While the literary world and its mother were quoting the last paragraph of James Joyce’s The Dead earlier this week, as usual, I paid another passing visit to the house in which the story was set.
In one respect, it remains unchanged from the night of January 6th, 1904, when Joyce froze it in time. Or indeed from 30 years earlier when, as one of the opening paragraphs tells us, Kate and Julia Morkan first came to live in the “dark gaunt house on Usher’s Island”.
If anything, it’s even darker and gaunter now, as the saga over its future continues. The number “15″ is still missing from the door. And along with drawn blinds, the windows are pasted over with half a dozen copies of a manifesto from a group claiming to have occupied the building.
Assuming the occupiers were in the morning I called, they mustn’t have heard my knock. Nor did they answer the mobile phone listed. But judging from the text, they represent a broad spectrum of opinion, with concerns ranging from homelessness to the preservation of cultural heritage.
House Private – Frank McNally on the apparent occupation of 15 Usher’s Island
Mapped Out – Frank McNally on a wealthy namesake’s mansion, destroyed in the Los Angeles fires
Sculptor Exculpated – Frank McNally on the forgotten Irish creator of one of England’s most infamous statues
Just a tweak, mid-winter – Frank McNally on the ups and downs of Christmas
Mind you, if there are Joyceans involved, their approach to punctuation is at odds with the man himself’s. The short manifesto has more than twice as many full stops – five – as Molly Bloom’s entire soliloquy. Unfortunately, 40 per cent of them are redundant and misplaced.
Addressed “to whom it may concern”, it reads as follows:
“This building at 15 Ushers Island has been under civil occupation from Sunday 28th July 2024. By an independently minded group of people from all walks of life. We collectively want to see other persons and groups come forward. With regards to all types of corruption and the homeless issue from all over the country. We also want to see this building restored and handed over to the Dublin people as a muesum (sic) to James Joyce and his work ‘The Dead’.”
That “muesum” is probably just a misprint, but maybe not. It also resembles one of the word-plays Joyce himself so enjoyed. In Finnegans Wake, for example, he writes of a “museyroom”, which describes its subject better than the original.
Perhaps the occupiers are hinting at a future tourism attraction in No 15 that would not only educate visitors, but a muesum (sic – see what I did there?) as well.
Similarly, there may be a Joycean reference in the otherwise cryptic placard at an upstairs window, alongside a tricolour, proclaiming: “No dangerous unvetted men in here.”
This might be a subtle reference to a sub-plot of The Dead whereby the elderly sisters are terrified about the expected arrival at the party of a drunken man:
“Besides they were dreadfully afraid that Freddy Malins might turn up screwed. They would not wish for worlds that any of Mary Jane’s pupils would see him under the influence; and when he was like that he was very hard to manage.”
Luckily for everyone, Freddy is intercepted in the hallway by Gabriel Conroy, steered into a bathroom, and severely vetted before being allowed to join the company.
Or maybe that sign isn’t a Joycean joke. Perish the thought, but perhaps the stated concern for literary heritage in this case is just a fig-leaf for the usual “Ireland is full” stuff.
Of course, ideally, No 15 should be preserved, as An Taisce has said in an objection to a plan to turn it into 10 apartments.
But a problem for those who would like to make it another Joycean museyroom is that Dublin – if not full – is already well-stocked with such attractions.
There’s the Joyce Centre in North Great George’s Street, the Martello Tower in Sandycove, the bijou Sweny’s Pharmacy, and the Museum of Literature Ireland, in which Joyce is the dominant theme.
Throw in several pubs with which the writer is synonymous (notably Davy Byrne’s where I recently helped inaugurate an event called Gloomsday, an attempt to extend the Joyce-reading season to mid-winter) and the market is already crowded.
Indeed, 2025 will see another addition, when a new Burton Tavern finally rises from the Dead (or rather from Ulysses, where it featured prominently).
This year’s Feast of the Epiphany, meanwhile, brought almost perfect weather for devotees of Joyce’s most famous story.
Snow did indeed fall softly on the Bog of Allen, on the central plain, and farther westward, on the dark, mutinous Shannon waves. It did not fall on Usher’s Island, alas, or anywhere in Dublin.
But maybe this is just as well. When we did last have snow, in March, and I tried to take an arty picture of No 15 from the treacherous perspex-paved bridge opposite, I leaned too far to one side and the legs went from under me.
This reminds me that, in drawing attention to someone else’s typo, as I did earlier, I have invoked the dreaded Muphry’s (sic) Law. Which states that any article commenting on other people’s writing mistakes is sure to contain at least one egregious error itself. I apologise for this in advance and echo the old saying: People on glass bridges shouldn’t throw shapes.