Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

A young boy named Stephen grows into a man and begins to question everything he has been taught to believe in Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Joyce's style was, briefly, different. He apparently had an aversion to quotation marks, identifying speakers, and alerting the reader to a change in space and time. He could have at least skipped a line when weeks had gone by in the story.

I am sure Joyce made deep, profound, multilayered philosophical points in this book, but all that really impressed upon me was his minor details. The way little noises grated on Stephen's nerves when he tried to pray, the way Stephen disciplined himself by denying the urge to clasp his hands behind his back and instead kept them firmly at his sides, and his thoughts and feelings regarding groups and friends all intrigued me.

I think that was all the merit the book had for me. Joyce's prose was just so obscure. He required the reader to infer too much. I am still not sure if Stephen had a girlfriend, or if she was just the object of his admiration. She never even had a name, and references to her were vague and confusing.

I suppose I don't have the intellectual capability to appreciate the profundity of Joyce. I think if a style hinders the meaning that is trying to be conveyed, the style should come second to clarity. At any rate, my high school English teacher dismissed the book, saying, "I don't think I accept that one intellectually," which gratified me. If he can disregard a revered piece of literature, so can I.