{"id":3754,"date":"2011-08-17T11:18:27","date_gmt":"2011-08-17T15:18:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/?page_id=3754"},"modified":"2011-10-03T16:27:00","modified_gmt":"2011-10-03T20:27:00","slug":"king","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/journal\/past-issues\/issue-3\/king\/","title":{"rendered":"A Key to His Consciousness: Smell in “A Portrait of the Artist as Young Man”"},"content":{"rendered":"

Krissy King<\/a><\/h2>\n

(WR 100, Paper 3)
\nRead the instructor’s introduction<\/a>
\nDownload this essay<\/a><\/p>\n

James Joyce, in writing A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man<\/em>, made sure to equip Stephen Dedalus with a realistic sense of smell and, therefore, kept in mind the random and highly subconscious nature of olfaction as opposed to other sensual faculties. However, as the writer and creator of the world in which Stephen lives, Joyce faced the paradox of deliberately and consciously crafting Stephen\u2019s smell so as to seem<\/em> random and subconscious. The problem becomes even more complicated when one factors in the recurrence of figurative and imagined smells in Portrait<\/em>, which often correlate with concrete smells that have occurred earlier in the text. What results is a tension between reality and contrived reality, as Joyce, in allowing Stephen to develop an \u201cautonomous\u201d sense of smell, subconsciously unleashes his own olfactory associations; as a result, we catch glimpses of Joyce\u2019s consciousness filtered through the lens of Stephen\u2019s perspective.<\/p>\n

Before dissecting the intricate relationship between Joyce and Stephen using smell as a catalyst, it is important to outline the three interactive beings present in varying degrees throughout the novel. First, of course, we have Stephen, who grows to understand himself in spite of and because of obstacles, such as his Jesuit upbringing and his father\u2019s strident nationalism; then, there is the narrator, an older Stephen, who has the advantage of having lived through everything Stephen experiences and thus knows the outcome of every choice that Stephen makes; and, finally, there is Joyce himself, the invisible but omnipresent artist of Stephen\u2019s world, who has created every obstacle Stephen faces and guides the choices that resonate throughout Stephen\u2019s life. If Joyce were the artist of Stephen\u2019s aesthetic theory, he would remain \u201cwithin or behind or beyond or above his handiwork . . . indifferent, paring his fingernails\u201d (Joyce V.1467\u20139). However, Joyce cannot remain indifferent. Portrait<\/em> is the chronicle of a character as complex as any real human being\u2014and, as Jerry Allen Dibble points out, Joyce \u201crecogniz[es] implicitly the impossibility of bringing a character to life without giving up an enforced detachment which is, after all, as much an intrusion of the author’s personality on the lives of his characters as explicit, intrusive commentary would be\u201d (37). In order to create a living human being within the pages of a novel, Joyce must make Stephen in his own image and pour fundamental elements of himself into Stephen\u2019s creation. Not only that, but Stephen Dedalus\u2019s story is that of an artist. For this reason, Joyce intervenes within the novel in order to allow Stephen to experience certain things guiding Stephen\u2019s ultimate choice to become an artist<\/em>. By doing this, he continually calls attention to the artifice of the entire novel, to its status as a work of art, and to his awareness of the impossibility of an \u201cindifferent\u201d author.<\/p>\n

How, then, does smell fit into this grand scheme of the artist creating an artist? Smell, by its very nature, functions as the most fitting tool with which to understand Joyce\u2019s presence in Stephen\u2019s life. The sense of olfaction subtends consciousness, revealing one\u2019s subconscious desires and drives. According to a recent study of smell in relation to social preference, smell is directly connected to emotional response, and subliminal smells can even markedly influence one\u2019s judgment of a person\u2019s likeability (Li et al. 1044\u20135). In short, smell is the gateway not only to self-perception, but also to perception of others and the environment. In Portrait<\/em>, Joyce has created Stephen\u2019s environment, and, of course, the smells around him. Most of the time, Joyce adheres to realistic parameters when introducing a smell into Stephen\u2019s environment. At certain moments, however, he uses literal and figurative smells to influence Stephen\u2019s unconscious experience of his environment and to guide him to a greater understanding of the world and of his calling. These smells give Joyce leverage in defining certain aspects of Stephen\u2019s life; the level of Joyce\u2019s conscious control over Stephen\u2019s subconscious oscillates throughout Stephen\u2019s development and reveals much about the process Joyce underwent in writing Portrait<\/em>.<\/p>\n

