ULYSSES pp. 82-86, “The Lotus Eaters”

by BEN and ERIN VORE

Dirk Diggler and Leopold Bloom: Kindred spirits.

The last page of today’s reading delivers the indelible image of Leopold’s unit (“the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower”). Did anyone else recall the final scene from P.T. Anderson’s Boogie Nights? We almost expected Leopold to say, “I’m a star. I’m a big, bright, shining star. That’s right.”

Leopold Bloom = The Dirk Diggler of early 20th century Dublin.

A tweet recap:

• 82. Choir loft makes LB think of Molly in Stabat Mater, “old sacred music,” eunuchs. Worship through eyes of an outsider: strange routines.
• 83. Confession: Not for everyone, but effective. LB ducks out before the offering, discreetly buttoning as he goes.
• 84. LB stops @ chemist’s 2 order Molly’s lotion but recipe (and key) are in his other pants. Asks chemist 2 check his files.
• 85. LB places order & buys soap. Unwittingly gives winning tip on horse race [Throwaway] to Bantam Lyons.
• 86. LB walks toward public baths, greets Hornblower, ponders cricket, anticipates lying naked in bath. Penis = ‘languid floating flower.’

The final line reiterates the obvious parallels to “The Lotus Eaters” in The Odyssey. What all these parallels mean, we’ll try to get at in next week’s Funmary. For now, a brief recap of the last five pages:

Leopold’s experience in church offers a rather amusing outsider’s perspective. He has considered his seat based on its proximity to an attractive woman. He has mistaken the Latin initials for Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews (I.N.R.I.) for “iron nails ran in.” He wonders why the chalice must hold wine instead of, say, Guinness. The choir loft causes him to reflect on eunuchs. And, when the Mass turns to English, Leopold thinks drily that the priest has thrown his congregation a bone.

Of note: one of the pieces of sacred music that Leopold recalls is Mercadante’s La sette ultime parole ( “The Seven Last Words of Our Savior on the Cross”), an oratorio based on the Gospel accounts of the Crucifixion. Blamires draws a connection to what will be the final seven words of Ulysses ( “yes I said yes I will Yes”).

Outside the church, Leopold heads for Sweny’s, a pharmacy. He has left the recipe for Molly’s lotion in his other trousers (along with his key), but he asks the chemist to check his prescriptions book. While he does that, Leopold ruminates about drugs and sedatives ( “Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it. Clever of nature”). The chemist also becomes the second person of this chapter to ask what perfume Molly uses.

In the street, Leopold runs into Bantam Lyons, who sees Bloom’s paper and wants to check the horse races. Leopold tells him he can keep the paper, which Bantam interprets as a tip (for the winning horse, Throwaway). Leopold greets the porter Hornblower and continues on toward the public baths where we get his Diggler-esque daydream. This brings to a close a chapter predominated by flowers, sedatives, opiates, scents, eastern exoticism, public leering, sexual fantasies, perverse fetishes and religious stupefaction.

Phew. We need to take a bath. Clean trough of water. Cool enamel. The gentle tepid stream…

x

BEN: Time to throw out some questions for consideration?

ERIN: Like if the Dirk Diggler analogy is a stretch?

BEN: You think so?

ERIN: Let’s just stick to the script, shall we?

BEN: All right. Leopold clearly has some cynical thoughts about religion during the worship service, but is there any aspect of it that he admires?

ERIN: Fair enough. My turn. Would it be accurate to say that your last attempt to make Crock Pot casserole tasted like “paragoric poppysyrup”?

BEN: Now that’s just hurtful.

ERIN: I know. I’m sorry. It was delicious.

BEN: I’m curious: Have you ever heard someone’s voice “at your armpit,” the way Leopold heard Bantam’s?

ERIN: I’m also curious: Would you have become a eunuch had it secured a spot as a star performer in one of your college’s numerous a cappella groups?

BEN: Is that a trick question?

ERIN: I have a question that I’d like Jerry to expound upon: What’s the difference between a perv and a sweet perv?

