So. I wanted to read Joyce for a long time. And I'm finally reading him.
Just finished Dubliners. And...well. It's stories. Stories of feelings, tenderly and carefully crafted. They must have created quite a furor at the time they were published, throwing every writing rule under the bus, and rightly so. They're really sketches of the chaos of life and they must've been bewildering to readers used to everything explained and every story having a beginning, a middle, and an end to suddenly read pure emotion. What a treasure, though some of its subject matter is outdated and may be hard to read, like the sacrificial woman figure bothered me, and then some possessive male ignorance of the time, but aside from that, lovely. Looking forward to more.