Many stories in Dubliners feature characters whose dreams have been thwarted—whether because of happenstance, social obligations, or their own personal limitations, Joyce’s characters are often frustrated by their limited lives. Little Chandler, the protagonist of “A Little Cloud,” is no exception. He is portrayed as a timid man with a small life, and at the beginning of the story, he seems resigned to his fate. However, a visit from his old friend Gallaher prompts him to reassess his life. Eight years prior, Gallaher emigrated from Dublin to London pursue a career in journalism—a daring move that contrasts sharply with Chandler’s own safe, limited life. As Chandler prepares for their reunion, he grows dissatisfied with the stasis of his life and he begins to feel a new sense of empowerment that reignites his dreams of being a famous poet. However, Little Chandler’s empowerment is short-lived—much like “a little cloud” passing through the sky—as he moves from resignation to empowerment, then back to an even deeper resignation. Through his progression, Joyce shows that while imagining success and fulfillment is a first step toward change, real empowerment only happens when dreams translate into action.
Little Chandler is introduced as unmanly, sad, and passive. Although he flirts with the idea of being a poet, he’s held back by timidity. Little Chandler’s appearance conveys “the idea of being a little man,” hence his name. He is described in feminine terms, with his “white and small hands,” “fair silken hair,” a perfumed handkerchief, and manicured fingernails. He even has “childish white teeth,” making him seem more like a little boy than an adult man. As he looks out the window of his office, taking a break from “tiresome writing,” Chandler sees “the glow of a late autumn sunset” on “decrepit old men who drowsed on the benches.” These images of lethargy mirror Little Chandler’s state: a passive spectator of life, not an active participant. Watching these people, Chandler feels “a gentle melancholy.” This sadness prompts a feeling of resignation and helplessness: “He felt how useless it was to struggle against fortune.” Chandler’s melancholy, resigned thoughts turn to his love of poetry, which he’s never shared with his wife since “shyness had always held him back.” He merely repeats lines to himself, an activity that “console[s] him.” For Chandler, poetry an unrealized dream and solitary activity that soothes his sadness rather than a passion that ignites his spirit.
However, as Chandler prepares to meet up with Gallaher—a man of action, at least in Chandler’s eyes—Chandler begins to more seriously consider the possibilities of his own life. In imagining success, Chandler seems poised to finally make his dreams a reality. Chandler remembers his friend Gallaher, seeing him as a role model for success, “a brilliant figure on the London Press.” Chandler can remember “many signs of future greatness” in Gallaher. Just imagining Gallaher’s life leads to Chandler to feel vicariously empowered. Chandler grows critical of his surroundings, and “for the first time in his life” he feels superior to his fellow Dubliners on the streets. He notices their “dull inelegance” and calls them “a band of tramps.” Instead, he imagines that emigrating like Gallaher is the only path to success because “You could do nothing in Dublin.”
Chandler’s new feeling of empowerment leads him to imagine a more successful life as a poet. Yearning to escape his “sober inartistic life,” he judges that he is at the right age (32), with a “temperament […] just at the point of maturity.” He believes himself to have a “poet’s soul”: melancholy but “tempered with […] faith and resignation and simple joy.” Losing himself in dreams of fame, Chandler imagines future success. He pictures recognition by the English press and “a little circle of kindred minds.” He imagines reviewers praising his poetry’s “Celtic note.” Chandler even imagines renaming himself to capitalize on his Irishness. He would adopt his mother’s Irish-sounding name, Malone, transforming himself from Thomas Chandler to T. Malone Chandler. Chandler’s daydreams of success are rich and detailed, and he seems poised to finally take the steps necessary to achieve them.
