Aside from the moist emerald green snapshots I’ve seen of Ireland, I’ve no real idea what the island actually looks like. Odd then that I can see what Joyce is writing about: the tower, the dead body not yet found at sea, the classroom and the kids clambering over the chairs.
Stephen is morose, no wonder he surrounds himself with such comic friends, he has no humor in him it seems.
And death everywhere. Sad.