Cringy Little Dedalus

Much of the humor, and hatred, that our Coming-of-Age Novel class has expressed in reaction to APOTAAAYM (a-pot-aaaame? ap-ot-ay-yem?) centers around newly teenage Stephen Dedalus and his many pretentious, arrogant, and self-centered internal thoughts. Readers are granted open access to the downright cringeworthy supply of his musings and tangents, which when combined with Joyce's ironic presentation heap upon us the second-hand embarrassment of seeing someone think such self-elevating, "lone wolf" ideologies at the painfully unrealized point of pre-pubescence. Readers react with anything from a sharp cringe, pity, or straight vitriol at Dedalus' brooding in Part II, and though these moments strike some as disconnecting from the protagonist, there is a calculated sympathy going on here. The cringe-factor we experience from Stephen's thoughts and actions is directly from their painful familiarity; his embarrassing perspectives were once ours. Though we might not have written love poems about a failed attempt at affection, or thought we were the only ones in the entire world who've ever had a sexual urge, Stephen's themes of peer detachment, secretive arrogance, over-dramatization, and know-it-all-that-knows-very-little demeanor are common mindsets of early pubescence (and dare I say even more common for us Uni kids!). It's a large part of what I think makes this book so incredibly smart and well-suited as a bildungsroman, with Joyce being able to pinpoint these exact feelings one goes through in teenage-transition phase, and still have the examples hold up over a century later. I'll admit, analyzing the brain's inner-workings at such a universally uninformed part of one's life is pretty unfair, but it's important to the novel so we should laugh anyway!

Stephen's unfortunately relatable naivete and passiveness really come to light in Part II's "romance" sections and reflections. From the tip-off of the chapter it's revealed that lil' Dedalus has a fantasy bound in fiction going on, where he places himself as the protagonist of The Count of Monte Cristo who will come upon a lovely Mercedes (romantic interest) and lose his "weakness and timidity and inexperience" all in one fell swoop. This is what he concerns himself with, since "the noise of the children at play annoyed him and their silly voices made him feel, even more keenly than he had felt at Clongowes, that he was different from others. He did not want to play." (67). I could let that hang there and be fine, but c'mon!! We get it Stephen, you're not a child anymore and you want everyone to know it, or at least all of us inhabiting your mind from the future right now!! The only thing more pretentious than Stephen Dedalus: Playtime's Over is ME at that same age! Why have you brought this upon us Joyce? I thought I was finally over those 6th-Subbie Ethan, instead just cringing at my thoughts from last year and the year before! But NO, you have to drag me along with this little brat who so painfully mirrors the darkest and lamest times of my conscience. Alright, where was I? Right, lame romance. So of course ole' Steve-O talks (thinks) all this big, smooth romantic hubbub, but what does he do, given the opportunity for his magical dreams on the tram with his crush? He shuffles around the steps for the entire time, doesn't utter a word, and though he "could easily catch hold of her when she comes up to my step", nothing goes down and he tears up his tram ticket in the classic early-puberty inaction sadness (73). But that's not all! To really elevate our strange and begrudging mix of sympathy and pissed-off-ness, Stephen writes a poem to celebrate his fantastic wooing accomplishments, where he conveniently forgets the whole part where he didn't kiss the girl he likes. This is all really mean, but do you see what I'm getting at? This particular period of Stephen's life, and all of our lives, is captured perfectly with Joyce's vignette/free-indirect discourse style, and it garners some true sympathy for our annoying miniature artist.

This is a pretty sparse sample of the timeless relatability Joyce is able to convey in his novel, but that doesn't keep it from being effective. We are still being very unfair here, as poor pre-teen Stephen never asked to get cross-examined quite like this, but it's all for a purpose here. To varying degrees, we've all "been there", and can remember our romantic obliviousness or high thinking of ourselves or whatever else from the 11-13 age range, and with every cringe I believe we grow closer to our bumbling EveryTween Stephen. Thus far, these sections of Part II have stood out for me personally, in sheer resonance with myself and as a setup for Stephen's future issues and eventual coming-of-age when his naive assumptions eventually break down.