Rewrite of the ending of James Joyce’s ‘An Encounter’ with a Comparative Analysis

Rewrite

‘…that I should understand him.’
*****
The old man turns back around and glances at the boys; the little ones. The taller one is pulling at his grey suit trousers; the shorter one tugging at his shirt and hair. They convey looks of loss and sadness. They look dishevelled. The old man hears their whisperings: ‘He played too fiercely for us.’ ‘It’s not fair. We are younger and more timid.’ The old man picks up his walking stick, adjusts his jerry hat, clears his throat and slowly walks on.
The old man makes his way slowly back to his flat in the city. It takes the old man on his walking stick a long time and when he is home the clock strikes 6 o’clock. He removes his coat, places it on a hanger and into the hallway cupboard. He walks slowly down the hallway; on the walls: framed pictures, an old whip and a framed certificate awarded to Murray O’Callaghan, Headmaster at Hillcrest School for Boys, 1903-1913. He unlaces his shoes and slips into his slippers. He slowly lowers himself on his settee and looks outside. The sun is subdued. The street outside is quiet; too quiet. His eye catches sight of two birds in a puddle. They flap and flutter in the water. A waiter in a nearby café drops a glass and the innocent birds flee. The old man lights a candle and with a shaking hand pours himself a glass of whiskey. His cat rubs itself against the old man’s leg and purrs. The old man lifts it onto his lap and strokes its tortoise shell coat. He switches on the television and tunes into the evening news. What an enjoyable day in the countryside, perhaps tomorrow I shall spend it in the city he thinks to himself and takes a sip of his drink.

Comparative Analysis

James Joyce’s Dubliners is an acute and explicit depiction of Dublin life in 1914 and ‘An Encounter’ is no exception. Joyce is renowned for his scrupulous writing style and in ‘An Encounter’ he brilliantly captures the boy’s narrative and naivety. The brevity of the story is impressive and I eagerly desired to repeat this. In addition, the lack of symbiotic relationships in his stories is key to Joyce’s philosophy and my new ending. Understanding the purpose of Joyce’s story-telling is pivotal: ‘My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to be the centre of paralysis. I have tried to present it to the indifferent public under its four aspects: childhood, adolescence, maturity, and public life…’ I was keen to continue this depiction in my ending by illustrating the pervert acting calmly at home to cleanse himself of the indecency he has committed. Ultimately, much like the other characters in Dubliners, the boys are paralysed in their violation; the old man is paralysed in his way of life. Crucially, my ending increases the ambiguity of the story’s morality and introduces a modern stance and a new narrative, thereby effecting how it is interpreted.
The last sentence at the cut off point from Joyce’s story: ‘…seemed to plead with me that I should understand him.’ allowed a brilliant route to my own ending. The words ‘that I should understand him’ are crucial, as the old man does indeed allow the boys to understand what he has in store for them. The old man shows them how to understand - and understand they do - as his act of indecency forces the boys into his own adult world of corruption. In this story the moral is blurred, as is the distinction between childhood and adulthood. The old man wishes to be a boy and the boys are ultimately treated as adults. In addition, I purposefully kept the old man’s monologue about whipping boys, as this would be pivotal to the meaning of both my ending and the story as a whole. Pivotal in the sense that it allows a further insight into the disturbing account of the man but also pivotal in the sense that it enabled a further aspect of him for me to build my ending around.
A crucial objective of mine was to focus on the old man’s perspective and to depict him in a light that Joyce was unable to do, since his narrative voice is that of the boy. In my ending, I make a point of including an insight into his background by illustrating him as a former Headmaster at an all boy’s school. This dramatically changes the meaning of the story. His position as a former Headmaster is shocking, leading us to wonder how he conducted himself as Headmaster, and ultimately, why he was released. Furthermore, the whipping could have been a punitive method which he performed at school. It can also be seen as a euphemism for the sexual crimes that he commits. It is most possible that his morality thrives on the idea that ‘bad boys’ must be whipped, or more directly, sexually assaulted. As Torchiana notes ‘he returns to speak again, this time of punishing and whipping boys, most severely boys with girlfriends.’ This is most likely because he wants the boys for himself.
If the boys were, indeed, responsible for his release, it acts as a depiction of a vicious cycle of threats, blame and corruption. This idea is, however, left purposely ambiguous.
Crucially, the most apparent change in my ending is the change of narrative. Whilst Joyce decided to write his story in the first person narrative of the boy, I opted for giving the old man a voice. Granted, my ending is written in the third person narrative, but due to this shift to an objective narrative, the focus is on the man, allowing the reader to gain his ‘side of the story’; that is to say to gain a view of his personal life, thus leading the reader to make their own verdict about him. Writing in the present tense also allows for a closer depiction and makes the events more immediate and intimate. My ending almost reads as stage directions which proves to be hugely effective and allows for exactly such a scrupulous writing style which I had hoped to imitate.
Due to my attempt at a succinct writing style, the tone of my ending is sinister, dramatic and haunting; yet the pace is slow, made slower by the old man’s sloth. My laconic writing style captures the very essence of the man’s systematic and mundane routine which he performs in his evenings at home. The use of repetition acts as a clear cut imitation of Joyce as his stories display an abundance of repetition, as Mosher notes his ideas are ‘…often established with the aid of repetition’. I constantly, and indeed only, refer to the man as ‘the old man’ and this use of repetition adds to the man’s pathetic state of being and masturbatory way of life. The statements made by the two boys in my story are a direct imitation of Joyce and superbly depict the boy’s mood, emphasising his penitence and realisation of wrong doing in Joyce’s original, ultimately making the story all the more tragic and sad. The image of the ‘innocent birds’ is of course a euphemism for the young innocent boys. In turn, the waiter is a euphemism for the old man as both the birds and the boys are affected by them: the former flee; the latter are left violated.
Another apparent difference between my ending and Joyce’s story is the context in which they were written. Joyce wrote in 1914, a time with an abundance of literary restrictions: I write in 2009, a time of liberalism and free speech. Not only that, but a time where literature is inclined to be dramatic and page turning. Much like Joyce at the point when the man moves away to masturbate; the rape in my ending is merely hinted at and left to the reader’s interpretation. However, it is more explicit than Joyce’s in order to cater for modern readers, who, as previously stated, thrive on drama.
Sylvan Barnet notes that ‘most frequently a short-story writer of the nineteenth century focuses on a single character in a single episode, rather than tracing his development, reveals him at a particular moment.’ In addition, Poe asserted that the chief formal property of ‘the short prose tale’ was ‘unity of impression’ which ultimately, and only, includes a single incident, a single setting and a short period of time. In terms of my ending, I do fulfil these requirements as I stay true to the plot, referring back to Joyce’s story; the central scene is set, above all, in his living room; it is told by an objective narrative voice; it depicts a mere few hours of his personal life; depicts no relationships with others: his cat is the only measure which provides a relationship and even that is abrupt and cut short. Due to its minimalism, it obeys the criteria of a short story ending; it just provides a different stance and a modern twist.