BEN: I bet people would pay good money to hear Jerry answer that question. But at Wandering Rocks, they don’t have to — because it’s free!

ERIN: Hopefully if anyone else has a Lotus Eater question they will pass it along before we write our Funmary.

BEN: One can hope.

The Lotus Eaters Funmary: We’re coming for you!

Early next week!

ULYSSES pp. 76-81, “The Lotus Eaters”

by BEN and ERIN VORE

You can imply a lot of dirty things with a flower.

x

We left off yesterday anticipating the illicit thrill of Martha Clifford’s love letter. But a Penthouse Letter it ain’t.

First, the tweets:

• 76. LB disparages M’Coy: A homosexual? Leah is playing tonight, causes Bloom to reflect on dad’s death (suicide).
• 77. LB bonds w/castrated horses. (Everyone is impotent.) Finds flower pinned to Martha’s letter. Martha’s a bad speller
• 78. Martha’s letter: “You’re a naughty boy!” Wants 2 meet Bloom & know what perfume Molly uses. LB thinks of manflower, cactus, nightstalk.
• 79. LB thinks of Mary & Martha. Tears up letter & scatters the shreds. The word ‘bungholes’ also appears on this page.
• 80. LB enters church, thinks of missionaries in China. The Good News=opium? Wants 2 sit next 2 a woman. Priest administers the sacrament.
• 81. LB misreads I.N.R.I. & I.H.S. Thinks of Molly’s letter, then ‘crawthumper’ Carey. Wonders: Why not Guinness for the chalice?

Now, Martha’s letter:

It’s a big letdown. Where to begin? How about the spelling errors and grammatical mistakes. “World” should be “word.” “Patience” is singular, not plural. Punctuation is spotty. And the phrase “naughty boy” or some variant appears four times. Martha wants to “punish” Henry? What about the poor reader?

After wondering what Martha pinned to her letter (a photo? hair? a badge?), Leopold discovers it is a flower. (A flower for Henry Flower.) Specifically, “a yellow flower with flattened petals.” It does not have a scent.

After reading Martha’s letter, Leopold begins mentally cataloguing virtually every flower-related sexual innuendo you could imagine. Ulysses Annotated helps steer our imagination:

Tulips: dangerous pleasures; manflower: an obvious pun; cactus: not only the phallus but also touch-me-not; forget-me-not: as the name suggests and also true love; violets: modesty; roses: love and beauty; anemone: frailty, anticipation; nightstalk: in addition to the phallic pun, nightshade; falsehood.

Leopold knows he will not take Martha up on her offer to meet, but he does resolve to “go further next time.” (Maybe suggest something kinky with a kniphofia?)

The pin from Martha’s letter makes Leopold think of a street rhyme about a girl named Mary losing the pin of her drawers, which leads to him contemplating the story of Mary and Martha from the Gospels. Leopold has himself his own Mary and Martha, if we take Molly-Marion = Mary.

Leopold tears up Martha’s envelope, and by extension himself as Henry Flower — he won’t act on his theoretical infidelity. Then he proceeds to All Hallows’ Church where, upon entering, he sees a notice about the African mission. Leopold, who as Lizaanne noted is disengaged from his faith on a spiritual level (but not an identity level), thinks of “Faith as a drug for the natives” (Blamires). Here we get our first taste of religion as an opiate. Leopold imagines the Eucharist as a sort of sedative, lulling the congregants into a stupor ( “Stupefies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don’t seem to chew it; only swallow it down”).