In chapter I, for example, Joyce exerts a hefty measure of control over Stephen\u2019s susceptible, and relatively binary, mode of thinking. As a young boy far from home in the dark corridors of Clongowes, Stephen\u2019s frame of mind is simple and understandable: he dislikes school and wants to go back home to his mother. Fittingly, Stephen\u2019s reaction to the various scents of Clongowes is repeatedly negative: he fears the bath and the \u201csmell of the towels, like medicine\u201d (I.551\u20132), wrinkles his nose at the \u201cstinking stuff to drink [\u2026] in the infirmary\u201d (I.689\u201390), and dislikes the \u201cweak sour smell\u201d of burning charcoal in the sacristy (I.1194). Most telling is his unpleasant bout of nausea on the day of his first communion; he feels a tinge of guilt that \u201cthe faint smell [of wine] off the rector\u2019s breath had made him feel a sick feeling\u201d because he has been told that \u201cthe day of your first communion was the happiest day of your life\u201d (I.1402\u20134). Much of this negativity can be attributed to childish tendencies both to think in black and white and to over-exaggerate experiences; however, the question becomes why these particular smells fall decisively on the negative side of this binary. Granted, it makes sense that a child would have an adverse reaction to medicinal towels and a most likely unsanitary bath, but the smells of charcoal and wine by themselves are not necessarily regarded as unpleasant. In fact, the word \u201cwine\u201d triggers a pleasant linguistic association in Stephen\u2019s mind (I.1399\u20131401). It is a subconscious aversion to the winy residue from the rector\u2019s breath and the atmosphere of the church that offends Stephen\u2019s nostrils.<\/p>\n

Here is where Joyce comes into the picture: he stands something to gain from Stephen\u2019s instinctive repugnance toward the \u201cfaint winy smell\u201d (I.1398). Of all the things to be repulsed by that are conducive to a later rejection of the Church, why not Stephen\u2019s first communion, which represents both his initiation into the Church and his first contact with Christ? Stephen, being too young to have formed moral and intellectual objections to the Church that would create such an aversion, is easily controlled by Joyce, who has implanted this drive in Stephen\u2019s unconscious as a foundation for his repudiation of Church doctrine as a young adult.<\/p>\n

Even as a young child, however, Stephen is aware of the boundaries Joyce has delineated for his life. After rereading his inscription on the flyleaf of his geography textbook, which is a list beginning with his own name and expanding its scope until it reaches \u201cThe Universe,\u201d Stephen reflects upon the borders of this universe in which he is placed: \u201cWhat was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began? It could not be a wall but there could be a thin thin line there all round everything\u201d (I.318\u2013321). There is a high degree of irony in the seemingly innocent questions Stephen asks. Although Stephen matter-of-factly replies that there is \u201cnothing\u201d after the universe, we as readers know that there is not \u201cnothing\u201d after the universe: there is Joyce. In fact, Stephen\u2019s further reflections hint that he also is aware of Joyce\u2019s presence beyond Stephen\u2019s microcosmic universe. His ostensibly hypothetical exploration of the \u201cthin thin line\u201d separating his universe from the \u201cnothing place\u201d evidences his knowledge of the boundaries someone (whom we know as Joyce) has placed around him. Stephen intuitively knows that if he were to travel to the end of the earth or even to the end of existence, he could not possibly break through the thin line that is Joyce\u2019s artistic control. The fact that this element is included in the text points to two things: one, that the teller of the tale (an older Stephen) finds it important enough to include in the story and thus remains painfully aware of Joyce\u2019s inescapable presence in his life; and two, that Joyce himself wanted this ironic statement to be included in order to remind his readers of the artifice of the entire novel. However, as the \u201cgod\u201d of Stephen\u2019s universe, Joyce allows Stephen to more freely develop an identity and sense of self, as evidenced by his more relaxed sense of smell in chapter II.<\/p>\n

Here, there is a marked transition from the rigidity of Stephen\u2019s previous olfactory perceptions\u2014a rigidity that ascribes only negative reactions to church smells and positive reactions to those evocative of the home\u2014to the realistic ambiguity of his perceptions in chapter II. He has less of a sense of \u201cgood\u201d and \u201cbad\u201d smells, and some of Stephen\u2019s perceptions regarding smell are even contrary to what one might expect. For example, as Stephen approaches Heron and Wallis smoking before the Whitsuntide play, he \u201cbecame aware of a faint aromatic odour\u201d (Joyce II.541). Contrasting his childhood tendency to characterize smells into defined categories, Stephen does not react particularly strongly to the scent. The clear departure from Stephen\u2019s black-and-white reaction to smells in chapter I is worth noticing, if only by virtue of its contrariness to what we have come to expect. Certainly, it marks a transition toward Stephen\u2019s maturity, for in the adult world not every smell must be judged as pleasant or unpleasant. When observed from the point of view of Joyce\u2019s control over Stephen, however, it takes on added significance as a greater allowance of freedom on Joyce\u2019s part.<\/p>\n

