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Gayatri on Blindness and Insight: Rajeev Vinaik wrote: > There seemed to be a contradiction in the opening two sentances of Araby,> "North Richmond Street, being blind, was a..." is the first part of the first >sentance. "An uninhabited house of two stories stood at the blind end..." is >how the latter uncurls. "....at the blind end...[?]," hang on; did he not just >write the street per se was blind? He did indeed, and either he made a >mistake in his editing Not really Rajeev. The "blind" in the opening sentence is a noun, as in"North Richmond Street, being blind." In architectural sense a "blind street' in England (or the "dead end" in America) both have a "seeing" end ( or a "live" end) as well. You enter the blind street and then you find that you can't exit out of it. That is what being a "blind street" means. In the second sentence, "An uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end," the word "blind" is used as an adjective, a qualifier to "that" end of the street--to distinguish "that" end of the street from its open end. "Blind end" or the end that has no exit. In other words, the unoccupied house is not on the open end of the street but at the dead end or the end that is not used. That is why immediately he completes and balances the setting by writing "The other houses on the street. . .gazed at each other. . ."Joyce did not make any mistakes in his editing here. Actually this is one of the most carefully crafted balances in the story. The light-dark contrasts, the blind-seeing contrasts. The story begins with it. And it ends with it. The whole story reads like a chiaroscuro, a play of light and darkness, where one can easily be misled by what one sees or partially sees or thinks one sees. The story is bathed in the dusk of twilight and the darkness of night. If we make "Araby" into a movie we would have to shoot it in the evening, and at night, and in dark rooms with no light or partial light which can play tricks on our senses. Part of this non-seeing or seeing only what one wants to see is also an aspect of the young boy. Remember the paragraph where he says he goes to the back room where the priest died to "think" about Mangan's sister. (Joyce is a great chronicler of such experiences.) He says, "Some distant lamp or window gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so little. All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves. . . ." Part of the problem of infatuation is that the object of your adoration is unconscious of your existence and his or her significance in your life. It is a form of blindness. The one who is infatuated is blind to the fact that he might not be the center of the other person's universe. Whereas that is often the case as it certainly is in this young boy's story. So he wills himself not to see because it is necessary for him to be thus blind so he might experience the exquisite pains of first love. An artistic temperament obviously. Which is why when the infatuation is over (and quickly too) at the fair when his ego is hurt by the sales person, he expresses his disgust and disappointment in terms of blindness and insight. "Gazing up into the darkness, I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger." It is not much of an insight--but a regular one when all infatuation ends and one discovers that for all that matters one might as well be dead to that other person. But in this young boy's case it is an appropriate and even, I think, an elegant one. This is not a kid to trifle with. He would feel deeply for those he loves but he would also love only where it is worthy enough. Joyce and Nora his wife did not marry for twenty two years. After living together forever and children they finally tied the knot while they were in Europe. But Joyce 's letters to Nora are some of the most beautiful (and raunchy) love letters a husband ever wrote a wife. You can tell the deep love and humility that Joyce has in front of Nora who was the only woman for him. Brenda Maddox has a beautiful book about their life simply entitled *Nora.* I would recommend that. Joyce would bring up the theme of vanity again and again which of course finds its most wrenching portrayal in *The Dead* in the character of Gabriel--a man who cannot even concentrate on his dinner because he is thinking of "his speech" and generally what a great guy he is. And that is all shattered (built on so slight a ground as it is) when he discovers that his wife was once upon a time adored by another man. It is a very beautiful but sad insight into the fragility of vanity and self importance. As for the significance of the Arab that you mentioned--I think and this is only my thoughts--I think Joyce gives us enough clues in the story already as to its enchantment and its exotic nature--it is not something that we have to arrive at analytically. Remember the part where he says "the syllables of the word "araby" were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me." He clearly used it for its reputation. It makes a great setting. It is a lovely story with a beautiful lyrical cadence. Have you heard it read out by someone who can read nicely? It is blissful. |
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