Pyke 1

Michelle K. Pyke
Galya Diment
HONORS 212
8 May 2017

Prompt 1

As a renowned author of the early 20th century, James Joyce is defined by his

“minimalist” style of writing, inspiring his readers to rely on their own judgment and knowledge

to piece together a personal interpretation of the significance of his stories. However, I will argue

that there lies an exception in Dubliners, Joyce’s collection of short stories. A Painful Case is a

fairly brief narrative with a simple nature. It involves a central character by the name of James

Duffy, an ordinary banker who finds comfort in his routine and lacks any deeper connection with

those around him; he is a man of solitude by definition. In terms of technique, Joyce employs the

limited third-person perspective, allowing the readers to be fully aware of Mr. Duffy’s internal

conflict as the story progresses. I would like to emphasize that this transparency is an essential

component of Joyce’s own form of “maximalism.” In the beginning, Joyce manages to explore

the boundaries of Mr. Duffy’s world, noting the subtle signs of the character’s attempts to restore

order to a boundless space. The peculiar bookshelf with books arranged on the white wooden

shelves “from below upwards according to bulk” is a prime example of this (Joyce 107). Joyce

mentions each article of furniture in the room (the list itself is merely two lines) and although

short, provides an adequate description of the living space of Mr. Duffy. By mentioning the

quirks of Mr. Duffy’s household, Joyce paints a larger picture of who this character is for the

reader. In his other works, Joyce seems to have a strong motive to not say what he really means,

but in A Painful Case, his language compliments the simplicity of the character itself by

expanding on each detail rather than leaving them open for the reader’s imagination. Joyce is

attempting to restore balance to the narrative and with a man of few unique qualities at the
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forefront, Joyce must compensate for this by bringing every relevant detail about Mr. Duffy to

the attention of the reader. The only other notable figure in the story is Mrs. Sinico and Joyce

does a brilliant job of making her romantic intentions clear despite her moral duty to be merely a

friend to Mr. Duffy as a married woman. The depth of her feelings is explicitly stated, especially

as their relationship develops. Joyce notes that “with almost maternal solicitude she urged [Mr.

Duffy] to let his nature open to the full; she became his confessor” (Joyce 110). The almost

graphic intimacy of this exchange is worth mentioning because Joyce often relies on vague

mannerisms to convey the feelings of his characters, but in this instance, Mrs. Sinico is the sole

receiver of Mr. Duffy’s confessions and there is no ambiguity in her intent to be intertwined in

his personal affairs. Later on in the narrative, the tragedy of Mrs. Sinico’s suicide is depicted

through Mr. Duffy’s stages of grief - with his denial and anger at first, but growing remorse for

his only chance at companionship (“the whole narrative of her death revolted him and it revolted

him to think that he had ever spoken of her of what he held sacred” to “one human being had

seemed to love him and he had denied her life and happiness: he had sentenced her to ignominy,

a death of shame”) (Joyce 115, 117). At this stage in my analysis, I have addressed how Joyce

leaves little to the imagination of the reader, a “maximalist” approach to writing, but he still fails

to go as far as Vladimir Nabokov does. A Painful Case is merely the closest Joyce has come to

really being upfront in how a story will progress and how the parts of each character will

integrate themselves into one set conclusion. The circular narrative of Mr. Duffy’s life in general

already determines how he will act in the future and Joyce manages to communicate this to the

reader within the first paragraph. After all, if a picture is merely a circle on a blank page, even a

“minimalist” author such as Joyce can integrate elements of “maximalism” in his work.
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My definition of “minimalist” versus “maximalist” for Joyce is slightly different from the

one that I will now apply to Nabokov. Rather than focusing on the nature of the language, I will

be addressing the clarity of a story’s purpose. Nabokov’s prose is complex and reflects an author

who does not want his work to be mistaken in regards to individual interpretation. However, his

short story Wingstroke is a notable exception to this. Kern, the primary character of the story,

faces a reality that falls deceptively between fiction and normalcy (at least in mortal terms). Of

course, Kern’s life is anything but ordinary as he attempts to recover from the shocking suicide

of his late wife by staying at a European ski resort. Nabokov lays the foundation for a depressing

tale, but instead, takes an alternative pathway towards fantasy. Kern mentions that “the lacework

of the branches in the enamel-like air had the chill of a terrifying fairy tale” and this acts as a

subtle reminder that Kern’s environment is one without the lingering forces of nature - the ‘God’

in this case is Nabokov himself (Nabokov 26). Isabel, Kern’s object of sensual attachment, acts

without reason and confesses that she likes to ski out on the slopes enveloped by the darkness of

night and leap “right up into the stars” (Nabokov 29). At this point in the narrative, Nabokov’s

piece is a prime example of surrealism in that the reader must manipulate the limited information

provided to find a rational explanation for Kern’s bizarre observations. After the encounter with

the angel in Isabel’s room, Kern obsesses not over the fact that he was intent upon murdering a

winged creature the night prior, but instead over his suicide note as a lost “masterpiece”

