To love St. Patrick’s Day, you don’t have to be Irish. Take me: an Italian-Austrian-Polish-American. I’m not big on parades, but look great in green. I love pubs, and the traditional holiday meal, but I’ll take a fat corned beef sandwich over cabbage and boiled potatoes.
I’m also intrigued by the holiday’s history. According to History.com,
for over 1000 years, the Irish have celebrated this day as a religious holiday. Since it falls during Lent, Irish families would go to church in the morning, and celebrate in the afternoon. On that one day they were allowed meat during Lent—Irish bacon (the corned beef of today?) and cabbage.
The first St. Patrick’s Day parade took place here in New York City, not even in Ireland! That was in 1762. Eventually, in 1848, many New York Irish aid groups combined their parades into one BIG New York City one.
Like I said, I’m not big on parades. What I am big on, is literature. And St. Patrick’s Day is the day to celebrate three of my favorite Irish writers.
When you hear the name Bram Stoker, what do you think of? Dracula! Though this great horror novel is set in Transylvania (closer to where my ancestors hailed from, vs. Stoker's), it sprang from an Irish mind. Stoker was a sickly kid who later overcame his illness to become an award-winning athlete. He worked in Civil Service with Dublin Castle, and began writing theater reviews for the Dublin Evening Mail. Eventually, he wound up in London, and became a part of its theater circle.
Besides Dracula, Stoker was known for novels like The Lady of the Shroud and The Lair of the White Worm. My favorite Stoker work was his short story “The Judge’s House.” Student Malcolmson needs an isolated place to study, and winds up in the house of this evil dead judge. In the walls are rats, which make tons of noise. In the middle of the room, a rope leads to a great alarm bell on the roof. One day, a gigantic rat comes down the rope and stares poor Malcomson down. When he hits Super Rat with a Bible, it screams and runs, but the story gets even better from there. . . .
Though the flamboyant Oscar Wilde is known more for his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, my favorite Wilde work is “The Happy Prince.” In this fairy tale, a dead prince is reborn as a beautiful golden statue, crusted with jewels. From where he stands on top of the city, he sees its poverty, degradation, and misery. His “tears” fall on a swallow, who becomes his right-hand man. At the prince’s command, the swallow plucks jewels and peels gold leaves off the prince’s body, in order to care for the needy. This story is so heart-wrenching, the ending made me cry. As a grown-up!
But my favorite Irish writer will always be James Joyce. Dubliners is one of the greatest collections of short stories ever. “Araby” describes the pangs of first love in such a way, our own teen crushes feel fresh and just as torturous now, as they were then. The narrator is in love with a neighbor, his friend Mangan’s sister. “I had never spoken to her. . . .” Joyce writes, “and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.”
Everywhere the boy goes, he carries her image with him, “even in places the most hostile to romance.” He lies on the floor watching and worshipping her through an inch of space beneath the blind. He cries and doesn’t know why. This little tough guy is growing up, and it makes no sense to him!
Finally, he learns how to win her heart: bring her a trifle from the local bazaar, Araby, as she can’t go herself. He lives for Saturday night, and his mission, but can only go if his uncle takes him . . .
And his uncle, well . . . can’t make it. By himself, the boy rushes to the bazaar just as it’s closing, and goes home, empty-handed:
“Gazing up into the darkness,” Joyce writes, “I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.”
Who hasn’t felt that way sometimes? Now, as much as then?
Today of all days, let’s celebrate our sameness . . . and the wee bit of Irish in us all.
I’m also intrigued by the holiday’s history. According to History.com,
for over 1000 years, the Irish have celebrated this day as a religious holiday. Since it falls during Lent, Irish families would go to church in the morning, and celebrate in the afternoon. On that one day they were allowed meat during Lent—Irish bacon (the corned beef of today?) and cabbage.
The first St. Patrick’s Day parade took place here in New York City, not even in Ireland! That was in 1762. Eventually, in 1848, many New York Irish aid groups combined their parades into one BIG New York City one.
