Death is one of the few things all humans have in common.
And yet, just as we are all biologically different, we all seem to have a
different perception of death, and its inevitability seems to hang over us in
multiple ways. James Joyce sheds an interesting light on death in his short
story “The Dead,” one of several pieces in his book Dubliners, published in 1914.
Joyce unexpectedly uses the much-cherished and lighthearted event
of a Christmas dinner, wealthy in Irish custom and tradition, as a sharp
contrast to the morbid and brooding remembrance of “the dead.” I found it
interesting how Joyce seemed to sprinkle the concept of death throughout his
piece, going from low intensity to high as the story line progressed. Death
doesn’t become a commitment to Joyce’s work until more than halfway through the
plot. The first mention of the deceased is a fleeting one; as part of a
background character description, the brother of the two women hosting the
dinner is said to have passed away quite a while ago. Later on, over carved
goose and ham, the dinner guests engage in conversation of musicians of times
past, reveling in their glory, and plaintively observing that such remarkable
artists are not as prevalent in their present time.
The most striking portrayal of death, however, is disclosed
near the story’s very end. Gabriel, the main character, notices at the dinner
party that his wife, Gretta, is left in a mysterious, deep stupor after another
dinner guest showcases the melodies of The
Lass of Aughrim, a song that we later learn reminds Gretta of a childhood
sweetheart who used to sing it to her, but died of a disease that could have
been tuberculosis at the age of seventeen. We see that Joyce has again
juxtaposed the image of death to a livelier subject, this time the warmth of
love.
The author leaves his audience with a memorable ending line:
“[Gabriel’s] soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through
the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all
the living and the dead” (Joyce 194). I’m sure many could relate to this type
of pondering wonder concerning the finality of the end, especially when
thinking of one’s own. Gabriel does this, thinking that “the time had come for
him to set out on his journey westward,” ‘westward’ here meaning towards death
(194). To be honest I scarcely think of death, the non-ceasing onslaught of events,
deadlines, dreams, and relationships in my life keeping me immortally occupied,
stressed, in pursuit, and ambivalent, or so it seems to me. But when I think of
those who have already gone, especially those much younger than me, I am forced
to realize that I must never forget to step back from all the broo-haha of
life, and see to it that what I have lived is deep and satisfying enough to
take with me into the afterlife, because, as Joyce reminds me, I could go at
any moment.
The singular element of Joyce’s contrast between opposite
themes is one I might find useful in my own writing. Though in this response I
did center my attention on his theme of death, he did beautifully incorporate
many other themes in his work, including the discrepancy between members of the
higher classes and those of the lower classes who have moved into higher
spheres, the concept of the “self” insofar as origin is concerned, and the worry
of the degeneration of values as new generations emerge, among other splendidly
woven ideas. Joyce successfully submerges his readers in a world of higher
thought, all in the span of one documented day.
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