Fair warning: lots and lots of swearing.
I found a somewhat dog-eared copy of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man on my older son’s night table recently. No one’s making him read it. If you have books around, children read them. It’s as simple as that.
I once gave a copy of it to my wife, who is not Irish. After reading it, she asked, “What the hell is wrong with you people?”
I dunno.
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At least you haven't lost your self-respect.
"What the hell is wrong with you people?"
That's the same question I ask my wife after a visit with her family, and I feel like sleeping on the couch.
Told you you were a Modernist writer, Sipp. What else was I saying it for?
Wish I were as pithy as the Mrs Sipp.
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Joyce's breathtaking description of Hell and his digression on the meaning of infinity is staggeringly good, and scary as hell (in Chapter III).
Worth the price of admission.
I'd say she was understating the case
I must admit I laughed at that bit. Very nicely done. Very *$&$#%$ nicely done.
"He's not *$&%# coming!"
Slays me every time!
Absolutely fabulous.
OMG — Your wife's comment gave me an old-fashioned belly laugh.
Seriously funny.
Oh, and are you Irish or is your wife referencing your writing?
Just wonderin'. 🙂
Ó Súilleabháin