It is important to note the phrasing here: rather than there merely being an odor, he \u201cbecame aware\u201d of it. When contrasted with phrases in chapter I such as \u201cthere was<\/em> a cold night smell in the chapel\u201d (I.381), the diction gives Stephen a sense of self-awareness and a feeling of autonomy over his own conscious processes. \u201cThere was\u201d causes one to think of a smell merely being<\/em> there, placed there as if by some outside force that gives Stephen no choice but to inhale it. In chapter II, on the other hand, Stephen is the acting force that becomes aware of this smell, and he is aware that he becomes aware of it. In short, Stephen is afforded control over his consciousness because Joyce has no need to steer him in any given direction. Joyce allows Stephen to grow as a character through adolescence, without any supernatural-seeming interventions beyond the reality Joyce has created for Stephen.<\/p>\n

If only things remained that simple. Joyce, as the creator of a literary masterpiece, would not instate such a dynamic of control and freedom without baffling his readers through such developments as figurative smells. Take, for example, the scene in II.3 in which Stephen tears away from the object of his passion, Emma. As he realizes he has lost the chance to kiss her, \u201cpride and hope and desire like crushed herbs in the heart sent up vapours of maddening incense before the eyes of his mind\u201d (II.930\u2013932). Here, Stephen does not literally smell anything; even figuratively an odor is not explicitly mentioned, only the fact that his eyes burned. Yet it is strange that the narrator describes these abstract emotions as \u201ccrushed herbs\u201d and \u201cmaddening incense,\u201d both of which emit powerful, intoxicating aromas. It can also be argued that so far, none of the smells in Stephen\u2019s world have actually been described as entering his nostrils\u2014whether it be the \u201cthere was\u201d of chapter I or Stephen\u2019s \u201c[becoming] aware of\u201d smells in chapter II, the fact that the narrator doesn\u2019t mention Stephen\u2019s intake of the smells does not discount their presence. The problem becomes what to make of this strange metaphor that is not even entirely consistent\u2014first the \u201cmaddening incense\u201d goes up before the \u201ceyes of his mind\u201d (II.932) and then again before his actual \u201canguished eyes\u201d a few lines later (II.935). For now, we will leave this dilemma; in chapter V, several instances in the text will shed light on the meaning of this mixed metaphor of a \u201csmell.\u201d<\/p>\n

A final significant moment in the realm of Stephen\u2019s freer subconscious is his perception of what many of us would find to be a repulsive odor. Eventually, Stephen\u2019s frenzy of emotion quiets, and \u201ca power, akin to that which had often made anger or resentment fall from him, brought his steps to rest\u201d (II.938\u20139). Considering this from a control standpoint, we might be tempted to ask: what is this awesome power that can subdue his overwhelming array of emotions so rapidly? Once again, the phrasing is significant. The teller has not only implied that there is an outside \u201cpower\u201d in play, giving Stephen no control over his actions, but he has also connected previous occurrences of this mysterious force to this present moment, evidencing his retrospective acknowledgment that this power is not unique to this moment, but something that has long played a part in Stephen\u2019s life. Could it be a \u201cdivine intervention\u201d on Joyce\u2019s part, guiding Stephen to this alleyway for a specific purpose? A further examination of the succeeding passage makes this interpretation plausible.<\/p>\n

After Stephen \u201cbreathe[s] slowly the rank heavy air\u201d in the lane, he finds a strange sort of comfort in its fetid fumes: \u201c\u2014That is horse piss and rotted straw, he thought. It is a good odour to breathe. It will calm my heart\u201d (II.943\u20134). With this unorthodox reaction to what many would consider a revolting smell, Stephen embraces the stenches of reality as opposed to the stifling, musty corridors of the church. While it may not be of great significance to Stephen now, later he will realize that he is called to be an artist immersed in the odors of the world rather than cloistering himself away in the confessional. The narrator, however, is well aware of the importance of this moment, as evidenced by the narrative shift that takes place. John Paul Riquelme, in his essay \u201cDedalus and Joyce Writing the Book of Himselves,\u201d astutely notes that in chapter II, the teller uses \u201cthe same typographical indicator, the dash, that previously identified only direct discourse\u201d (372). In a certain sense, Stephen engages in direct discourse at this moment, a discourse in which the interlocutors are both the present Stephen himself and the future Stephen who tells the story. Although the teller cannot physically answer the past Stephen, he can include this firm statement of Stephen\u2019s in the text to show that it has resonated with the teller over the years.<\/p>\n

