Araby Knight :: essays research papers

"Araby" Knight     The short degree "Araby" by James Joyce could very well be described as a deep poem written in prose. Read casuall(a)y, it seems all just now incomprehensible, nothing more than a series of depressing impressions and memories thrown together in a jumble and somehow meant to depict a puerility infatuation. Like the sweet milk inside a coconut, the pleasure of this horizontal surface comes only to the reader who is willing to put forth the intense driveway necessary to comprehend it. Or like an onion, peeling off unrivaled layer reveals yet some other deeper, more pungent level. Practically every(prenominal) insignificant detail becomes vitally important and meaningful as the plan progresses, until it becomes apparent that this bosh is not about romance at all but rather the "coming of age" that marks everyones passage into adulthood. This is peculiarly apparent in the foretell of view, the symbolism of the fir st paragraph, and the character of the narrator himself.     Crucial to an understanding of this story is a solid grasp of its point of view. It is important to recognize that the story is written from an adult perspective. This is revealed in at least two ways the entitle and tone or air.     The style of writing-its technical construction-is probably the most obvious. From the opening sentence on, the writing leaves no doubt that the author is mature and highly experienced He uses an exceptional vocabulary, he has a propensity for figurative language, and his sentences are full and well-developed. No child would have written the following sentence, exemplary of the entire story "The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces" (178). That is the work of a polished artist.     The tone of the story lends credence to this view. The narrato r has matured and put the affair behind him. look back, he shakes his head and gently ridicules himself in a nostalgic and distressing manner "her name was like a summons to all my scatterbrained blood" (179) "What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping thoughts . . . " (180). In so doing, he disengages himself from the emotions of the infatuation, subtly giving the story a set-apart air entirely in keeping with the adulthood of the narrator. The boys are visualised accurately enough, but little ardor is infused into the narration. Despite its colorful, even fair language, it is matter-of-fact.