Moreover, the story of the old man could have continued; hypothetically, a novel could reveal whether the old man commits other acts of indecency, whether he feels remorse and, indeed, what the actual cause and trigger of his indecent behaviour is. Has the old man previously committed a multiplicity of errors in his life time? Will it cease or will he continue to act indecently? However, due to the brevity and lack of detail both Joyce’s stories and my ending have the potential to be a novel, but a decision against it is made: as this is the point. A short story does not give way to a novel; as Ian Reid notes, ‘the short story shares no clear and common boundary line with the novel.’ In this particular case, it provides a limited window into the world of the old man and ultimately the corrupt state of Dublin.

Ambiguity is key. ‘What exactly did the boy in ‘An Encounter’ see? We do not know, but Joyce also seems to indicate that we need not know the precise answers or even ask such questions, because in literature characters, events, and motivations are fluid and finally unfathomable just as they are in life.’ Most importantly, however, and a trait of a successful story, is that it leaves reader wanting more. Moreover, as Ian Reid notes, a ‘surprising turn at the end reveals more than just a hidden fact, a sad irony; it brings to the surface the real significance of the foregoing action.’ In terms of my ending versus Joyce’s: both end with a thought that perturbs the reader. Joyce’s closes in on the boy’s naivety and penitence; mine ends with the old man’s disturbing aspiration. Ultimately, the endings linger and are left open-ended. 1,546

Bibliography

Primary Source Joyce, James, Dubliners (Penguin Classics, London, 2000)
Secondary Sources Bollettieri, Rosa and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing: New Readings Of Dubliners (Kentucky 1998)
Reid, Ian, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story (Muthen & Co Ltd: London 1977)
Trochiana, Donald T, Backgrounds for Joyce’s Dubliners (Allen and Unwin 1986)

James Joyce, Dubliners (Penguin Classics, London, 2000) (subsequent references to this edition) Ibid., p. 11 James Joyce, Letters 11, 134, quoted in Dubliners, Introduction p.xxxi Joyce, Dubliners p.21 Donald T, Trochiana, Backgrounds for Joyce’s Dubliners, (Allen and Unwin 1986) p.44 Rosa Bollettieri, and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing Joyce p.60 Sylvan Barnet referenced in Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story, Muthen & Co Ltd: London 1977 p.56 Edgar Allen Poe referenced in Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.54 Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.43 Rosa Bollettieri, and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing Joyce p.99 Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.61

People watching

I love to people watch. It's probably amongst my top 5 favourite things to do. Just to watch people passing, living their lives. Making up stories in my head about where they're going, what they do, what kind of person they are. It's my favourite type of story writing and hence this blog will present just that. Snapshots of people's lives.

