When will you plebs learn that Joyce matched and maybe even surpassed Shakespeare and Dante...

>Joyce only had one masterpiece
Portrait and The Dead are also masterpieces, user.

portrait is garbage

The Dead is overrated, it's not even the best story in Dubliners.

>These are the people that we share a board with
Absolute garbage opinions.

"I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also."
>Implying this isn't another masterpiece.

Fucking leave this board you absolute dullard of a contrarian

stop posting

>Implying that that's even the best one
My love for you allows me to pray to the spirit of eternal beauty and tenderness mirrored in your eyes or fling you down under me on that softy belly of yours and fuck you up behind, like a hog riding a sow, glorying in the very stink and sweat that rises from your arse, glorying in the open shape of your upturned dress and white girlish drawers and in the confusion of your flushed cheeks and tangled hair. It allows me to burst into tears of pity and love at some slight word, to tremble with love for you at the sounding of some chord or cadence of music or to lie heads and tails with you feeling your fingers fondling and tickling my ballocks or stuck up in me behind and your hot lips sucking off my cock while my head is wedged in between your fat thighs, my hands clutching the round cushions of your bum and my tongue licking ravenously up your rank red cunt. I have taught you almost to swoon at the hearing of my voice singing or murmuring to your soul the passion and sorrow and mystery of life and at the same time have taught you to make filthy signs to me with your lips and tongue, to provoke me by obscene touches and noises, and even to do in my presence the most shameful and filthy act of the body. You remember the day you pulled up your clothes and let me lie under you looking up at you while you did it? Then you were ashamed even to meet my eyes.

You are mine, darling, mine! I love you. All I have written above is only a moment or two of brutal madness. The last drop of seed has hardly been squirted up your cunt before it is over and my true love for you, the love of my verses, the love of my eyes for your strange luring eyes, comes blowing over my soul like a wind of spices. My prick is still hot and stiff and quivering from the last brutal drive it has given you when a faint hymn is heard rising in tender pitiful worship of you from the dim cloisters of my heart.

Nora, my faithful darling, my seet-eyed blackguard schoolgirl, be my whore, my mistress, as much as you like (my little frigging mistress! My little fucking whore!) you are always my beautiful wild flower of the hedges, my dark-blue rain-drenched flower.

A Little Cloud is a superior portrait of a superior despair.

A Little Cloud isn't even better than A Painful Case.

>He thinks that there's only one person on this board who recognizes his garbage opinion

Honestly, what's the point of reading Joyce ?

By reading a classic author, you improve your mastery of the language and often learn about history that way. What do you get from reading Finnegans Wake ?

Shakespeare invented melodrama, which is now used as an insult.

What about Dubliners? I haven't read it yet, but I heard it was good. Anyone know?

>all these dead white males
>good authors
ugh

"Dante is better than Shakespeare", said the non-Italian speaker

Its pretty simple. Shakespeare significantly predates Joyce so Shakespeare is better

What would you know about Dante, translation cuck?

Dunno mane why do people read literature? Enjoyment maybe?

Yeah but if you do it for fun you shouldn't be smug about it. It means reading Joyce is as fullfilling as playing a roguelike.

>implying roguelikes arent the pinnacle of vidya
i bet you can't even beat Omega, faggot.

Some might argue Samuel Delaney who wrote dhalgren surpasses Joyce

No, nobody would ever argue that.

isnt dhalgrens complexity equal to Ulysses

>its a masterpiece because its unreadable

I would say Toni Morrison is on the same level as Joyce Shakespeare and Dante

kek

>Bloom loves him for a reason
can you really take his opinion as a holy truth though? his native tongue is english, and he has shakespeare so deep up his ass even if he came across something better, he very likely wouldn't "admit it", specially if its not in english

>Joyce matched and maybe even surpassed Shakespeare and Dante
>competing writers
I mean, you do realize that writing is art, not a competition, right?
The only writers who compete are the pseud writers, writing YA and genre fiction etc. in a material warfare for prestige.

Criticism starts - it has to start - with a real passion for reading. It can come in adolescence, even in your twenties, but you must fall in love with poems. You must fall in love with what we used call 'imaginative literature.' And when you are in love that way, with or without provocation from good teachers, you will pass on to encountering what used to be called the sublime. And as soon as you do this, you pass into the agonistic mode, even if your own nature is anything but agonistic. In the end, the spirit that makes one a fan of a particular athlete or a particular team is different only in degree, not in kind, from the spirit that teaches one to prefer one poet to another, or one novelist to another. That is to say there is some element of competition at every point in one's experience as a reader. How could there not be? Perhaps you learn this more fully as you get older, but in the end you choose between books, or you choose between poems, the way you choose between people. You can't become friends with every acquaintance you make, and I would not think that it is any different with what you read.

is joyce greater than tony morrison

warosu.org/lit/thread/S667543