More along this train of thought when we conclude “Lotus Eaters.” Before we get to the essay questions, more examples of this section’s continuing theme of “drugged receptivity and impotence” (Blamires):

• The horses “with their long noses stuck in nosebags. Too full for words. … Gelded too: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches.” [p. 77] (Did Joyce lift this from Equine Penthouse Letters?)
• “A wise tabby, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill” [p. 77]
• “Cigar has a cooling effect. Narcotic” [p. 78]
• “A huge dull flood [of Guinness] leaked out, flowing together, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl” [p. 79]
• “Old fellow asleep near that confession box. Hence those snores. Blind faith. Safe in the arms of the kingdom come. Lulls all pain. Wake this time next year” [p. 81]

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER:

• How has Leopold’s father’s suicide shaped him?
• For those who are rereading Ulysses: What is the significance of the Plumtree’s Potted Meat ad?
• What word did Leopold use in a previous letter which caused Martha to call him “naughty”? Use your imagination.
• If you wanted to have an affair with a married man, would you really ask what perfume his wife uses?
• Is Leopold a perv? He sure has a lot of fetishes: Silk stockings. Erotic correspondences. Churchgoing women. And he seems to have a thing for punishment.
• Have you ever seen such a stupid pussens as the pussens?

ESSAY QUESTION FOR EXTRA CREDIT! Write your own Ulysses Penthouse Letter using at least a half dozen types of flower. Bonus points for spelling errors and repetitious phrases!

Tomorrow, or probably more like Saturday: pp. 82-86!

ULYSSES pp. 71-75 “The Lotus Eaters”

by BEN and ERIN VORE

Have you wondered why you feel tempted to yawn when you see someone else yawning? Scientists term this “contagious yawning,” and suggest it may have something to do with one’s capacity for empathy. Depending on how empathetic you feel toward Leopold Bloom, you may be doing a lot of yawning this chapter. Like its Homeric parallel, The Lotus Eaters episode evokes drowsy complacence, escapism and intoxicating laziness. We’ll get to how this all intertwines with Leopold’s imagination, his marriage, his thoughts on religion and his epistolary infidelity with Martha Clifford.

But first, tag-twreading!

• 71. LB takes circuitous route to post office. Distracted by copy of tea ad. Imagines the far east, land of “big lazy leaves,” idleness.
• 72. LB tries to recall high school physics before sending his letter & receiving one, addressed to “Henry Flower.” Bloom’s pseudonym.
• 73. LB about to read letter when M’Coy interrupts him. LB not good at small talk. Spots a woman getting into her cab, starts fantasizing.
• 74. LB completely tunes out M’Coy, hopes for a glimpse of leg. Blocked by tram. Paradise and the peri: so near to paradise, but not quite.
• 75. LB now distracted by potted meat ad. Husbands talk about wives, both singers. M’Coy asks LB 2 write his name in funeral register.

It’s ten o’clock when the chapter starts, an hour before poor Dignam’s funeral: “Slack hour.” Bloom is wandering, physically and mentally. He’s taking a roundabout way to the post office, which we’ll soon realize is due to his secret correspondence with a woman named Martha Clifford. Note the many descriptors which emphasize laziness. A small girl “listlessly” holds a caskhoop. Leopold’s eyes are under “dropped lids.” He imagines the far east, land of the Oriental Tea Company, as “the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on.” The Cinghalese, an ethnic group of Sri Lanka, lob (lounge) around in the sun all day,

Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to quarrel. Influence of the climate. Lethargy. Flower of idleness. The air feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. Sensitive plants. Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in the air.

Yeesh. Pardon us while we go take a three hour nap.

We also discover that Molly is not the only Bloom writing and receiving love letters outside the bonds of marriage. Leopold has assumed the name “Henry Flower” (Bloom = Flower) for his literary indiscretions with Martha. We don’t get to see what Martha’s letter says because Leopold runs into M’Coy. As Lizaanne noted in “Calypso,” Bloom doesn’t handle distractions well. His first thought when he sees M’Coy is to “get rid of him quickly.” When that doesn’t happen, he diverts his attention to the woman across the street getting into her cab, hoping, praying he’ll catch a glimpse of her leg. ( “Watch! Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!”) A tram passes, blocking Bloom’s view, which causes him to curse its “noisy pugnose.”

Bloom and M’Coy wrap up their conversation by talking about their wives, both singers. Leopold thinks back to the morning scene of Molly in bed, which sends his thoughts to the “torn strip of envelope,” i.e. Molly’s looming infidelity with Blazes Boylan. But the “torn strip of envelope” could also describe what’s in Leopold’s pocket, as he crumbled Martha’s envelope there just before running into M’Coy.