The woman on the ubahn

I'm sitting on the Ubahn taking Conor to the airport and a woman gets in holding something wrapped. She sits opposite me and puts the package on the seat next to her. The wrapping says 'Eis Bessler' (Ice Cream, Bessler.) I am immediately intrigued. Why has she brought ice cream with her on the ubahn? It's kinda normal in Germany to wrap ice cream up like that so peoople can take it home. But on the ubahn?

Won't it melt? It's fairly hot in here. How long is she traveling for? Logistics aside, her life starts to intrigue me. Who is the ice cream for? Why has she made such an effort to take it home? Is it really, really delicious? Is the ice cream just for her? Is it so good she occasionally indulges so much she orders two portions? Or is it for her and her boyfriend? Will they enjoy it while watching a film? Or perhaps it's for her children. She's only got two portions. What a selfless, caring mother. I see her carefully touch the ice cream to see if it has melted.

With a phone call all my questions are answered. Her boyfriend, I assume that's who's on the other end, calls and she asks him to pick him up from the ubahn. Not just yet though honey, she says, I've got 10 more stops. Ten more! Surely the ice cream would have melted by then?

She tells him she wants to be picked up because it's raining out, and besides, the ice cream will melt.

Riding the ring s bahn, Berlin

The city's architecture doesn't seem to adhere to any system or style. Amongst grand buildings that are in keeping with each other, there will suddenly be a bright red modern complex right in the middle. Rather than being a punch in the face, it actually caters for a 'wow effect'. Whilst sitting on the Ubahn going from West to East one drives past hundreds of houses. Some are built in the normal European style (although what counts as 'normal' these days?), some are modern, some are ueber-modern, graffiti on the walls that are in fact, impressive. They add character, a reminder that you're amongst the creative capital that is Berlin.

It doesn't portray bad taste, it isn't disrespectful. It makes you think. Why is this building here? How does it fit in with the rest of the block? It doesn't you realise, and your awe is heightened. Amongst thematic buildings, stands a modern building. The architecture is daring. It stands out. Glass, steel, wood; all combined for a breath-taking design.

Berlin. A city of life, culture, design and colour. The autumn trees add to the nostalgia and the sun reflecting off the building adds the finishing touch to a picture perfect sight.

The creative restless eye

'I began to like New York, the racy, adventurous feel of it at night, and the satisfaction that the constant flicker of men and women and machines gives to the restless eye.

I liked to walk up Fifth Avenue and pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few minutes I was going to enter into their lives, and on one would ever know or disapprove. Sometimes, in my mind, I followed them to their apartments on the corners of hidden streets, and they turned and smiled back at me before they faded through a door into warm darkness.

At the enchanted metropolitan twilight I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others- poor young clerks who loitered in front of windows waiting until it was time for a solitary restaurant dinner- young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life.'
-The Great Gastby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

DJ

I like to make lists. Here is a list.
If I were in some far groovier life I’d like to be a DJ. This is what I would play.


DJ List.

Kraftwerk
Metronomy
Errors
Crystal Castles
CSS
Soulwax
Hot Chip
2ManyDJs
Explosions In The Sky
LSD Soundsystem
Le Tigre
M83
Santagold
Jacko
Born Ruffians
Starfucker
Simian Mobile Disco
Digitalism
Death From Above
The Field
Let's Wrestle
The Temper Trap
Arcade Fire
Goldfrapp

Dictionary

Orator- a person who delivers an oration, a public writer. Oppose to an

Auditor- a person who listens and hears. Somebody who receives information.

I'm working in a translation agency, these are common terms.

First Entry

Everybody has to start somewhere. Even Hemingway. Although I heard he wrote on Moleskine rather than fancy blog sites.

Golly what a kuffule trying to set this up was. Turns out I have 3 different blogs and I couldn't access any of them. (Forgot the usernames and passwords.)
So,...
I'm not good with introductions or first words, too much pressure so I'll just start with a creative writing entry. Then post some more and see where the world takes me. At the moment, I’m in Berlin. That’ll be the theme for now. I like themes.
Strange, I didn't think I would say this but I don't like writing about myself. It's like I'm two people: my hands are typing my thoughts and my conscious is frowning at what I'm writing. I’ve never been scared of a blank page but the fact that someone might be reading this makes me hesitant.
So farewell, auf wiedersehen, I’ll regain my confidence and see you soon.

Berlin.

Photographs.

Stream of Consciousness.

Haus der Literatur.

Kilo Shops.