“The River! The Neris! he muttered, shaking invisible drops from his hand, “Why not Joyce’s riverrun? How is the Neris less than the Liffey? Why doesn’t anyone immortalise it as the current of dreams and oblivion? When you think ‘river,’ you immediately remember the Lethe and the Liffey . . . Dublin and the Liffey have been forever impressed onto the world’s brains, and old man Joyce sits in the heavens and jeers . . . What’s the Liffey without him-a muddy stream, and nothing more. I saw it myself . . . But where’s the Neris? Where’s Vilnius? Why doesn’t the world know anything about them?