(Nabokov 41). Any rational individual would find this to be strange and it is exceedingly

difficult to predict how Kern will act as time progresses. With such a strong supernatural theme,

Wingstroke is heavily reliant on the reader’s imagination as a tool for conveying the plot.

Wingstroke comes across as a story that encourages confusion rather than clarity, so Nabokov’s

usual “maximalist” approach is completely reversed. Rather than paint a full picture, he quickly
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maneuvers the reader’s attention from one fantastical and ridiculous event to the next (i.e.

Isabel’s grotesque death to Kern’s personal invitation for Monfiori to watch his much-anticipated

suicide). This is out of character for Nabokov as an author and I think that Wingstroke is

essentially an experiment to test the limits of his creative thought rather than a story for the

reader to achieve full understanding.

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Prompt 2

The relationship with one’s parents is influenced not only by the matter of physical

distance but also the lingering impressions of childhood. I argue that James Joyce’s minimalist

style in The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, significantly shapes how Stephen’s parents

are depicted in the novel and that this technique is less effective than Nabokov’s (in which I shall

return to later on). Joyce introduces the character of Stephen Dedalus in his adolescent years,

with his faint recollection of the scent of his mother (noting that it is more pleasant than his

father’s) and the melody of her playing the “sailor’s hornpipe for him to dance” on the piano

(Joyce 7). Even with such ordinary observations as these, Joyce has already established that the

household will not hold together for long. Simon Dedalus, the father, may not even be mentioned

as directly as the mother is in this particular passage, but the fact that Joyce alludes that

Stephen’s father smells of alcohol already creates tension. It is an unfortunate truth that Irish

families have a deep history of alcoholism and issuing financial struggles; Joyce himself is no

exception. I would like to emphasize that Joyce seems to have a strong desire to place judgment

on Stephen’s parents, even within the first few pages of the novel. Due to the fact that Stephen is

physically separated from his parents while he attends to his educational duties, we, as the

readers, are unable to fully explore their individual characters outside of Stephen’s distant

memories and longings. For example, while Stephen attends a strict religious boarding school, he

is stricken with illness and in his feverish reverie, he imagines visiting his family during the

Christmas holiday; he is warmly welcomed into his home, his mother greets him with a kiss, and

his father bears the rank of a marshal now (“higher than a magistrate”) (Joyce 20). In this

circumstance, distance is not only a barrier for Stephen as a character, but also for the reader.

The most notable passage in which Joyce attempts to deviate from this path is when Stephen
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visits his father, Simon Dedalus, in Cork and they wander the city from bar to bar, with Simon

dominating the conversation. Stephen listens to these stories (of which many he has heard before

many times), “hearing the names of the scattered and dead revelers who had been the

companions of his father’s youth. And a faint sickness sighed in his heart” (Joyce 91). Even

when Joyce is given the opportunity to portray Simon as an independent character, the chapter is

primarily intended to reaffirm Stephen’s detachment from his family. The narrative is often

interrupted by Stephen’s distracting thoughts and then mentions that “he could still hear his

father’s voice” in the background (Joyce 91). This one-sided exchange implies that Simon is a

lost man, wandering without regard for his reality (in which his children are present). Again,

Joyce does not address this outright but rather uses Stephen as a medium to characterize the

individuals that he meets in his life. In regards to Stephen’s mother, she is remembered by his

younger self as a figure of warmth (at least in comparison to his father’s lacking presence), but

is, in fact, a strict reminder of the devout Catholic principles into which he is born. In his literary

criticism of The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Hugh Kenner makes a striking

comparison between “[Nothung!]” from Ulysses and a childhood rhyme that Stephen recites

within the first few pages of the novel. In the former, Stephen’s mother lies on her deathbed and

claims that the “word known to all men” is “repent” (Joyce 580 - 581). Kenner suggests that this

is foreshadowed in the Portrait when Stephen hides beneath the table and refuses to apologize

despite his mother’s clear demand for one. Stephen connects what his mother said to a quote by

Dante: “O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes” and proceeds to recite a disturbing

rhyme along the lines of “Pull out his eyes, apologize, apologize, pull out his eyes” (Joyce 8). In

this scene, Stephen expects the eagles to act as the punisher. I would go even further to suggest

that the eagles as “emissaries of God” are subject to the wishes of his mother, but this may be a
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stretch. In any case, Joyce does not attempt to pursue the background of Stephen’s mother, but

rather her influence on Stephen’s struggle to retain his religious purity. I would personally have

liked to have seen more context behind the extremist Catholic views of his mother rather than be

left behind without a full picture.

