To start off, I’d like to explain why I named my blog “Ageist.” I’m just going to throw it out there: I believe everyone is unconsciously ageist. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not an insult. Throughout this semester, I’m expecting a lot of society-built assumptions about age: It’s too young to do “blank,” or the character — cough, Stephen — acts like he’s an old man. The very first day of class was a discussion about what is the “coming-of-age” milestone. Ignoring other various factors like whether a person has literally lived under a rock and personality traits, I’m generally sticking my guns to twenty-five.
Taking all that into account, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man never explicitly says how old Stephen Daedalus is. We assume when he wets the bed, he’s a naïve child still learning to piece together his environment. Because he goes to “college” and the conversations seem immature, we think he’s about seven to ten years old. Later, we say Stephen has the soul of an old tormented man, but he’s just an edgy teenager trying to embrace the “brooding cool guy” vibe. Sometimes we laugh at Stephen’s dramatic attempts and experiences because we have a deeper understanding of what’s going on.
We’re almost halfway through this book and one thing sticks out to me: If I read this when I was younger, I could’ve mistaken Stephen for an adult. His inner monologue paints him as this posh character. His thoughts clearly show his cold and distant demeanor towards others including family (e.g Stephen refers to the kids at the party as “children”). We only know his age because of the social context — possibly personal experience too. Because of the general ageist viewpoint of our current century, we understand the stereotype of a growing teenager. We can understand Joyce’s novel unfold from different perspectives: as a fellow child and somewhat normal member of society.