Interesting sidenote: According to Ulysses Annotated, “to pot one’s meat” is crude slang for copulation. Sex always sells.

Some questions we’d like you to consider:

BEN: Is it acceptable to write love letters outside marriage?

ERIN: Why would you ask a question like that?

BEN: I’m just trying to get at the difference, if any, between thoughts of infidelity and acts of infidelity.

ERIN: What you’re trying to get at is a bed downstairs on the couch tonight.

BEN: Fine, you ask a better question.

ERIN: All right. How do I look in my eye patch?

BEN: I told you. I think you look lovely. How many times do I have to say it?

ERIN: One more.

BEN: You’re the hottest thing in an eye patch since Kurt Russell in Escape From New York.

ERIN: Aww, you’re so sweet. All right, final question: If this whole chapter is about languor and laziness, how come we haven’t seen the Bloom’s cat yet? What says “drowsy complacence” better than a cat?

Tomorrow: Pages 76-80!

A “Lotus-Eaters” Preview And The Merits Of A Kinesthetic Learning Approach To Ulysses

by BEN and ERIN VORE

We’ve got our work cut out for us. After Lizaanne very capably and efficiently funmarized “Calyspo,” the bar has been set quite high for “The Lotus-Eaters.” We will begin tag-twreading it tomorrow with posts to follow.

In preparation for our assignment, and to immerse ourselves in all things Joyce, one of us has been wearing an eyepatch ever since Wandering Rocks launched.

Yarrrrr, matey!

This led to the following conversation which took place in the Vore bathroom this morning:

BEN [sitting on toilet]: I notice you don’t take your eyepatch off when you shower.

ERIN [in towel and eyepatch]: Yeah. So?

BEN: It’s really starting to smell.

ERIN: You’re taking a dump and you’re telling me my eyepatch smells?

BEN: I’m a kinesthetic learner. If I want to really understand Leopold’s scatalogical fetishes, I’ve got to walk a mile in the man’s shoes.

ERIN: You’ve been on the pot since Thursday.

BEN: Have I?

ERIN: And you’ll never finish “The Lotus-Eaters” episode so we can write it together if all you do is read — and then wipe yourself with — a prize titbit titled Matcham’s Masterstroke.

BEN: But it’s quite good! It has inspired me to manage a sketch.

ERIN: Has it.

SCOOTER THOMAS [sauntering into the room]: Mkgnao!

ERIN: I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.

BEN: Wait. Is he wearing a little kitty eyepatch too?

SCOOTER THOMAS: Mrkgnao!

BEN: That looks ridiculous on him.

ERIN: I think he looks cute.

BEN: And Leopold thought cats were the cruel animal.

ERIN: Hush. Tell me — which dress goes best with my eyepatch?

The marital hijinks and astute literary analysis continue tomorrow!

Bring on The Lotus Eaters!

(Mrkgnao!)

ULYSSES Funmary #4: Calypso

By LIZAANNE

All right, Folks, it’s time for another funmary!  Let’s hear it for Calypso!

The Calypso section serves as an introduction to Leopold Bloom, his family, his personal issues, and his role in the novel. 

In this chaper, Leo is the active character.  He’s the Energizer Bunny as he makes breakfast for himself, his wife, and the cat; goes to the butcher; gets the mail; defines a word for his wife; promises to return a library book; eats a kidney; reads a letter from his daughter; uses the outhouse; and throughout, he daydreams– particularly of lush gardens.  

Continuing with the Homeric parallels, the *Calypso* here is Molly Bloom.  She is still and quiet (except for her bedsprings).  She sits in her room as the queen bee at the center of her universe as Leopold buzzes busily around her.  Molly is the nymph of the title, holding Leopold to her; poor Leo is as effectively caught in a honey trap as Odysseus was.  The contrast, though, is that Leo is not desperate to leave [though he suspects her of cheating]. 