In stark contrast, Vladimir Nabokov explores the beauty in the nature of relationships

bound by blood in The Gift. The protagonist, Fyodor Godunov-Cherdyntsev is a poet at heart and

attempts to find himself as a writer while residing in Berlin after his family flees from Russia and

the dangers of political turmoil. Fyodor, like Nabokov himself, still bears the marks of his history

with Russia with pride and recounts even mere glimpses of his past with tenderness. He

describes a scene with his family in which his father is “turbaned in a shaggy towel” and his

“mother, all in white, [stares] straight in front of her and somehow so youthfully [hugs] her

knees” as they sit “on the stone steps of the foremost veranda, illuminated squarely by the sun”

(Nabokov 85). Fyodor also mentions that he is there himself, “in exactly the same pose as his

mother” (Nabokov 86). Nabokov, being a maximalist writer, even features the play of light. All

of these details are significant because the reader, in turn, can quite easily recognize the intimacy

of the affair - how they are a family united not only by their dark locks of hair, but even their

unconscious habits. The tone of this passage compliments the ethereal nature of Stephen’s

childhood memories (at least the happier ones). Nabokov, however, takes every opportunity to

ensure that the reader is aware of Fyodor’s deep relationship with his parents (rather than the

painful separation in The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man). The mother expresses herself

quite plainly and does not shy away from handing herself entirely over to the love in which she is

entitled to. Fyodor specifically remembers the time when she had come to him after a three-year

separation and “her face twisted with the pain of happiness” at the sight of him before “clinging
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to him, blissfully moaning, kissing him anywhere” (Nabokov 86). It appeared to him that the

“light of the past had overtaken the present” (Nabokov 86). Even though the mother’s character

is viewed through the eyes of Fyodor, Nabokov ensures that the reader understands her affection

by drawing upon common mannerisms to express love. Her character has depth because she is

everyone’s mother in a sense. Although this may not have been Nabokov’s intention, every

detailed recollection by Fyodor reminds the reader that she is a mother by nature. In regards to

the father’s role in the novel, Fyodor’s idolization of him as an adventurer is a constant theme

throughout. Fyodor writes that “in general, [his family’s] whole daily life was permeated with

stories about Father, with worry about him, expectations of his return, the hidden sorrow of

farewells and the wild joy of welcomings” (Nabokov 106). Because the father is such an

essential element of Fyodor’s identity as an impoverished, foreign poet, the reader is able to

draw a unique picture of the father as an individual character. When Fyodor falls “under the spell

of butterflies” and his soul unfolds, reliving all of his father’s journeys, as if he had made them

himself, we as the readers live through them as well (Nabokov 106 -107). The level of depth

required to place the father into this significant role within a story (that isn’t supposed to be

based upon his life I might add) is clearly accomplished in The Gift. Rather than emphasize what

is lost as Joyce does, and ultimately lose the voices of the parents themselves, Nabokov uses

Fyodor as a tool to bring vibrancy to the characters around him. This, I believe, is a strongly

effective technique, so that some light can be shed on the parents themselves rather than merely

their vague outlines.

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Prompt 3

Vladimir Nabokov’s poem A Discovery is by far my favorite piece of his collection

because of how the select style of language is consumed by his passion for butterfly hunting as

an element of his entire being. Butterflies are creatures that have the ability to disturb the

ceaseless flow of time. They serve as a reminder of how a single moment may be a fragment of

the imagination rather than reality. Within the first stanza, Nabokov sets the scene as a

“legendary land” beyond the bounds of ordinary life and as the reader, I am able to draw myself

away from my surroundings (Nabokov 1). Even the second line, as simple as it may seem,

evokes the rich imagery of a dream-like landscape - with a field of “tufted grass” and the tinge of

purple hues from the “lavender” (Nabokov 2). In this piece in particular, the ability to use brief,

but loaded words to depict a scene is a notable strength. What I find even more fascinating is the

transition to his worktable. Nabokov applies scientific pursuits not as a necessary evil to the arts,

but rather as a framework for analyzing the beauty of butterflies. It is not difficult to understand

how Nabokov’s “legendary land” and the butterfly resting on the “sodden sand” is a picturesque

sight, but studying a specimen through a microscope presents more of a challenge (Nabokov 1,