Joyce, as we know, is the power that has led Stephen to this cobbled lane, guiding him on his path to becoming an artist by showing him that he is not meant to dwell within the Church. What separates this intervention from Joyce\u2019s necessary authorial manipulation of Stephen\u2019s actions is that Joyce has endowed the narrator with a peculiar self-awareness of the forces at play in his life. He has made the conscious decision to let the narrator know that Stephen\u2019s sudden halt in the alleyway was not of Stephen\u2019s will but of someone else\u2019s. In this instance, Stephen is unaware of what this force is or what it entails. In chapter III, however, he mistakenly comes to believe that this acting force is the Christian God.<\/p>\n

Something during the priest\u2019s harrowing sermons at the retreat instills in Stephen a renewed sense of fear of the Lord. The lurid depiction of hell, which Stephen believes to be his destiny, sends him into a paroxysm of guilt and disgust for his previous sexual acts. As memories of the past flood his brain, \u201cthe sordid details of his orgies stank under his very nostrils\u201d (Joyce III.488\u20139). Once again we must grapple with the concept of figurative versus literal smell. It would be easy to dismiss this statement as a mere rhetorical device, but, as Professor Michael Degener of Boston University points out, the phrasing of \u201cunder his very<\/em> nostrils\u201d would defy our attempts to do so. This syntactically unnecessary phrase draws attention to the unreality of the entire statement, for it does not leave the stink of these \u201csordid details\u201d as a quaint metaphor, but, rather, thrusts it directly under Stephen\u2019s nose to wreak physical havoc on him (just as the \u201cmaddening incense\u201d did in part II). Considering that this diction is the choice of the narrator, for the exact words themselves were most likely not running through Stephen\u2019s mind at this moment, it becomes evident that the older Stephen purposely blurs the line between real olfaction and imagined olfaction. Joyce, by including this segment in the first place, reminds his readers once again of the contrived reality of the entire novel\u2014for, whether literal or figurative, both are ultimately artificial because they are created by Joyce. Both are shown to have equal power over Stephen, and both are able to affect his mind as well as his body.<\/p>\n

This overlap of figurative and actual smell continues as Stephen\u2019s thoughts are increasingly consumed with the weight of his sin. Paralyzed with guilt, Stephen fixates on his past despite his attempts to fall asleep. A futile struggle takes place in which \u201che desired with all his will not to hear or see . . . till his frame shook under the strain of his desire\u201d (III.1257\u20138), yet he falls into a lurid nightmare of repulsive goat-like creatures circling him in a field of thistles and crusted excrement. However powerful Stephen\u2019s will may be, he cannot repress the deluge of dread and terror that has been lurking deep within his unconscious since the priest\u2019s first hominy. His guilt is not the only thing taking hold of him: \u201can evil smell, faint and foul as the light\u201d (III.1265) pervades the dream, yet another imagined odor that somehow infiltrates his nostrils as well as his consciousness. It is strange that the smell is described as \u201cevil\u201d in light of Stephen\u2019s more ambiguous reactions in chapter II, contradicting his previous categorization of horse urine and rotting straw as a comforting smell. Even stranger is that the revolting stench follows Stephen through layers of consciousness separating his dream from reality: \u201cHe sprang from the bed, the reeking odour pouring down his throat, clogging and revolting his entrails . . . clasping his cold forehead wildly, he vomited profusely in agony\u201d (III.1288\u201393). Somehow this \u201cimagined\u201d smell, which entered Stephen\u2019s dream despite resistance of the body and soul, has the power to physically enter his throat and prompt a violent, visceral reaction\u2014surely no mere figment of the imagination could have such an effect. With this powerful smell that affects several layers of Stephen\u2019s consciousness, Joyce creates a stench that Stephen, since Joyce has crafted him to seem like a realistic human being, cannot possibly interpret as anything but otherworldly. Stephen believes that \u201cGod had allowed him to see the hell reserved for his sins\u201d (III.1285\u20136), but, in reality, it is Joyce who has consciously intervened within the fabric of his own contrived reality in order to propel Stephen towards the chain of events that will lead him to artistry.<\/p>\n

