Every time it snows I’m reminded of the final lines of Joyce’s The Dead. It has to be one of the most, if not the most beautiful short story ever written.
Joyce really mastered the art of the short story, mainly down to his uncanny understanding of human nature along with his intense observation on the lives of those around him. You can blab on about literary structures, the modern form and all the intricacies of Joyce’s writing, to be honest I’m not that big on the academic side of it, I just really adore how he can really depict the soul of a person. The Dead has to be top of the list in this regard, how true that someone you’ve married and loved for years can at times be a complete stranger to you.
So, to in some ways celebrate the snow (ah feck it, sure doesn’t it look gorgeous), here’s the last fews lines from John Huston’s very fine adaptation of said beautiful, amazing and fantastic short story.