While Chandler’s imagination gives him an escape from his dull life, it does not actually spur him to take action. Daunted by the idea of taking concrete steps to actually achieve his dreams, Chandler finds himself even more resigned to his fate at the end of the story than he was at the beginning. At the story’s conclusion, Chandler sinks back into gloomy resignation over his life. Chandler’s thoughts are full of the possibilities raised by meeting Gallaher again: “Could he not escape from his little house? Was it too late for him to try to live bravely like Gallaher? Could he go to London?” Even though Gallaher proved shallow and crass rather than cultured and refined, encountering him made Chandler imagine change. However, he fails to take action to change his life, instead resigning to timidly question different possibilities. Chandler picks up a volume of poetry, longing to write. However, he is interrupted his crying baby. His frustration grows as he is unable to focus, and he begins to see his whole life as hopeless: “It was useless. He couldn’t read. He couldn’t do anything. He was a prisoner for life.” Chandler becomes even more resigned than he was at the beginning of the story, seeing himself as a prisoner, powerless to change or escape his state. The final images of the story reinforce just how resigned and powerless Little Chandler has become: as his wife comforts their crying baby, he stands to the side, “tears of remorse” filling his eyes. He is remorseful and ashamed for making the baby cry. But it also seems that he feels remorse for his life and inability to create meaningful change in it and live his dreams. With this bleak ending, Joyce spins a cautionary tale, showing readers how, as the popular adage goes, nothing changes if nothing changes.
Resignation vs. Empowerment ThemeTracker
Resignation vs. Empowerment Quotes in A Little Cloud
Little Chandler’s thoughts ever since lunch-time had been of his meeting with Gallaher, of Gallaher’s invitation and of the great city London where Gallaher lived. He was called Little Chandler because, though he was but slightly under the average stature, he gave one the idea of being a little man. His hands were white and small, his frame was fragile, his voice was quiet and his manners were refined. He took the greatest care of his fair silken hair and moustache and used perfume discreetly on his handkerchief. The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth.
He had never been in Corless’s but he knew the value of the name. He knew that people went there after the theatre to eat oysters and drink liqueurs; and he had heard that the waiters there spoke French and German. Walking swiftly by at night he had seen cabs drawn up before the door and richly dressed ladies, escorted by cavaliers, alight and enter quickly. They wore noisy dresses and many wraps. Their faces were powdered and they caught up their dresses, when they touched earth, like alarmed Atalantas.
As he crossed Grattan Bridge he looked down the river towards the lower quays and pitied the poor stunted houses. They seemed to him a band of tramps, huddled together along the riverbanks, their old coats covered with dust and soot, stupefied by the panorama of sunset and waiting for the first chill of night bid them arise, shake themselves and begone. He wondered whether he could write a poem to express his idea. Perhaps Gallaher might be able to get it into some London paper for him. Could he write something original? He was not sure what idea he wished to express but the thought that a poetic moment had touched him took life within him like an infant hope. He stepped onward bravely.
The English critics, perhaps, would recognise him as one of the Celtic school by reason of the melancholy tone of his poems; besides that, he would put in allusions. He began to invent sentences and phrases from the notice which his book would get. Mr Chandler has the gift of easy and graceful verse....A wistful sadness pervades these poems…The Celtic note. It was a pity his name was not more Irish-looking. Perhaps it would be better to insert his mother’s name before the surname: Thomas Malone Chandler, or better still: T. Malone Chandler. He would speak to Gallaher about it.
He pursued his revery so ardently that he passed his street and had to turn back.
He looked coldly into the eyes of the photograph and they answered coldly. Certainly they were pretty and the face itself was pretty. But he found something mean in it. Why was it so unconscious and ladylike? The composure of the eyes irritated him. They repelled him and defied him: there was no passion in them, no rapture. He thought of what Gallaher had said about rich Jewesses. Those dark Oriental eyes, he thought, how full they are of passion, of voluptuous longing!...Why had he married the eyes in the photograph?
He caught himself up at the question and glanced nervously round the room. He found something mean in the pretty furniture which he had bought for his house on the hire system. Annie had chosen it herself and it reminded him of her. It too was prim and pretty. A dull resentment against his life awoke within him. Could he not escape from his little house? Was it too late for him to try to live bravely like Gallaher? Could he go to London?
—What have you done to him?” she cried, glaring into his face.
Little Chandler sustained for one moment the gaze of her eyes and his heart closed together as he met the hatred in them. He began to stammer:
—It’s nothing.... He ... he began to cry.... I couldn’t ... I didn’t do anything.... What?
Giving no heed to him she began to walk up and down the room, clasping the child tightly in her arms and murmuring:
—My little man! My little mannie! Was ’ou frightened, love?... There now, love! There now!... Lambabaun! Mamma’s little lamb of the world!... There now!
Little Chandler felt his cheeks suffused with shame and he stood back out of the lamplight. He listened while the paroxysm of the child’s sobbing grew less and less; and tears of remorse started to his eyes.