Readers of “Araby” often focus on the final scene as the key to the story. They assume the boy experiences some profound insight about himself when he gazes “up into the darkness.” I believe, however, that the boy sees nothing and learns nothing–either about himself or others. He’s not self- reflective; he’s merely self-absorbed.
The evidence supporting this interpretation is the imagery of blindness and the ironic point of view of the narrator. There can seem to be a profound insight at the end of the story only if we empathize with the boy and adopt his point of view. In other words, we must assume that the young boy is narrating his own story. But if the real narrator is the grown man looking back at his early adolescence, then it becomes possible to read the narrative as ironic and to see the boy as confused and blind.
The story opens and closes with images of blindness. The street is “blind” with an “uninhabited house at the blind end.” As he spies on Mangan’s sister, from his own house, the boy intentionally limits what he is able to see by lowering the “blind” until it is only an inch from the window sash. At the bazaar in the closing scene, the “light was out,” and the upper part of the hall was “completely dark.” The boy is left “gazing up into the darkness,” seeing nothing but an inner torment that burns his eyes.
This pattern of imagery includes images of reading, and reading stands for the boy’s inability to understand what is before his eyes. When he tries to read at night, for example, the girl’s “image [comes] between him and the page,” in effect blinding him. In fact, he seems blind to everything except this “image” of the “brown-clad figure cast by [his] imagination.” The girl’s “brown-clad figure” is also associated with the houses on “blind” North Richmond Street, with their “brown imperturbable faces.” The houses stare back at the boy, unaffected by his presence and gaze.
The most important face he tries and fails to read belongs to Mangan’s sister. His description of her and interpretation of the few words she says to him can be seen as further evidence of his blindness. He sees only what he wants to see, the “image” he has in his mind’s eye. This image comes more from what he’s read than from anything he’s observed. He casts her simultaneously in the traditional female roles of angel and whore:
While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could not go, she said, because there would be a retreat that week in her convent.She held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand upon the railing. It fell over one side of her dress and caught the white border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease.
Her angelic qualities are shown in her plans to attend a convent retreat and in her bowed head. Her whorish qualities come through in the way she flirtatiously plays with the bracelet, as if she were inviting him to buy her an expensive piece of jewelry at the bazaar. The “white curve of her neck” and the “white border of a petticoat” combine the symbolic color of purity, associated with the Madonna, with sexual suggestiveness. The point is that there is no suggestion here or anywhere else in the story that the boy is capable of seeing Mangan’s sister as a real person. She only exists as the object of his adoring gaze. In fact, no one seems to have any reality for him other than himself.
He is totally self-absorbed. But at the same time, he is also blind to himself. He says repeatedly that he doesn’t understand his feelings: “Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could not tell why).” His adoration of her is both “confused” and confusing to him. He has no self-understanding.
The best insight we have into the boy comes from the language he uses. Much of his language seems to mimic the old priest’s romantic books: “Her name sprang like a summons to all my foolish blood”; “I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes”; “my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.” Language like this sounds as though it comes out of a popular romance novel, something written by Danielle Steele perhaps. The mixing of romance with soft porn is unmistakable. Perhaps the boy has spent too much time reading the priest’s “sexually seductive stories” from The Memoirs of Vidocq.
I think this language is meant to be ironic, to point to the fact that the narrator is not the young boy himself but the young boy now grown and looking back at how “foolish” he was. This interpretation becomes likely when you think of “Araby” as a fictionalized autobiography. In autobiographical stories, remembered feelings and thoughts are combined with the autobiographer’s present perspective.
The remembered feelings and thoughts in this story could be seen as expressing the boy’s point of view, but we read them ironically through the adult narrator’s present perspective. The romantic, gushy language the boy uses is laughable. It reveals the boy’s blindness toward everyone, including himself. He sees himself as Sir Galahad, the chivalric hero on his own grail quest to Araby. The greatest irony comes at the end when his quest is shown to be merely a shopping trip; and Araby, merely a suburban mall.
Most people interpret the ending as a moment of profound insight, and the language certainly seems to support this interpretation: “Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.” But here again we see the narrator using inflated language that suggests an ironic stance. So even in the moment of apparent insight, the boy is still playing a heroic role. He hasn’t discovered his true self. He’s just as self-absorbed and blind in the end as he was at the beginning.
