Naturally while walking around Dublin we were thinking about Joyce. I expect R will report his thoughts, which will be more interesting than mine since he has much more extensive background knowledge to think with. I, however, have a camera, so here is my contribution.

The lion over the Newman House door looks like it has been left out in the rain for too long:

The Martello tower in quiet Sandycove is now a small museum devoted to Joyce. Inside is an empty pot of Plumtree’s:

Incomplete. With it an abode of bliss.

Joyce’s inherited hideous hunting waistcoat is displayed along with his guitar,  ashplant, cigar case, and very flat wallet. At bottom right is a tie he gave to Beckett, which B. eventually turned over to the museum with a sweet note suggesting that the tie and waistcoat may have been worn together in an ensemble that would have been truly painful to behold.

A speculative reconstruction of the living space:

You can see Howth Head from the top:

Here I will break our simulated/retrospective blog chronology to note that later in the trip, in Galway, we attempted to visit the Nora Barnacle House but found it “closed for the season,” according to a sign that looked several years old. There is also a footbridge by the Corrib dedicated to Miss Barnacle:

The gate was locked, we didn’t cross it.


One thought on “Joyceana

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