A Joycean Corner at the Heart of Dublin

At first glance, Dublin is far from magnificent. It misses the imperial grandeur of other European capitals and, despite its numerous monuments of cultural importance, it does not boast of any emblematic landmark. Its iconic Ha’penny Bridge is not a Pont Neuf, and the lines of its brick-walled buildings give an industrial flair to the Irish Capital – a style that is humble and ordinary, albeit warm and welcoming. And, yet, a visitor’s heart is quickly won over, for the city is as friendly as its red-headed inhabitants, and one can easily navigate one’s way through the streets in search of meanings, tales, history, or, above all, human connections.

I landed at Dublin on a bright, sunny day, when the cherry and hawthorn trees were blossoming, the parks were unravelling all forty shades of green, and the people were sitting crossed-legged on the grass, basking, like lizards, under the sun. My friend and I had only a few hours at our disposal as we were travelling the next day again, so, instead of choosing to map the historical monuments of the city, we preferred to explore its secret corners, hoping that, along the way, we would discover the ideas that make the Dubliners’ hearts sing – and, boy, do they sing!

A sunny day in Dublin

Our steps soon led us to a little shop, perched at No 1 of Lincoln Place. A sign above the door displays the store’s name: “Sweny”; right and left, above the white arches that decorate the façade, two more signs inform the passers-by that this is the outlet of a “Chemist” and a “Druggist.” Although the store is well-located, it is easy to be missed by the ignorant visitor, and only a look at its window which is mostly ornated with James Joyce’s books, dolls resembling the famous Irish author, and several yellow soaps, may trigger one’s interest to open the door. For the better informed, though, this is one of the most significant literary sites of Dublin. In a metropolis that has given birth to a series of acclaimed writers and has been recognised as a UNESCO City of Literature, Sweny has become an institution.

Looking at Sweny’s window from outside. Note the small figurine of James Joyce, the yellow soaps, and the blackboard with the public readings’ schedule.

And another James Joyce figurine…

The shop began its operation some 170 years ago (in 1847, to be exact), initially as the consulting room of a General Practitioner named Sweny, soon expanding to include an apothecary and, later, a pharmacy. In 1853, it officially became a chemist dispenser company under the name “F.W. Sweny and Co. Limited”, run for many years by the same family. Located at the heart of Dublin, at walking distance from several significant spots (including the house where Oscar Wilde was born), the pharmacy boasted of a respectable clientele, and, yet, nothing could foresee its fame in the years to come, were it not for James Joyce and his unparalleled pen.

The story goes that, in 1904, the writer – a young man at the time – entered the shop to consult the then pharmacist Frederick William Sweny. Later, in Ulysses (Joyce’s opus magnum and an ode to Dublin and its citizens), the main character, Leopold Bloom, visits the same pharmacy (in Chapter 5) to pick a lotion for his wife, Molly, and, while waiting, he buys a lemon-scented bar of soap. The soap turns into some sort of talisman in Bloom’s day and is frequently mentioned in the next chapters, turning into a recognisable point of reference for all Ulysses readers.

“Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax. – I’ll take this one, he said.” Ulysses.

This is how Sweny entered the Hall of Fame and became immortal. The shop remained a pharmacy until 2009, changing several owners along the way while maintaining the same name. When the last pharmacist retired, the existence of this little corner that had become an integral part of Dublin’s history was significantly endangered as it almost turned into an extension of the adjacent café. It was then that a group of Joyce aficionados and passionate volunteers intervened. They managed to keep the store alive, not as a pharmacy anymore but as a literary hub: a place where people from all over the world could meet, share their admiration of Joyce’s work, read aloud excerpts from Ulysses, The Dubliners, or other books, and exchange ideas – maybe over a cup of coffee.

The interior of the shop

The shop’s interior has remained almost intact since the mid-19th century: a sacred reminder of old Dublin, a gravitational point in a city that inevitably changes but remains grounded around its values and heritage. On the right side, as one enters, behind the counter, there are shelves with countless bottles of various shapes and colours, dusted and mysterious, destined to remain unused and, yet, meaningful.

PJ Murphy, Sweny’s curator and, we were told, a descendant of Oscar Wilde’s family (a piece of information I did not confirm but, on the other hand, on an island as small as Ireland, everyone is somehow connected to one of the old tribes) welcomes the visitors with a smile. He is over 60 and an avid linguist (he speaks nine languages and has studied over 25). Dressed in a bow tie, he usually wears a dispenser’s robe, but on the day of our visit, he had a smart vest and black jacket on instead. His white hair – a bit long and artistically tousled – add a sophisticated air to the gentleman who, as soon as I tell him that I am Greek, he placed on my lap a translation of Ulysses in my native tongue.

PJ Murphy

Ulysses, by James Joyce (in Greek)

The inscription inside

We sat on benches placed around the walls, mixing with a group of other tourists, and we all started reading a few pages from Ulysses before PJ grasped his guitar and started singing a Gaelic song, we, joining merrily in the chorus. The bottles from the old medicines reflected the sunlight that entered through the windows; the walls were covered with posters of Joyce, century-old pictures, portraits of Oscar Wilde, newspaper clippings, and remnants from the pharmacy. In the displays, a few decaying boxes of capsules and medicinal herbs could be spotted. A large table at the centre hosted piles of books, most of them used, with the familiar patina and aroma of time that intoxicates every book lover around the world. And, on the counter, there were small heaps of the famous lemon soap, the recipe of which has remained the same and only the wrapping has changed a bit.

The reading

PJ singing behind the counter (his guitar cannot be seen). Note the bars of soaps and the sign: “Leopold Bloom’s Lemon Soap €5 – Sweet Lemony Wax”

A close-up of the famous lemon soap.

“He waited by the counter, inhaling the keen reek of drugs, the dusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs. Lot of time taken up telling your aches and pains.” Ulysses.

The cramped room hosts several public readings of Joyce’s work per week sometimes in French and Italian as well – the agenda is written on a blackboard. The participants read in turn a few lines of a chapter, and the gathering closes with a discussion led by knowledgeable facilitators and a Gaelic song – the inevitable companion of every Irish activity. The hub operates as a non-profit organisation, based on the passion of its volunteers and that of the numerous visitors who, following the James Joyce trail through Dublin, cross Sweny’s doorstep every day in a transcendental journey back in time. The expenses are covered mostly by the sales of the famous soap – sales that soar on the 16th of June (the day that the story of Ulysses unfolds) or, otherwise commemorated in the literary community as Bloomsday – but the recent increase in the rent has forced the Sweny team to start a supplementary fundraising campaign.

The overall project is heartwarming, if not for anything else, just for offering the opportunity to strangers to connect for a while, like a congregation, over a few words that became meaningful to so many. Our visit was short but, as I stepped out into the street, I remained enveloped in the nostalgic – and a tad romantic – ambience of the place: a sensation that accompanied me for several hours. And I felt proud once again for all those moments that we, humans, have managed, despite our fragility, to connect with our higher selves, ultimately creating something essential and long-lasting.

PJ’s guitars at a corner, next to dispenser’s robes, vests, ties, umbrellas, and boxes with books. Waiting for the moment that the participants will connect through music, after having connected through language.

Photo credits: © Konstantina Sakellariou

If you find encouragement, comfort, and beauty in my writing or you learn through my adventures something new about our world, I invite you to support my labour of love by becoming a sustaining patron through a recurring monthly donation that can be as low as 1 USD per month up to the cost of a light lunch. Please visit my Patreon page for more details. If you are already supporting my work, thank you from the bottom of my heart!