Who is Irish, who are the Irish, what makes an Irish writer Irish? Why does he/she have to be Irish, follow and become part of some tradition, this question of who/what is Irish runs parallel to whom and what is ‘I'? I can stand for identity in that it is I the writer (a writer, not this writer), I the character (belonging to a writer), I of those living in the nation (possible subjects of a writer), all of those things with which anyone or thing may identify. The writer has these tools of identity at their respective disposal and how said writer happens to dispose will lead to his/her ultimate identity. Again, must the writer be identified?
Perhaps identified is not the word, labeled is too strong, categorized may work. As soon as any work comes out it is put into some category—drama, action/adventure, comedy, horror and the like. With this categorization of story comes categorization of author.
[...] Not all of the stories take place in Ireland, Beckett does not have a place at all, yet he is a part of Irish literature. Then this is defined more properly as Irish style, what is the Irish style? There isn't one, of course, there isn't anything without time. The Irish style of the times, the old school ‘I's,' the new ‘I's' from Moore and Yeats, to Wilde, to Beckett, to McCabe language has changed, style has changed, acceptability has changed. [...]
[...] Is that what the fuss is all about, Wilde abandoning his Dublin roots? Yeats once claimed “there is no great literature without nationality” (Field day Anthology 372). Is there no ‘nationalism' in this novel? There is certainly nationalism, it may not be the utopian version of “Irish nationalism” Yeats is referring to but it is in there. Must one represent his/her own nation, and is this only important to the Irish? Is place so utterly important in Wilde's work? Sure it is, it is Wilde's place and everything is geared towards his creation, London in the background along with all of termed, created, unfactual place put it away, these lines on maps made by politicians through bloodshed have no bearing on writers, on stories, only the ones (stories) dealing with politicians drawing pictures that people must fight for. [...]
[...] Maybe something about esthetic value in the Irish revival, or like symbolism and stuff, but what about, “Where now? Who now? When now? Unquestioning. say I. Questions, hypotheses, call them that” (291). That is what I am after. It is so important, where, who, when, these are the core bricks that sculpt any literary work and are coincidentally the foundation for what has been deemed unnamable, unable to be understandable, unlikable, unreadable and cetera, but this is not an opinion piece and I apologize. [...]
[...] It is ridiculous to say that the ‘I's,' be it Stephen, Pussy, Joyce, or McCabe are the who of which Irish literature is comprised due to the fact that they are from Ireland and go through changes? Is this what ignorance is? What about isolation? in the end I declined, for that's all over now, let's face it, and all I really want is to be left alone here, flicking through my magazine” (Breakfast on Pluto 199). And wait, I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. [...]
[...] If ‘likeness' were any part of developing any cannon of literature, Irish literature too, then the reader would be pretty damn bored, bollocks! Nothing is ‘like' something else, I am not you, them, or those, and they are not me, and we are not them, Beckett is not Joyce, Hail and Farewell! is not Breakfast on Pluto, so perhaps there is only ‘I' after all; only one person, place, and time—only one who. Each ‘I' will represent an individual who, I as individual. [...]
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