111) Mullingar House of Chapelizod, D20
exclusive setting of Finnegans Wake, haunted by the ghosts of Mr. Earwicker and Anna Livia, Shem and Shaun, and poor Izzie. Also known as the Dead Man's Inn, according to Anthony Burgess, on account of an old tradition of pickled customers getting mown down by passing trams. A long walk through the Phoenix Park is a worthy way to work up a thirst. The place at the time of visiting was very big but very empty. Joyce wrote that Mr. Earwicker ‘owns the bulgiest bungbarrel that was ever tiptapped in the privace of the Mullingar Inn.’ How the drink must have flowed in the glory days!
When we arrived we noticed over the door a small plaque erected by Dublin Tourism that boldly states: ‘Home of all Characters and Elements (the boldness of font and italics are ours) in James Joyce's novel “Finnegans Wake.” The Joyce connection is generational. For three years his father John Stanislaus worked as a secretary of a distilling company in Chapelizod, but during this time he spent the great majority of it drinking in this house.
An approximation of John Stanislaus Joyce the fallible Father of James, the original Earwicker and onetime incumbent of the Mulling Inn
In 1999 the pub was sold to a consortium of charlatan pub owners who wouldn’t know history from a sledgehammer. In spite of it being a listed building, and before their Work In Progress could be stopped, the roof had been torn off and the interior had been gutted as part of ‘refurbishments’ for which no planning permission had been sought. The work was eventually finished and it now sits injured in Chapelizod like ‘the shadow that has lost its man.’ It lacks character when it ought to have more than most. Fancy bar food is on offer and it seeks to cater for private parties. While this house is a ship trying to stay afloat in a sinking business sector, it’s also a building with massive historic value in the world of literature.
James Joyce and Marcel Proust studiously ignore each other
We were excited to have made the trek (surely not the first to do so ‘in the whole history of the Mullingcan Inn’), ordered two pints of porter and proceeded to nose around the room. One can find a few scant paltry Joycisms on display: a painting commemorating the writer’s life, and a replica of his death mask. What an opportunity lost, for this place ought to be a chapel to the writer and his works. We ordered a second round and decided these would be our last - not wishing to ‘drain the mead for misery to incur intoxication.’ Out of a subdued sense of dissatisfaction we took ourselves outside to the smoking area to finish. On the way out we noticed that someone had placed a pair of round rimmed spectacles on Joyce’s death mask, a spirited touch! The future does not appear to beam bright for this place. One only hopes the pub will survive, indeed it must survive, and by order of the court if so necessary. One further hopes the current owners will learn to show a way a lone a last a love for the
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