3). I am not sure whether this was intended, but the first line of the fourth stanza (“out of the

mist”) actually drew me away from the dream so to speak. I was now watching Nabokov in a

dimly lit room, studying the butterfly tinged with blue that had retained my attention during the

last few stanzas (Nabokov 13). He introduces an alternative perspective on how one can

appreciate these creatures. The Karner blue butterfly closely resembles what I immediately

thought of as I read through the second stanza, but what I was missing before the third was a

connection to the butterfly as a living being (PPT, VN Butterflies). The “corroded tissues” and

“sculptured sex” reminded me that this remarkable creature is one of flesh and blood, not
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something out of a dream (Nabokov 9, 10). Nabokov’s declaration that by granting the butterfly

a Latin name, he is now a “godfather” of the insect is also an intriguing notion (Nabokov 19).

Not only does Nabokov establish a special relationship with the butterfly as an object central to

his “quiet quest,” but he also suggests an underlying intimacy beyond a mere observer (PPT, VN

Butterflies). I absolutely loved this line because Nabokov dedicates his entire self to his passion

and I admire him for that. Rather than succumb to the criticism of the adults around him, he

faced his deep interest with pride and even noted that the traces of humankind (i.e. “thrones”)

cannot match the immortality of the “red label of a little butterfly” (Nabokov 25, 28).

Although simple in essence, A Flower Given to My Daughter by James Joyce is my

favorite poem of his. As I read through each verse, I imagined the daughter of the narrator slowly

developing into the form of a white rose, but with the stark blue eyes that retained her “wild”

nature (Joyce 6). I think that Joyce’s strength in this poem is his ability to employ poetic

language to give a soul to fictional figures, specifically the narrator’s lover and their child. The

repetition of frailty as a quality reminded me of how brief each lifetime truly is - especially given

that the existence of humans is merely a fragment of the history of the universe. I could

understand if a critic interpreted this poem as a piece intending to emphasize the lower status of

women and their lack of inherent strength. However, I think that Joyce wanted to capture the

beauty and depth of the women around the narrator. The daughter’s vibrancy lies underneath her

pale appearance as indicated by her “blue” veins and this contrast indicates that she is, in fact, a

character of promise rather than of subservience (Joyce 8). I thought that the first stanza was

absolutely essential to better understand the daughter because it explores her natural origin - her

mother’s womb. In my opinion, the third and fourth lines suggest that the mother passed away

and that her soul no longer expresses the brilliance of life. This is important as I think that the
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daughter actually acquired the remnants of the mother’s soul (maybe the mother quite literally

died from childbirth or it could merely be the work of human genes). Either way, this connection

between mother and daughter is appealing to me because of its simple nature. Joyce does not

incorporate excessive words to draw the foundation of such a relationship and I admire that

ability, especially in this piece.

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BONUS Prompt

When it comes to political commentary, Joyce and Nabokov differ in terms of loyalty to

the countries in which they were born in as well as the culture of their households. The most

notable example of Joyce’s thoughts on politics in The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is

reflected by the Christmas dinner hosted by the Dedalus family. During the scene, Mr. Dedalus

expresses his approval of a friend who directly approached a priest and criticized the Catholic

Church for interfering with Irish politics. According to Mr. Dedalus, Irish patriotism is a noble

matter and the formal orders of the priests do not need to be followed. When Dante, a guest at

the party, firmly opposes this, Mr. Dedalus launches into another story in which religion and

politics clash. Through this specific scene in the story, the reader is able to understand politics in

the context of Catholic principles, specifically how the word of God is taken as an undisputed

truth for some while others seek alternatives to achieve true freedom in individual thought. The

omnipotent presence of the church not only frames the ideal household, but also defines

permissible opinions in both the public and private sectors. In contrast, Nabokov’s deep history

with Russia shapes his distaste for rebellion, as demonstrated in The Gift. Fyodor expresses his

nostalgia for the land of his childhood when he is forced to leave due to the Bolshevik

Revolution. Politics essentially tore his life apart and Nabokov shares this difficult past. Rather

than encourage conflict against authority and make “progress” for the common man, as Joyce

does, Nabokov seeks the richness of history and comfort in his status because that is an essential

component of his identity as not only an author, but also a person. He was fortunate enough to

have a stable home and politics, for both him and his characters, are unwanted intrusions in their

search for true happiness.