As Hermes arrives to Calypso’s island, so also several messages arrive to the Blooms, but unlike Zeus’s missive, these letters do not set Leopold free.  Instead, they tie him further to his family by reminding him of his and Molly’s daughter & their son. They also sour the honey a bit by reminding Leopold of Molly’s unfaithfulness.

Calypso gives us our first glimpse at Leopold in contrast to Stephen. To finish our funmary, let’s take a quick look at this awesome two-some: 

Stephen: is so over-educated that everything reminds him of a line of poetry; estranged from his father & uncle; Catholic; desperately single; poet who is teaching; booted out of his tower by roomate

Leopold: has trouble remembering history lessons and multiplication tables; strongly connected to wife & daughter; Jewish; married; salesman who is an aspiring writer; didn’t want to disturb wife in her room

Both: thinkers & daydreamers; have a dead family member & are both in mourning black; don’t practice their religion but are strongly influenced by it ; live on the edge of poverty; have no key to their homes 

Quite the pair.

ULYSSES pp.66-70, “Calypso”

By LIZAANNE

Welcome back.  Now that your tummies are full, settle into your seats for the final leg of our tour through “Calypso.”  If you look out the windows to your right, you will see tweets:

66-Milly’s letter:dad’s girl having 1st adventure; LB thinks of her birth & little boy who died @ birth; LB=fond but not overprotective dad

67-LB recalls Milly’s adolescence; regrets that he can’t keep her innocent & connects to “seaside girls”; LB picks what 2 read in outhouse

68-LB considers planting a garden; wonders about where he left his hat & if he’ll have time for a bath; uses “jakes” w/ door open; reads

69-“titbit” parallels to LB’s toilet use; wishes were writer; recalls scribing conversations w/ Molly; remembers morning after met Boylan

70-LB converts story to toilet paper; inspects suit & wonders what time is funeral; hears churchbells & ends w/ “Poor Dignam!”

In the continuing theme of how different Leo’s life is from Stevie’s, we are treated here to a glimpse into Leo’s relationship with his daughter Milly.  Now, we have previously heard a considerable amount about dysfunctional fathers and sons in Ulysses.  Here, though, Leo’s Milly is quite the “daddy’s girl,” and Leo himself seems to be a caring and gentle father.  He misses his daughter and thinks about her on her first birthday away from home.  He plans to visit her soon.  Leo remembers her birth with joy (as well as recalling with sadness his still-born son four years later).  Leo worries about her budding sexuality and the inevitability of  her losing her innocence, but he knows that he cannot stop her from growing up.  He can only hope that working and living in a new city will keep her busy and away from boys for a while longer.

If the hints of “seaside girls” and scandalous picture postcards are to be believed, though, Leo’s hopes are in vain.  Milly, at fifteen,  is having grand adventures as a model at the seaside.  She has escaped the mundane routine of her family home  and has embraced a rather bohemian lifestyle [dear readers, please recall Stephen’s efforts to do the same in Portrait].  Her letter, despite her poor grammar, shows us how much she is enjoying her new life and how much she loves her parents.

Interesting note– while Leo is daydreaming about the garden he will probably never plant, he also wonders where his hat is and why the hat and umbrella stands were too full: “Hallstand too full.  Four umbrellas, her raincoat” (68).  This bit indicates that perhaps Molly has had a visitor of whom her devoted husband is unaware?

Alright– we can’t avoid it any longer–the outhouse.  Joyce does give us a short quote to explain why this vignette is included: “Dirty cleans” (68).  Leo has a determinedly scatalogical streak, which he ever-so-kindly shares with us by leaving the outhouse door open in the final pages of this section.  Two things (no, will NOT make the cheap joke) to note here: 1-Leo enjoys the slight danger of being seen.  He seems to regret that the neighbors are away from their porches and windows.  This personality quirk will develop more as we learn the purpose of that hidden paper in his hatband.  2-Leo’s methods of literary criticism lack delicacy.  The story he is reading seems to be a moralistic and very shortened “epic,” of which he distinctly disapproves.  The Bloomsday book draws parallel here between the ending of Proteus, where Stephen tears a page from the excremental treatise to create poetry and the ending of Calypso, where Leo tears a piece of creative writing in order to remove his excement.

