The Guardian is running a piece about yet another missing letter from Joyce to Nora. The piece is cleverly entitled Portrait of the artist as a lecherous young man

In the process of cleaning out my parents' house (astute observers of my life will note that this has been taking years, not months, weeks, or days), I've been happy to come across a number of letters written by my family; mostly the weekly letters from my mother to her own mother, but also some gems like letters home from camp when my mother was ten years old.

I certainly have found nothing like the letters Stanislaus had kept tucked away.

Nor, to my chagrin, any new clues to my parents' early courtship and meeting. Though there's clear evidence of the archivist tendencies I inherited, so far they haven't moved in that directions. It isn't too surprising - most relationships are lived on in the day to day, not in epistolary romances. But to find a hint of their youth....

Posted by esinclai at July 04, 2004 10:31 PM |