroism and escape, amalgamate to form in his mind an erroneous world of mystical and superlative beauty.
This union, (which creates an epiphany for the boy as he accompanies his aunt through the market place) lets us experience with sudden illumination the texture and content of his mind. We see the futility and stubbornness of his quest.
But despite all the confirmation of the dead house on a dead street in a dying city the boy determines to bear his "chalice safely through a throng of foes." He is blindly interpreting the world in the images of his dreams: shop boys selling pigs' cheeks cry out in "shrill litanies"; Mangan's sister is saintly; her name evokes in him "strange prayers and praises."
The boy is unusually lovesick, and from his guiltless idealism and stubbornness, we realized that he cannot keep the dream. He must wake to the demands of the world around him and react.
Thus the first half of the story foreshadows (as the man later realizes) the boy's awakening and disenchantment.
The description of the boy's fruitless pursuit emphasizes both his lonesome idealism and his capability to achieve the perspectives he now has. The hunt ends when he arrives at the bazaar and realizes with deliberate, tortured precision that Araby is not at all what he imagined.
It is gaudy and murky and thrives on the profit motive and the perpetual lure its name evokes in men. The boy realizes that he has placed all his love and hope in a world that does not exist except in his mind's eye.
He feels annoyed and deceived and realizes his self-deception. He feels he is “a creature driven and derided by vanity" and the vanity is his own.
The man, remembering this startling experience from his boy-hood, recalls the moment he realized that living the dream was lost as a possibility. That sense of loss is intensified, for its dimension grows as we realize that the desire to, live the dream will continue through adulthood.
At no other point in the story is characterization as brilliant as at the end. Joyce draws his protagonist with strokes designed to let us recognize in "the creature driven and derided by vanity" both a boy who is initiated into knowledge through a loss of innocence and aman who fully realizes the incompatibility between the beautiful and innocent world of the imagination and the very real world of fact.
Joyce uses character to exemplify the theme of his story!!
The story, indeed, records the yearning, lingering waiting for the unfeasible ideal of life and the ravenous expectation for the beauty that is ever alluring, never yielding.
The symbolic overtones of the story are, indeed, distinct. Joyce depicts subtly the quest for beauty of the mind that, is pinned down by the grim reality of a commercial world. In the hard situation of life, this quest never reaches the goal which draws and deludes a romantic visionary.
Joyce's childhood dream of Araby as a place of romance and beauty and his desire to bring the gift for the girl of his ideal got rudely shattered by the commercialism that he found there and the frivolity with which he came across there.
His quest for beauty was frustrated and the story seems to highlight the catastrophe of this quest, the cherished waiting for that which is deceptive. Araby, in fact, is not a mere story. It is a symbolic representation of a vivid waiting for that which is beyond our reach.
Love sought, is good; but given unsought, is better — TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT 3 SCENE 1, LINE 153; OLIVIA TO VIOLA
Although this story is told from the first person perspective of its juvenile protagonist, we do not receive the notion that a boy tells the story. As an alternative, the narrator seems to be a man matured well beyond the experience of the narrative.
The adult man reminisces about his youthful anticipations, cravings, and aggravations. More than if a boy's mind had reconstructed the events of the story for us, this fastidious way of telling the story allows us to recognize evidently the distress, which the youth experiences when ideals, concerning both sacred and earthly love, are destroyed by a swiftly unclouded view of the real world.
Because the man, rather than the boy, recounts the experience, a sarcastic view can be presented of the institutions and persons surrounding the boy. This sardonic view would be unfeasible for the adolescent, expressively involved mind of the boy himself. Only an adult looking back at the high hopes of "foolish blood" and its ensuing obliteration could account for the ironic viewpoint.
Throughout the story, however, the narrator time after time maintains a filled compassion to his youthful anguish.
From first to last we sense the reality to him of his earlier naive dream of beauty.
Joyce concentrates on character rather than on plot to reveal the ironies inherent in self-deception.
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind — A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM, ACT 1 SCENE 1, LINES 234-35; HELENA
On one level "Araby" is a story of commencement, of a boy’s expedition for the ideal. The expedition ends in a letdown, but results in an inner consciousness and a first step into manhood.
On another level the story consists of a grown man's remembered experience, for the story is told retrospectively by a man who looks back to a picky moment of passionate meaning and insight.
As such, the boy's experience is not restricted to youth's encounter with first love.
Rather, it is a representation of an ongoing predicament all through life: the inappropriateness of the ideal, of the dream as one wishes it to be, with the cheerlessness of reality. This double focus --- the boy who first experiences, and the man who has not forgotten-provides for the theatrical exposé of a story of first love told by a narrator who, with his wider, adult vision, can utilize the sophisticated use of irony and figurative metaphors necessary to disclose the story's meaning.
