Weekend Reading: The Dead, James Joyce

We can argue about which story boasts the best opening line:

Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Or 

Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”

But, hands down, the best closing line, I’ve read:

Joyce’s The Dead: “His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.” 

And if you decide to read The Dead, don’t skip to the end. You’d miss out on all the sad beauty, which floats down from the heavens and unites the good and bad people of Dublin.