Page 29 of Thomas
“I have, once, and then a second time. The first time I was young and perhaps… ill prepared for it.”
“What do you mean?”
Looking up at the ceiling as if the words he wanted to convey were painted there, Thomas considered for a moment. “Joyce’s experimentation with language and style was jarring for me as a novice reader. The novel has eighteen chapters, and thus is written in eighteen unique styles—some of which were interesting and unique, and others, frankly, impossible for me to comprehend.”
Cameron nodded, his arms still folded. “Agreed, it is a challenging text, for certain. Joyce attempts to explore and communicate the human experience in as many literary techniques as possible. If you read his later works, he still plays with convention and language, but with more clarity.”
“I haven’t read his other works yet,” Thomas confessed. “But after my second read ofUlysses, I realized that the point was not necessarilywhatis written within its pages, buthowit is written. That perhaps Joyce wanted to dispel the notion that stories must be conveyed in one, consistent way. To challenge conventional thinking and the status quo surrounding storytelling.”
“Again, we are in agreement,” Cameron said, regarding Thomas intently. “What are your thoughts on the book overall?”
Thomas chuckled. “Who am I to give an opinion on what is considered one of the most significant works in modernist literature?”
“I’d still love to know what you think,” Cameron said, a gentle smile on his lips. “If you’ll indulge me?”
A subtle warmth bloomed in Thomas’s face. He waved a casual hand. “Well, if you insist.”
“Please.”
Thomas stifled a grin. “I felt that while some of his prose was absolutely ascendent in its beauty, the stream-of-consciousness voicing was not easy for me to follow. Even still, the last chapter of the novel—particularly the final two pages—resonated deeply, and I felt I finally understood the body of work in its entirety.”
“For the most part, I share your sentiments,” Cameron said. “At its heart,Ulyssesis a love story.”
Thomas nodded in agreement, then realized he hadn’t started doing any actual sorting. He was supposed to be helping, not just running his mouth. But he relished talking to Cameron in this way. It felt natural and easy, and Cameron was wonderfully attentive to their conversations. It reminded Thomas of the way it had been with Dawn, but slightly different, somehow.
Casually thinking of Dawn brought on a rush of melancholy within Thomas’s heart. He sighed, overwhelmed by the mournful, anxious feelings surrounding her and their ill-fated love.
Thomas shook his head, shutting the feelings away as he reached for his designated box to sort through for the day.
“I truly… enjoy hearing your opinion on literary works.”
Thomas lifted his gaze, slightly bewildered. “Do you?”
“Yes. You did this withThe Islandas well. You are refreshingly aware of the space between your own unique experience of the novel and the novel itself. Many people will give critical reviews of something likeUlysses, and they emphasize the self, which ends up revealing more about them than the work. They might say, ‘It’s boring. It’s slow and complicated. I didn’t understand it. I prefer things to be written this way or that.’ I like your careful thoughtfulness of the artist’s intent, neatly juxtaposed against your own perspective.”
Thomas blinked, his back lit warmly by the rising sunlight. Focusing on Cameron’s thoughtful words and his fiery andcommanding essence helped to abate the dark despondency looming within his mind. He smiled timidly. “What did I say aboutThe Island? And when?”
Cameron broke their gaze as he lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “You… you truly don’t remember it?”
“Remind me, please?”
“We both attended the Havenwrath estate for their winter solstice party several years ago. During a conversation, you said—poignantly, I felt—that the book was about a broken man seeking redemption. And that it challenged conventional thinking and behavior, particularly surrounding religion. Anyway…” Cameron lifted his hand from his neck to wave it. “I was struck by your attentive take on a complex work of fiction.”
Winter solstice at the Havenwrath estate…Thomas drew a complete blank. Everything before his three months in the dungeon felt splotchy and vague, like a dream. He knew he was living a full life before that event, but aside from Dawn and the night of their elopement, the details were hazy.
“So… we met there and spoke to each other,” Thomas said, sincerely wanting to resurrect and parse out the memory, “at the Havenwrath estate?”
“Yes, but I… It was a blip of a moment—and you were deep in conversation and surrounded by your peers. Undoubtedly, I was an awkward interruption. It’s insignificant.”
“No, Cameron. Sometimes I have difficulty remembering past events. I doubt very seriously that you were any of those things… Is this what you wanted me to remember that first afternoon when we spoke in my room?”
Cameron waved his hand once more. “No, it’s nothing, please. Let’s get started with today’s sorting. We’re making progress at a rate I never thought possible. I might be able to renovate this room by spring.”
Cameron shifted his body and attention toward his files. A distinct motion that communicated to Thomas that he was done with this topic. Again.
Something in it felt hardened. Thomas couldn’t decipher it specifically, but similarly to the first time he’d brought this up, it was as if Cameron suddenly closed off an unseeable piece of himself.
It wasn’t that Thomas didn’t remember Cameron at all. He just hadn’t been able to fathomwhereorwhyhe would have known his face. When he’d first come to the Ashford estate and seen Cameron in the small sitting room, the man hadn’t felt like a stranger to him. Still, he hadn’t registered as a former acquaintance either.
