I particularly found the philosophical themes of Portrait highly interesting, especially when a college-age Dedalus discusses the idea of aesthetics with his liberal arts professor. I love the professor's ability to deftly answer a direct question with further questions. Their lively intellectual discussion actually made me slightly nostalgic towards college. A part of me wishes I took Philosophy so I could better follow their arguments and counter with my opinions of the matter. I suppose I could without a Philosophy background, but it seems like so much fun to quote Aquinas and Socrates in the original Latin and Greek. At the same time, it seems like much too much work to be worth the effort, and so I live this idea vicariously through Dedalus. 
 Moving backwards, what is Portrait about? It starts off about a young boy in an all male Catholic boarding school in the Irish countryside. This may have been my most favorite part of the novel because I was able to reminisce my own experiences in a Catholic grade school, and recall how confusing the experience was. I particularly liked although hated the part where the prefect strikes young Stephen's hands with a pandybat because he broke his glasses. 
 What's sad is it wasn't Stephen's fault, but being a young, intimidated boy it is hard to explain himself, so he faces the penalty of being misunderstood. It's such a cruel world where men who teach these young boys the goodness of God and Christ, can punish so wrongfully, but that is the irony of religion and piety, and so I hated the prefect, but for that reason I enjoyed the story because it triggered deep-rooted memories of being wrongfully punished by pious teachers. 
 I suppose also an unresolved aspect of my childhood was vicariously resolved when the young Stephen courageously speaks to the rector of his wrongfully given punishment, and I cheered and hurrahed with the children when Stephen properly explains himself to the rector and escapes the wrath of the horrid prefect. I felt as though a small part of my life was fulfilled in that story. It was like I gained the courage to speak my mind. I suppose this is because I am too like an artist and so can greatly relate to Stephen. 
 To follow this joyous event, years pass and we discover a 16-year old Stephen, whom I feel greatly sorry for. In this time he is driven by an insatiable sexual hunger, which leaves him feeling like a depraved sinful soul with no hope for redemption. I sympathize with him because he is under the belief that an eternal Hell is waiting for him, that he is no longer worthy of God's affection, and so he suffers incredibly that it eats him up from the inside. Just the thought of his own sinful ways makes him vomit, and so everything appears dark and dismal in his mind as he fears God's wrath. 
 I especially understood the part of the book where he is walking through a doorway, and because he felt so horrible and empty and undeserving of God's love, that he feels as though he would be struck dead by lightning simply for walking through the door. When I was growing up I would have thoughts such as these. I know it makes no sense, but when one grows up as Catholic and is taught that if one forsakes God he will end up for all of eternity in Hell or Purgatory, which in a way is just as bad, there is so much fear and hatred towards one self, and confusion of not knowing what to do, and feeling lost, and knowing that one must accept Christ and ask for his forgiveness, but feeling the shame and guilt for having forsaken him and sinned for so long. It's a bad place to be in, and I remember crying to myself at night, wallowing in my own shame and sin, and so I totally relate with Dedalus's feelings. 
 Although, I never took it to the extreme that he does in this book. I was astounded when I read how religiously-driven Dedalus became. He would kneel for hours in pain to show his piety. He would force himself to smell the worst odors in order to abstain from pleasure. He would purposefully walk outside in the cold with his hands out of his pockets and his face splashed in water to prove he was not tempted by the carnal. It's really quite sad, but I am greatly gladdened that Stephen sees that this life is not for him, and doesn't follow through with becoming a priest. As much as he desires to become a priest, which is slightly ironic because shouldn't a priest give up desire? but as much as he desires this stately power, he understands that he is an artist and this is not the life for him. Hip, hip, hooray for Stephen! 
 Finally, the latter part of the book is Stephen when he is in a University in Dublin. I mostly talked about this section already, and this is probably my least favorite section, although I do admit how important it is in the book. It shows a Stephen, very different from when he was younger. He is a semi-Agnostic, who has given up Catholicism because it simply makes no sense, and so he has grown to pursue the achievements of the mind. It's ironic, however, that he still holds a lot of stock in Catholicism, as it is so deeply ingrained in him. As much as he wants to leave it behind, he unconsciously defends it due to...what?...a fear that if he is wrong he will face damnation?...A remembrance when he was religious and saw God's grace in everything and he was honestly happy?...We're not really sure, but it's obvious that he is inspired by his Catholic faith by how he so deeply admires Aquinas and how he so often quotes from Scripture. It's paradoxical. To him Catholicism makes so much sense in his head and gives him all the answers, but at the same time it doesn't make sense. 