This chain of events culminates in chapter IV with Stephen\u2019s epiphany. For the final time, we see Joyce intervene beyond the demands of his authorial presence with a supernatural smell. The catalyst is the director of Belvedere\u2019s invitation for Stephen to join the priesthood, which then prompts an intensive consideration of the calling that would irreversibly alter his future. Suddenly, his anxieties come rushing forward, and he realizes that \u201cit was a grave and ordered and passionless life that awaited him\u201d (Joyce IV.480\u20131). But it is not even his potentially mirthless life that repels Stephen from accepting the call to the priesthood; rather, it is the \u201ctroubling odour of the long corridors of Clongowes\u201d that returns to him and fills him with dread and unrest (Joyce IV.484). The effect is immediate and terrifying. Assaulted with \u201ca feverish quickening of his pulses\u201d and \u201ca din of meaningless words\u2026 his lungs dilated and sank as if he were inhaling a warm moist unsustaining air which hung in the bath in Clongowes\u201d (Joyce IV.487\u201392). It is well known that smell is able to evoke strong and often emotionally charged memories without any conscious decision on our part. Why, however, does the smell arise in the first place, and why are its effects so debilitating? This turning point in Stephen\u2019s life is facilitated once again by Joyce, who reaches out to save Stephen by awakening \u201csome instinct, stronger than education or piety\u201d that makes him realize \u201cthe chill and order of the [priesthood] repelled him\u201d (IV.493\u20137). This instinct, stemming deep from within Stephen\u2019s subconscious, has slowly been gaining strength because of key events in the text\u2014his childhood at Clongowes, his religious experience in chapter III, and, most importantly, the real and figurative smells that have implanted themselves in Stephen\u2019s memory\u2014and was cultivated by Joyce himself, who has not pared his fingernails, but has gotten his hands dirty with his subtle interventions in Stephen\u2019s life. The result of these interventions is Stephen\u2019s rejection of church doctrine and acceptance of the call to be an artist. Now that this has been accomplished, Joyce sets his character free in the world and observes the fruit of his creation in action.<\/p>\n

Evidencing this new freedom is a fundamental change in the nature of Stephen\u2019s olfaction. In chapter V, Stephen finally experiences smell as it exists in reality: random, unstructured, with links to the subconscious that are not immediately obvious. Smells often trigger linguistic associations that lead to wordplay, and certain scents even precipitate Stephen\u2019s creative process. Nonetheless, as Joyce looses Stephen\u2019s subconscious, so must he set his own subconscious free in order to create linguistic associations that are neither forced nor contrived, but natural. For this reason, chapter V is as much about Joyce as it is about Stephen; more specifically, we learn what is at stake for Joyce in creating a character who seemingly possesses a subconscious mind of his own.<\/p>\n

An excellent example of the budding connection between smells and words can be found as Stephen takes a stroll along Stephen\u2019s Green toward his next class. As he passes along the Green, \u201cthe rainsodden earth gave forth its moral odour, a faint incense rising upward through the mould from many hearts\u201d (V.363\u20134). Many elements from previous chapters collide in this cryptic statement. For one, it must be determined whether these words are Stephen\u2019s or the narrator\u2019s. The answer to this query is far from simple because, as Jerry Allen Dibble puts it, \u201cthe personality or identity of the narrator [in Portrait<\/em>] is\u2026 constantly in the process of breaking down as it flows toward the main character in the story, taking on his \u2018personality,\u2019 vocabulary, syntax, and even his values as the narrative distance lessens\u201d (34). In short, as the novel draws near its close and the temporal distance between the narrator and Stephen\u2014who is growing older twice as fast as the narrator\u2014lessens, so do the differences in outlook, personality, and experience between the two of them. The decreasing narrative distance between Stephen and the narrator thus makes it more difficult to differentiate between them, especially in combination with the stream-of-consciousness sequence of this paragraph (V.362\u20139).<\/p>\n

