A Little Circle of Kindred Minds: Joyce in Paris by Conor Fennell (review)

Written with verve and enthusiasm, A Little Circle of Kindred Minds: Joyce in Paris possesses a certain charm and will appeal to a wide range of people interested in learning how Joyce spent his time in Paris in the 1920s. Conversational phrases—such as how Lucia "fancied" Samuel Beckett or how Arthur Power had "no time" for nationalist Ireland or how American exiles in the 1920s found Prohibition "the final straw" (221, 33, 20)—might irritate some reviewers, but, on reflection, they form part of its appeal. It is a book composed by a lively raconteur who has a good eye for putting together a story.

The question that often arises when considering Joyce in Paris is whether all his attention went into his writing and whether there was anything left over for just living. It is a question that remains after one has finished Fennell's account. Repeatedly, the author suggests that Joyce incorporated details about Dublin and Ireland from conversations with his circle of friends. He cannot resist an anecdote, and there is none better than the frequently recounted episode when, during a dictation session, Beckett wrote down the phrase "[c]ome in," and it is believed to have appeared some years later in Finnegans Wake (210, JJII 649).¹ But the mountain Joyce was drilling into from both sides remains largely a mystery in this account. It is as if Fennell believes Joyce lived in two worlds: one concerned with the practice of writing, the other a parallel universe where, in the evening, he would frequent the best Parisian restaurants and then adjourn to his apartment with friends to sing Irish ballads and slightly off-color songs such as "The Brown and Yellow Ale" or show his guests his skill at high-kicking until he collapsed on the sofa or retired to bed, ready for the next day's piece of writing (186).

According to Fennell, Joyce manipulated or "exploited" his friends (15). It is not a word I would choose. I think he made good use of his friends; manipulation or exploitation is an unnecessary criticism of Joyce's character—at least at this point. He got his friends to read books for him, run errands, write positive things about his new work, support him financially, and so on. He apparently told Arthur Power, "'I'm always friends with a person for a purpose'" (14), but, again, that is not evidence that he is an exploiter or a manipulator, and, equally, we cannot always trust Power.

Attachment is a related matter, but that is something Fennell only discusses in passing and often only in relation to the attitude of those in the circle toward Joyce, not the other way round. So there is something one-dimensional about this account. Missing is a general exploration of Joyce's sense of attachment both in regard to his friends and in regard to how he conceived friendship. The falling out with Beckett is recounted, as is the reconciliation, but there could have been a wider discussion about the nature of friendship and attachment. In the mid-1930s, when all the exiles return home and Joyce is left on his own, again the reader looks for some reflection on how this affected him. Perhaps he did not need friends but only a wife and family. Perhaps others in the circle were mere acquaintances, who came and went with the seasons and the fortunes of the French economy and exchange rate.

Thomas MacGreevy, who was sufficiently inside the circle to become Giorgio Joyce's best man at his wedding, suggests that "Joyce was not interested in personal friendship or friendships," and he adds: "When new acquaintanceships turned up, I would say that his first and only consideration was whether they could be of use in relation to the still unnamed work" (196).² I suspect Fennell takes that phrase "could be of use" as further proof of...