 I suppose too that I identify with collegiate Stephen because I admit while I was in college I was a self-proclaimed Agnostic. I neither admitted to believing nor denying God's existence. I was an Easter and Christmas-only attending Catholic in order to please my grandparents and family. I actually struggled with the idea, just as Stephen does, of whether or not I should take Holy Communion because a part of me felt guilty for receiving God's sanctified bread and body if I did not truly believe in its legitimacy. I know it sounds paradoxical but it was like a part of me believed, but a part of me disbelieved. 
 What's different about my life in college and Stephen's, however, is that I had a much more difficult time in that point of my life emotionally, where it seems Dedalus has the majority of things figured out, and most of his inner conflict is resolved. I wonder if this is true to how Joyce felt, or if he was trying to wrap things up in his book to show how much Stephen has grown as a person. I suppose not everyone has such a difficult time in college emotionally, and so it makes sense that Stephen wouldn't feel the same distraught that I did in college, and so I can only feel happy for Stephen that he no longer holds the same fears of loneliness that he once felt; however, a part of me doesn't buy his outwardly stable demeanor. I don't know how you feel, but a part of me doesn't believe that Dedalus is as strong as he appears to be on the outside. We all have fears and apprehensions, and so I feel as though Dedalus is just afraid to admit them. 
 I suppose my perception of Dedalus is clouded by the perception of myself. I remember being a young 20-something and feeling life was going wonderfully, and at the time I honestly did not wish to change a single aspect of myself. I loved myself, just as Stephen does towards the end of the book. In fact, he feels quite full of himself; however, where is he headed? He has no idea. What does the future hold? He doesn't know. The fact that he hasn't thought of these things proves he is just as lost in his life as he once was. The only difference, however, is he is so busy with school and developing his intellectual mind that he doesn't have time to look inside and ask the real questions about himself. He asks about what is beauty and what is art, but shouldn't the more important questions be about what is life and what is our purpose for living it? 
 I don't believe Stephen has the answers to these questions; thus, the novel is slightly unresolved. It wraps up in the end in a nice circular way, as it seems he has things figured out, but I don't believe he does really. A part of me feels there are things left unspoken in this novel that have yet to be resolved, perhaps this is because Joyce hadn't resolved these things when he wrote this novel, or perhaps because he hadn't resolved these things or were even aware of these things in that part of his life he felt no notion to include them. If I had to choose I probably would lean towards the latter. 
 Only with the vision of hindsight do we truly understand things, and I believe this novel was Joyce's proclamation to the world of the things he learned about himself and grew from. It's his writing to understand his past, but more so, it's a writing for other young artists to understand their past, or perhaps if they read this young enough, their present. Although, I'm curious if a young person could understand the emotional depths of this book without having undergone these trials and tribulations themselves. Perhaps this is why I was never able to finish through this book in high school or college. A part of me wasn't ready for it because I had not yet looked closely at myself. 
 Could it be that it is only a person who is able to look at oneself that is able to enjoy a book that is an introspective look at someone else's self? Perhaps this is the case, but if so, would a person gain from this book if he or she comes from a life that is different entirely? I don't have the answer to this question, but my hypothesis is that this book may not speaks as universally to readers as it could. 
 All in all, I give Portrait three stars. I know this seems quite low for a literary classic, but despite all of what Portrait has to offer, the book simply doesn't affect me as much as I would like it to. Perhaps this is because I've never been to Ireland, and I don't understand its history well enough. Perhaps it's because I did not grow up straight, so I find it more difficult to relate to Dedalus's heterosexual desires. As prejudice as this might sound, had the book been written about a young gay artist in Ireland in the 19th century, I probably would have given the book 5 stars because then, the book would have given voice to a part of my own unresolved desires. I suppose that might seem selfish, but when one reads a difficult book such as this, it feels justifiable to want to be able to gain something more from it.