Like I said, I’m not big on parades. What I am big on, is literature. And St. Patrick’s Day is the day to celebrate three of my favorite Irish writers.
When you hear the name Bram Stoker, what do you think of? Dracula! Though this great horror novel is set in Transylvania (closer to where my ancestors hailed from, vs. Stoker's), it sprang from an Irish mind. Stoker was a sickly kid who later overcame his illness to become an award-winning athlete. He worked in Civil Service with Dublin Castle, and began writing theater reviews for the Dublin Evening Mail. Eventually, he wound up in London, and became a part of its theater circle.
Besides Dracula, Stoker was known for novels like The Lady of the Shroud and The Lair of the White Worm. My favorite Stoker work was his short story “The Judge’s House.” Student Malcolmson needs an isolated place to study, and winds up in the house of this evil dead judge. In the walls are rats, which make tons of noise. In the middle of the room, a rope leads to a great alarm bell on the roof. One day, a gigantic rat comes down the rope and stares poor Malcomson down. When he hits Super Rat with a Bible, it screams and runs, but the story gets even better from there. . . .
- • Does the evil judge come back from the dead?
• Is Super Rat really the evil judge?
• What’s up with that rope?
Though the flamboyant Oscar Wilde is known more for his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, my favorite Wilde work is “The Happy Prince.” In this fairy tale, a dead prince is reborn as a beautiful golden statue, crusted with jewels. From where he stands on top of the city, he sees its poverty, degradation, and misery. His “tears” fall on a swallow, who becomes his right-hand man. At the prince’s command, the swallow plucks jewels and peels gold leaves off the prince’s body, in order to care for the needy. This story is so heart-wrenching, the ending made me cry. As a grown-up!
But my favorite Irish writer will always be James Joyce. Dubliners is one of the greatest collections of short stories ever. “Araby” describes the pangs of first love in such a way, our own teen crushes feel fresh and just as torturous now, as they were then. The narrator is in love with a neighbor, his friend Mangan’s sister. “I had never spoken to her. . . .” Joyce writes, “and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.”
Everywhere the boy goes, he carries her image with him, “even in places the most hostile to romance.” He lies on the floor watching and worshipping her through an inch of space beneath the blind. He cries and doesn’t know why. This little tough guy is growing up, and it makes no sense to him!
Finally, he learns how to win her heart: bring her a trifle from the local bazaar, Araby, as she can’t go herself. He lives for Saturday night, and his mission, but can only go if his uncle takes him . . .
And his uncle, well . . . can’t make it. By himself, the boy rushes to the bazaar just as it’s closing, and goes home, empty-handed:
“Gazing up into the darkness,” Joyce writes, “I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.”
Who hasn’t felt that way sometimes? Now, as much as then?
Today of all days, let’s celebrate our sameness . . . and the wee bit of Irish in us all.
9 comments:
Joyce would never drink green beer.
I have a little Irish in me on my mother's side. Italian on my father's side. Irish/Welsh/Dutch/German on my mother's. But, I've never gotten into the whole St. Patty's Day hoopla. It's just another day to me.
you make me want to read oscar wilde now, and the dubliners is in my school library....luv it!!!...thanks, cindy
Faith and Begorrah, always a delight, Cindy!
Who's yer paddy, Cindy? I am! Happy St. Pat's Day. Be sure to kiss an Irishman.
Anonymous-9
Cindy, even though my ancestry is from the Canary Islands, Cuba & USA, I feel that as a descendant of the first humans, blood of all nationalities runs in my veins. Today, I am Irish all the way....!
Fr
Great blog, Cindy. I'm also a fan of The Happy Prince! :)
What a great review of classic Irish authors! Hate to admit but I saw the movie, the Picture of Dorian Gray, before reading the book!! Bram Stokers Dracula is also a great movie.
Great blog. I didn't know you were a fan of Irish literature. I will have to try it some time.
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