The narrated and its negatives: the nonnarrated and the disnarrated in Joyce's Dubliners - The Short Story: Theory and Practice

Style, Fall, 1993 by Harold F. Mosher, Jr.

This circumstantial evidence shaped by public opinion and Mrs. Mooney into a sexual narrative virtually leads Doran to agreement as if he too, like the reader, were forced to reconstruct the nonnarrated instead of only remembering the "narrated." Thus the outcome of the conversation between Doran and Mrs. Mooney, to which he descends toward the end of the story, is not narrated, may almost be considered nonnarratable, because it is so evident. Certainly the text thinks that the conversation between Doran and Polly, which in a complete account would follow, is nonnarratable: speculation about a possible narrative is discouraged by the inevitability of this narrative's outcome and, therefore, its nonnarratability. Although the nonnarrated version of the affair may create some mystery about what really did happen and although certain words in the text attempt to create suspense (both Doran and Polly ask, "What am I to do?" |66-67~), the three main characters and the reader know what will happen. In pretending suspense and mystery, the text calls attention to their nonexistence or their pseudoexistence and thus to the inevitability of Doran's fate, which, though not narrated and even nonnarratable, can easily be "written" by Doran and the reader.

Another sign of the nonnarrated by which action is suggested but not specified is the absence of antecedents for pronouns. As might be expected, "The Boarding House" makes relatively frequent use of this device to avoid naming and narrating what occurred between Doran and Polly as if this act were so egregious as to be unmentionable: that is, nonnarratable. In his state of indecision, Doran cannot make up his mind whether to like or despise Polly for "what she had done. Of course, he had done it too" (66), he adds. But later he tells himself that "it was not altogether his fault that it had happened" (67). Like the "perverse madonna" she is described as (63), Polly announces in a strategy of "wise innocence" (64) that she has "made a clean breast of it to her mother" (66), knowing that this knowledge will prompt decisive action from the meat-cleaving moralist. That interview between Polly and her mother is only partially narrated: it is distanced from the reader by being conveyed through Mrs. Mooney's recollection and through nonspecific language: "Things were as she |Mrs. Mooney~ had suspected: she had been frank in her questions |what questions?~ and Polly had been frank in her answers |what answers?~" (64). Polly's confession is then reduced to simply "news." Exactly what Polly has said is not narrated, but the failure to name and narrate contributes to the mystery for the reader and the mystifying of Doran. The reader, deprived of knowing exactly what "it" is, is free to invent details, as the public does, and no doubt joins the public in condemning or laughing at Doran. By being maneuvered into this stance, the reader comes to understand the power of not narrating.

Likewise in "Two Gallants" the absence of a material antecedent helps in the end to establish Corley's power over Lenehan, who, "leech" (50) that he is, however, is quite willing, unlike Doran, to yield to another's, Corley's, power and, in fact, cooperates in establishing it. The reader is the victim of the non-narrated because s/he does not know the antecedent of "it." Whereas in "The Boarding House" a large third party, Mrs. Mooney and public opinion, seizes the power that comes with the assumed knowledge of the antecedent (shared by the reader), in "Two Gallants" Corley and Lenehan alone possess that knowledge and power. Both use "it" and know its antecedent. In fact, Lenehan is the first of the two to use "it" without identifying its antecedent: "tell me, Corley, I suppose you'll be able to pull it off all right, eh?" (52). As their conversation progresses, "it" alternates with "that" and the vague words "job" and "point" (53). Corley promises to "pull it off" if Lenehan will leave "it" to him (53), and Lenehan parts from Corley admonishing him: "Work it all right now" (55). Though Lenehan shares the knowledge of the antecedent, he betrays his anxiety about its realization in the absence of Corley, who after all remains closer to the presence of the antecedent. Lenehan speculates, "had Corley managed it successfully. He wondered if he had asked her yet or if he would leave it to the last" (59). Despite his self reassurance--"he was sure Corley would pull it off all right"--Lenehan despairs about the outcome: "He knew it was no go" (59); Lenehan in his doubt feels compelled to ask: "Did it come off?" (60). As we have seen, Corley exercises his power of mystery and suspense over Lenehan (and the reader) a bit longer before actually producing the antecedent, in whose presence Lenehan is undoubtedly satisfied but also in whose presence the victimized reader is probably unpleasantly surprised (cf. Kershner 88).