Near the junction of North Earl Street and O'Connell Street you'll find a jauntily aloof James Joyce, popularly known - and forgive the vernacular - as 'The Prick with the Stick'.
(There are many literary and political statues in Dublin. The monument to Anna Livia - a personification of the river Liffey - is known as 'The Floozie in the Jacuzzi'. The buxom Molly Malone, who wheels her wheelbarrow at the end of Grafton Street, is variously nicknamed 'The Tart with the Cart', 'The Dolly with the Trolley', 'The Trollop with the Scallop', 'The Dish with the Fish' and 'The Flirt with the Skirt'. And Oscar Wilde, who sits on a large granite boulder in Merrion Square, has of course become 'The Queer with the Leer' or 'The Fag on the Crag'.)
I think it's good these literary figures have been brought down to earth and humanised in this way. And a very Irish thing, I venture. Here in England we tend to worship our artistic gods and goddesses, putting them on pedestals, talking about them in hushed tones, freezing with awe and admiration whenever they enter the room. But in Ireland it would be expected, and indeed entirely natural, to share the craic with Seamus Heaney or Paul Muldoon or Roddy Doyle or Patrick McCabe if we found ourselves rubbing shoulders with them at the bar. |