Status Updates From دوبلینی‌ها و نقدِ دوبلینی‌ها

has James Joyce ever heard of the coma

Drunkenly half-sober and devoured by exteriors of existence, the average Dublin local doubts and despises - under bizarre powers of pursuasion ushering in delight at - the interiors as intuition, unchosen routines, and faith play interlaced parts. The chapter coasts on the shore of borderline torture for a secular reader of no theological doctrine amidst dialogues trading impressions of God and his devout fellows.

The subtext of multilayered anecdotal detail still profusely bleeds and profanely burns bright onto the pages of judgment, distrust, slippery slopes from neat obscenity to nasty habits, and in that - like a silver lining’s dash of earthly rehabilitation - arrives a ladylike redefinition now reclaiming what is entitled. Whirlpools of men and masculine power dynamics engulfing the dwarfed rights of women.

Death and taxes, there, here, and there for good. Adulthood assumes many roles, marker of life’s progress, gift of gratitude to childhood, but it too and beleagueredly is a vehicle on which old kids falter to the affairs of politics and every good or evil thing it implies. The Boys Who Cried Wolf, at this stage within their not so little shepherding, evolves innocent lies into devastating deceit and much more.