As this section ends, we leave Leo standing in his weedy garden, listening to churchbells and thinking about his dead friend.  Quite a sobering conclusion to what has, overall, been a section full of the joie de vivre lacking in Stephen’s internal monologues.

And we have successfully arrived at the station!  All ashore who’s going ashore!

As you disembark, some questions for discussion:

-Do we find Leo’s descriptions of his daughter’s sexuality simply honest or mildly creepy?

-Throughout this section, Leo has had a preoccupation with plants, gardens, and fruit.  Why are they so symbolic for him?

-Would you be interested in reading a bedroom sketch by Mr and Mrs L. M. Bloom?

Essay question:

In Leo’s flashbacks to his mornings with Molly  (particularly the morning after she met Boylan) have several elements in common with the novel’s opening set-piece between Stephen and Buck.   List and explain the significance of these parallels.

ULYSSES pp. 60-65, “Calypso”

By LIZAANNE

Now that we’ve all had a chance to refuel (with our beverage of choice), time to get back on track with the next few pages of Calypso.  While the rest of the passengers are boarding, let’s take a few moments to review my tweets covering this section.  Pay careful attention, please, because Joyce loads us up with insight into Leopold and Molly Bloom over the course of these 6 pages:

60-LB buys sausage, avoiding eye contact w/ butcher; saunters back towards home, reading posters cut sheets adverting far-away farms; leads 2 daydream

61-recalls estranged friends; cloud brings dark thoughts of barren land & people; thinks of home & Molly 2 cheer up; @ home finds mail on mat

62-LB delivers postcard & letter 2 Molly in bed; moves dirty clothes; makes tea; cooks kidney; scans letter from daughter w/ fond memory

63-LB takes b-fast tray 2 Molly, sees she has opened letter; LB lavishly describes her body; letter is from her manager Boylan about concert

64-M asks L 2 define “metempsychosis” from her smutty book; he tries; he recalls day they met & how much he hates circuses; M wants new book

65-still explaining migration of souls; puts book in pocket; kidney burns; LB rescues it & eats alone in kitchen; thinks of daughter’s note

 Let me ‘splain– no, there is too much.  Let me sum up:

 1. Leo here follows the plan that he set out for himself earlier in the section, so we can see he is goal-oriented, which fits what we already know of him as a businessman.  He has his day planned out carefully.  So carefully, in fact, that he refuses to acknowledge any connection to the butcher (just as he previously only made small-talk with the store-keeper), lest it lead to something for which Leo is unprepared: “No: better not: another time” (60).  [side note– his reaction to Molly’s novel is certainly startling.  Who knew that Leo circus-o-phobic?]

2. Leo multi-tasks at home as he does the job of both husband and wife (cooking, tidying, bringing in the mail, organizing laundry, etc) because that slovenly, slug-a-bed Molly has yet to arise from her Spanish?, squeeky-springed mattress {as the astute Scooter Thomas noted, she is an excellent napper}; although she does awaken enough to gobble her breakfast and to clandestinely read the letter from her lover, Boylan.  

2a. As the first female character to be properly introduced in the novel, Madame Molly does not demand our sympathies.  Instead, she plays the part of the over-indulged and over-sexed nymphette to a tee (by having her tea and drinking it too, so to speak). 

2b. However, we do have her question about “metempsychosis” to thank for illuminating a central premise of this novel: the transference of Odysseus’s spirit into Leopold.  There’s also a nice little example for us pointing to Molly as a nymph.

3. Despite his domestic placidity, however, there are dark depths to our Irish Odysseus.  During his trip back home from the butcher’s, Leo is unexpectedly overcome by a wave of despair (interrupting another lovely daydream of ripening fruit in the Promised Land) when he sees a cloud pass over him–an example of pathetic fallacy in reverse.  This incident, although Leo dismisses it out of hand as “morning mouth” (61) clearly throws him off his stride.  It echoes Stephen’s previous imagery of barren lands and sexually-unproductive women, here with the added themes of the lost and abandoned Israelites throughout the world.  Leo’s feelings of loneliness and disconnection also match Odysseus’s emotions as he weeps at the shore of Calypso’s island. 

