James Joyce the author uses a combination of modernism and realism which makes it hard to actually know what is going on at any point in the book. He also repeats word of word some parts which adds to the confusion and he doesn't use speech marks to show conversation, he uses dashes which is supposed to make it seems more real because you don’t read it like someone is talking you just read it and it flows in to everything else. The main aspect of his writing that makes it so difficult to read is the constant stream of consciousness from the main protagonist which is Stephen Dedalus. Its written in third person narration but from Stephen’s perspective and he chain of thought is mingled in with reality and what is actually going on.
Sample of text:
"Every word of it was for him. Against his sin, foul and secret, the whole wrath of God was aimed. The preacher's knife had probed deeply into his disclosed conscience and he felt now that his soul was festering in sin. Yes, the preacher was right. God's turn had come. Like a beast in its lair his soul had lain down in its own filth but the blasts of the angel's trumpet had driven him forth from the darkness of sin into the light. The words of doom cried by the angel shattered in an instant his presumptuous peace. The wind of the last day blew through his mind, his sins, the jewel-eyed harlots of his imagination, fled before the hurricane, squeaking like mice in their terror and huddled under a mane of hair."
Sample of text:
"Every word of it was for him. Against his sin, foul and secret, the whole wrath of God was aimed. The preacher's knife had probed deeply into his disclosed conscience and he felt now that his soul was festering in sin. Yes, the preacher was right. God's turn had come. Like a beast in its lair his soul had lain down in its own filth but the blasts of the angel's trumpet had driven him forth from the darkness of sin into the light. The words of doom cried by the angel shattered in an instant his presumptuous peace. The wind of the last day blew through his mind, his sins, the jewel-eyed harlots of his imagination, fled before the hurricane, squeaking like mice in their terror and huddled under a mane of hair."