The boy's character is obliquely suggested in the opening scenes of the story. He has grown up in the backwash of a disappearing city.
Symbolic images show him to be an individual who is sensitive to the fact that his city's energy has ebbed and left a scum of unfilled piety, the faintest echoes of romance, and only symbolic memories of an active concern for God and fellow men.
Although the young boy cannot catch it mentally, he feels that the street, the town, and Ireland itself have become ingrown, self-satisfied, and dull.
It is a world of spiritual stagnation, and consequently, the boy's outlook is relentlessly limited. He is uninformed and therefore guiltless.
Forlorn, ingenious, and inaccessible, he lacks the perception necessary for evaluation and outlook. He is at first as sightless as his world. Joyce prepares the reader for his ultimate perceptive initiation by tempering his blindness with an insensible rejection of the spiritual stagnation of his world.
The boy's manner of thought is also made clear in the opening scenes.
Religion controls the lives of the inhabitants of North Richmond Street, but it is a fading religion and receives only lip service. The boy, however, entering the new experience of first love, finds his vocabulary within the experiences of his religious training and the romantic novels he has read.
The consequence is a romantic and confused construal of love based on quasi religious terms and the imagery of romance. This meeting of two great myths, the Christian with its symbols of hope and sacrifice and the Oriental or romantic with its fragile symbols of heroism and escape, amalgamate to form in his mind an erroneous world of mystical and superlative beauty.
This union, (which creates an epiphany for the boy as he accompanies his aunt through the market place) lets us experience with sudden illumination the texture and content of his mind. We see the futility and stubbornness of his quest.
But despite all the confirmation of the dead house on a dead street in a dying city the boy determines to bear his "chalice safely through a throng of foes." He is blindly interpreting the world in the images of his dreams: shop boys selling pigs' cheeks cry out in "shrill litanies"; Mangan's sister is saintly; her name evokes in him "strange prayers and praises."
The boy is unusually lovesick, and from his guiltless idealism and stubbornness, we realized that he cannot keep the dream. He must wake to the demands of the world around him and react.
Thus the first half of the story foreshadows (as the man later realizes) the boy's awakening and disenchantment.
The description of the boy's fruitless pursuit emphasizes both his lonesome idealism and his capability to achieve the perspectives he now has. The hunt ends when he arrives at the bazaar and realizes with deliberate, tortured precision that Araby is not at all what he imagined.
It is gaudy and murky and thrives on the profit motive and the perpetual lure its name evokes in men. The boy realizes that he has placed all his love and hope in a world that does not exist except in his mind's eye.
He feels annoyed and deceived and realizes his self-deception. He feels he is “a creature driven and derided by vanity" and the vanity is his own.
The man, remembering this startling experience from his boy-hood, recalls the moment he realized that living the dream was lost as a possibility. That sense of loss is intensified, for its dimension grows as we realize that the desire to, live the dream will continue through adulthood.
At no other point in the story is characterization as brilliant as at the end. Joyce draws his protagonist with strokes designed to let us recognize in "the creature driven and derided by vanity" both a boy who is initiated into knowledge through a loss of innocence and aman who fully realizes the incompatibility between the beautiful and innocent world of the imagination and the very real world of fact.
Joyce uses character to exemplify the theme of his story!!
The story, indeed, records the yearning, lingering waiting for the unfeasible ideal of life and the ravenous expectation for the beauty that is ever alluring, never yielding.
The symbolic overtones of the story are, indeed, distinct. Joyce depicts subtly the quest for beauty of the mind that, is pinned down by the grim reality of a commercial world. In the hard situation of life, this quest never reaches the goal which draws and deludes a romantic visionary.
Joyce's childhood dream of Araby as a place of romance and beauty and his desire to bring the gift for the girl of his ideal got rudely shattered by the commercialism that he found there and the frivolity with which he came across there.
His quest for beauty was frustrated and the story seems to highlight the catastrophe of this quest, the cherished waiting for that which is deceptive. Araby, in fact, is not a mere story. It is a symbolic representation of a vivid waiting for that which is beyond our reach.
Love sought, is good; but given unsought, is better — TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT 3 SCENE 1, LINE 153; OLIVIA TO VIOLA
November 15, 2021
I had to read this for uni and really disliked it...
I thought I would end up liking it more after discussing it in class but that didn’t happen lmao
I thought I would end up liking it more after discussing it in class but that didn’t happen lmao
July 15, 2019
I see many Literary Life Podcast (https://www.theliterary.life) did not like this story. Hang in there. The episode drops August 16, 2019 and I think you may, at the very least, find the story is deeper than it seems.
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