One notable change is the wealth of dialogue we find in the long first section of the chapter. The writing in this section depends quite a bit more on showing than telling compared to the rest of the book. Both the dinner scene in chapter one and the sermon in chapter three are primarily dialogue, but in those two instances, Stephen is merely observing and listening. Starting with the memory of Davin in chapter five, we get much more of Stephen himself speaking than in the rest of the novel.
I would proposition that we don't see much active character development of Stephen in chapter five. Instead, we have a lot of exposition. In chapter five we see Stephen in college, thinking like an artist, defining beauty, rejecting faith, obsessing over "her," and detesting Ireland's state of affairs. We don't see journeys like we do at Clongowes, in the red light district, at Belvedere, and on the beach.
I also question Stephen's emotional maturity, based on what is presented. His critical thinking skills are definitely honed by this point, as is his manner of speaking, yet he still thinks too often of Emma, and the concluding letters reveal an almost dismissive disgust with his family and the world around him, while showing a preoccupation with his own writing.
From a personal standpoint, I had difficulty holding my attention to chapter five. I theorize that the changes in the writing style itself (which felt, to me, flatter) are the underlying causes. Here is an example (p. 223):
—Rhythm, said Stephen, is the first formal esthetic relation of part to part in any esthetic whole or of an esthetic whole to its part or parts or of any part to the esthetic whole of which it is a part.
I enjoyed the previous portions of the book because they balanced a narrative with Stephen's process of discovery, foibles and all. Chapter five is all talk, no resolution—unless Joyce crafted it as one big ironic send-off to the novel.
It's good simply to point out that Stephen *talks* way more in chap. 5 than in any chapter that precedes it (and his talk is often frustratingly abstract and intellectual, *perhaps* signaling some further room for development as an *artist* and not merely a theorist). When you refer to the lingering immaturity, I think especially of the first "journal" entry--just as the reader hopes that maybe some of what Cranly says may have penetrated Stephen's psychological armor and made some kind of impact, we see Stephen discussing this obviously emotional and sincere conversation with total blase detachment ("He had his grand manner on. I supple and suave"). Rather than *feeling* what Cranly says to him about his capacity for reducing his mother's suffering, Stephen refers to him "attacking" him "on the score of love for one's mother"--like he's dissecting a recent debate performance.
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