JAMES JOYCE — DUBLINERS

After cruising through those Alan Furst books, I got my foot injured while skiing in Chamonix and needed something else. The last time I read Dubliners I was in Dublin and fifteen years younger. I’d forgotten it was such a grab-bag. You’ve got stories that go more or less nowhere and really just seem to want to show how a certain clique of people in the city walk and talk. Then you’ve got high drama and emotional devastation. Both. Shoulder to shoulder. Both kinds of stories have stuck in my memory. The world needs both.    

Read January 2022