Books You Should Be Reading But Aren't: The Dead

Okay, okay, so "The Dead" isn't a book. It's a short story. In the "Dubliners." We've written about its last sentence, and it truly is a remarkable one. But the story in and of itself stands alone as an exemplary example (is that redundant?) of Joyce's more coherent work (that is, in a traditional narrative). In the last two years, I've read this story about four times, and it's been a pleasure each and every time. It's one of the few stories where a dinner scene is both necessary and executed well. The dinner table has often been a trap for writers, as conversation becomes action with seated guests. Joyce does not fail here. For starters, start simply with the foods on the table, each so fraught with symbolism, it seems overwhelming if you think about it, natural if you don't (also, a perfect example of how food can enhance a story without the story being about food). Familial and social dynamics are explored and exploited as if you were witnessing your own family's last Christmas party.

And the devasting ending, when the narrator is convinced that his wife is still in love with a (now deceased) boy from her adolescence, he looks out into the snow, seeing the great equalizer. Snow covers both the living and the dead, something that he had previously tried to protect his wife from (by buying her snow boots, etc.).

I could go on, but this is a story I refuse to summarize. Please read it. You'll be glad you did.