In an interview conducted in 1906, James Joyce said, “‘I left the Catholic Church, hating it most fervently. I found it impossible for me to remain in it on account of the impulses of my nature…Now I make war upon it by what I write and say and do. I cannot enter the social order except as a vagabond.’” 

In commentary to Joyce’s quote, a scholar from the University of Chicago wrote, “Joyce’s early critique of the Church was…illustrated by [his] ascription of ‘paralysis’ to an Irish culture and society permeated by Catholicism” (Kanter 381). 

James Joyce’s Dubliners is a collection of short stories that share a common thread: paralysis. I personally am quite attached to Joyce’s work because of this reappearing idea for reasons I cannot exactly explain. The human draw to that which is sinister, perhaps? I am specifically attracted to “The Sisters” for reasons unknown as well other than the fact that I found it a slightly creepy yet interesting tale. I also must say that I wonder at Joyce’s title choice for this story, as the sisters were not at all the primary focus of the text. I honestly love James Joyce for this seeming randomness- I can’t predict what’s going to happen next, and nothing is ever so obvious as it seems when he’s writing the story. He reminds me of Dante in that regard, only Dante was never random and used every possible detail to prove his points in the story.

Paralysis in “The Sisters,” at least in comparison to some other stories, is more obviously physical. 

Brief pause, I just found out that my cat is going to be put down tomorrow. The rest of this may not be so coherent as previous writing. 

The paralysis in this short story is more clearly, and essentially stated literally. The protagonist’s mentor (if the protagonist was ever named, I could not remember it) is Father Flynn, a leader in the Catholic Church that has unfortunately suffered a third stroke, leaving him immobile. This is a critical point made by Joyce through his own unique style; I believe that he is stating or indicating a paralyzed nature of society most specifically within the church. I cannot say I came up with this idea on my own, because who am I kidding – Joyce’s writing has so much embedded within it that I, with my redundant brain in comparison to his, understand it in its full glory. I was only given this idea from the lovely scholar I mention previously at the University of Chicago (Em, if you’re reading this, I hope to read a scholarly article from you during your time at the school). According to Kanter, Joyce ‘ascripts’ paralysis to the Irish culture and the Catholic Church. I personally cannot speak on his commentary on Irish culture, as I am not exactly super knowledgeable in that regard (if only I had Grace here) but I do want to discuss the church. I speak on this purely in a general religious sense, not in a Catholic sense, as I am not Catholic and know nothing of the sort. I think Joyce was really onto something here in discussing the church as being in paralysis through his use of his Father Flynn character. 

Paralysis…being stuck…frozen. Do teachings in church, especially in those which are corrupt, hold us in place? Are the corrupt ideologies so many believe confining? Joyce would say yes. And this is what he is talking about in this short story. The young narrator spends all of his time with Father Flynn as he admires and tries to learn his way of life from him. He is very openly criticized by the lovely old Cotter and is encouraged to act more like other kids, who live more lightheartedly. I don’t sense any judgment or distaste for the narrator throughout the story, but perhaps Joyce is watching him spin his own demise as he lives in proximity with the corrupt figurehead of paralysis.

Another side note- the narrator is said to make the ‘snuff’ ready for Father Flynn, who physically cannot do it himself, but I see another meaning to this. The church, so often praising themselves for doing only the good and the clean, most often get their hands dirty under the table. Was this perhaps symbolism for corrupted people not necessarily wanting to get their own hands dirty and preferring to subject an innocent to doing it for them? Interesting things to think about.

Anyway, I love James Joyce and his writing. My highest compliment ever received is having my own writing compared to his (thank you Mr. Nigro) and I will never forget it. If I could choose anyone dead or alive to have lunch with, James is an honest contender with beloved Dante. I would love to see what goes on in his silly little head.

I leave you now to eat a tub of ice cream in my bed. Good night.