So, I wanted to say a few introductory things about James Joyce’s “Clay” today, and my goal is not to be comprehensive or academic. When I read a story, I’m hoping it will strike me enough to be added to, let’s call it, my lexicon. Not necessarily because it’s great (although I think “Clay” is a very great story), but because it gives me permission to think about my own fiction in a certain way. It shows me a new path to follow, maybe; it proves to me that certain moves are permitted.
What I want to do here, then, is just, in as personal a way as I can, tell you something about why “Clay” is in my lexicon.