What, then, do we make of this \u201cincense\u201d that bears much similarity to the metaphor of the \u201ccrushed herbs\u201d and \u201cmaddening incense\u201d in chapter II? Both describe this metaphorical incense as rising or wafting up, either \u201cbefore the eyes of his mind\u201d (II.932) or \u201cthrough the mould from many hearts\u201d (V.364). Both descriptions are also inconsistent: in the former instance, the incense is said first to go up before the \u201ceyes of his mind\u201d and later before his actual eyes, whereas the latter describes the odor first as \u201cmoral\u201d (V.363) and then as \u201cmortal\u201d (V.366). It should be noted that the \u201cincense\u201d of Stephen\u2019s Green is an actual smell, as opposed to the precarious metaphor of the crushed herbs and incense in chapter II. The similarities between the two lend support to the idea that in the universe of Portrait<\/em>, literal and figurative smells have the same properties. However, their differences say more about the progression of Stephen\u2019s artistry. The first \u201cincense\u201d makes for a clunky metaphor, whereas the second is more sophisticated, albeit equally enigmatic. The improved fluidity of the second allusion shows Stephen\u2019s enhanced aptitude for aesthetic and linguistic sensibilities.<\/p>\n

That said, it must be remembered that Stephen\u2019s linguistic associations were crafted by Joyce and are thus inescapably his wordplay intended to seem like Stephen\u2019s. Taking this into account, we learn something about Joyce\u2019s creative process: that his words at times are not chosen solely based on their exact denotations, but rather by virtue of their sounds, shapes, and the connotative imagery that arises from them. Moist, rainy earth is imbued with an odor that is \u201cmoral\u201d as well as \u201cmortal,\u201d a toying with syllables that allows Joyce to continue with his metaphor based on a free association with the \u201c[moral] incense\u201d that wafts \u201cthrough the mould of many [mortal] hearts.\u201d The pattern is thus established of art through association, in which loose subconscious connections create an ambient aesthetic. Now that we have an inkling of Joyce\u2019s artistic process, we realize that it is in large part incompatible with Stephen\u2019s aesthetic theory\u2014for Joyce does not create art through the \u201cluminous silent stasis\u201d (V.1401) of aesthetic apprehension, but by playing around with words and sounds, which is, in large part, a fluid process of trial and error rather than a sudden, overwhelming moment of insight.<\/p>\n

Even after seeing both Joyce\u2019s conscious maneuvers and subconscious associations at work within Stephen\u2019s world, is it possible to determine how much of Portrait<\/em> is a result of the former and how much is a result of the latter? To what extent did Joyce, in writing Portrait<\/em>, surrender to the deeper layers of his own mind, over which he himself had no control? It is impossible to know completely, for we cannot permeate Joyce\u2019s mind. However, we can see that Joyce\u2019s consciousness, while fundamentally intertwined with Stephen\u2019s at all times in the novel, becomes more apparent and richly embedded within the text as Stephen matures and solidifies into the complex character he is at the end of the novel. In this way, Joyce gradually erodes the barrier that he has constructed between Stephen and himself, and Stephen\u2019s consciousness (as well as his subconscious) converges with his own. Certainly, by Portrait\u2019s<\/em> final pages, Joyce himself found it impossible to discern which of Stephen\u2019s olfactory associations were consciously crafted and which stemmed from the deepest layers of Joyce\u2019s own subconscious mind.<\/p>\n

Works Cited<\/h2>\n

Dibble, Jerry Allen. \u201cStephen’s Esthetic and Joyce’s Art: Theory and Practice of Genre in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man<\/em>.\u201d The Journal of Narrative Technique<\/em> 6.1 (1976): 34\u201337. JSTOR. Web. 30 Nov. 2010.<\/p>\n

Joyce, James. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man<\/em>. Ed. John Paul Riquelme. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 2007. Print.<\/p>\n

Li, Wen, et al. \u201cSubliminal Smells Can Guide Social Preferences.\u201d Psychological Science<\/em> 18.12 (2007): 1044\u20139. Google Scholar. Web. 2 Dec. 2010.<\/p>\n

Riquelme, John Paul. \u201cDedalus and Joyce Writing the Book of Themselves.\u201d A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man<\/em>. James Joyce. Ed. John Paul Riquelme. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, Inc., 2007. 366\u201374. Print.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Krissy King (WR 100, Paper 3) Read the instructor’s introduction Download this essay James Joyce, in writing A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, made sure to equip Stephen Dedalus with a realistic sense of smell and, therefore, kept in mind the random and highly subconscious nature of olfaction as opposed to other […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4801,"featured_media":0,"parent":3740,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3754"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4801"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3754"}],"version-history":[{"count":20,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3754\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4166,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3754\/revisions\/4166"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3740"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/writingprogram\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3754"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}