3. In another of his refreshing contrasts to Stephen, though, Leo does not wallow in his misery.  Thoughts of Molly lift him out of his funk and cheer him as he arrives home.  Thus, Leo manages to score two points up on our Stephen in that he successfully makes it back home without his key and he does it cheerfully [interestingly enough, Leo brings himself back by conjuring up pleasant sensory images– echoing the experiment Stephen was trying earlier]. OH– make that three points, Leo actually likes his family members and recalls them fondly, as evidenced by his brief flashback to when young Milly gave him the mustache cup for his birthday. 

Right, time for nibbles and questions.  Buy some sweets from the nice lady’s tray– mind the chocolate frogs. 

Questions for discussion:

–How many sexual innuendos did you count in these 6 pages?  The “tender gland” one doesn’t count as it is too easy. 

–What do you think was REALLY in that letter from young Master Boylan?

–Would you like to see the Blooms on an episode of “How Clean is Your House?”  Explain using details.

–Calculate the probability of the word “metempsychosis” appearing in an dirty novel about circuses to at least 10 decimal places.

Bonus points: 

 a. Jerry mentioned several posts ago that each section has its own color.  Can you identify the color for this section? 

b. Did you catch the cameo appearance of rosy-fingered Dawn?

ULYSSES pp. 55-59, “Calypso”

By LIZAANNE

Hi, folks!  Welcome aboard “The Odyssey” section of the novel–please have your tickets ready to be stamped.  Thank you.

This fourth section [Calypso] introduces us to the man who will be our second central character of this novel, namely Leopold Bloom.   Our narrator has backed the timeline up to the morning again, so that we meet Mr. Bloom at the beginning of his day.  After reading the first 5 pages of this section, we’ve learned quite a bit about him.  First, however, here are my tweets:

55-Leopold Bloom is introduced by his love of organ meats, how he makes b-fast, & talks to the cat–he anthropomorphizes as pretty but cruel

56-LB watches cat drink; decides on kidney for b.fast; checks on wife- she mumbles; considers loose bed springs; puts on hat w/ hidden paper

57-LB leaves key behind so won’t have to disturb wife, wanders down street in good mood; daydreams about exotic East– knows is just fantasy

58-LB greets shopkeeper after considering property values-wonders how he made his money; passes by school– hears lessons; arrives @ butcher

59-LB oogles meat & servant girl in shop; reads ads from cut sheets-thinks of cattlemarket; places order, wants to hurry so can follow girl

So, what have we learned on our first foray into Bloom-land? Well…

1. Leo is an advertising businessman who has a head for making money, property prices, potential clients, and a good land bargain.  Despite these talents, though, he seems to be living at the lower end of the spectrum. 

2. Leo endears himself to the reader through his fanciful daydreams (He is a good deal more cheerful in his thoughts than Stephen, which is a welcome change for us) and his kind treatment of his wife and his cat.  

3. Ah, on the subject of Molly (whose name we don’t learn until 3 pages into the chapter)–when we first meet Leo, he is putting together a breakfast tray for his wife, who is still in bed.  She’ll be there for the rest of the section.  Like Odysseus with Calypso, Leopold is tied to his love.  Unlike Odysseus, Leo doesn’t seem to mind much, at least we have seen no signs of it yet.  He is a devoted husband; in fact, we get the idea that he might be just a bit afraid of her.  According to the Bloomsday book, we should pay particular attention to her noisy bed-springs, which make their first appearance here.

4. Leo is not nearly as well-educated as our friend Stephen and is considerably older and more comfortable in his environment (not to mention in his own skin).  Leo knows Stephen’s father, Simon, well enough (probably in the pub) to have heard his impressions of the shop-keeper O’Rourke many times.  There are two things Leo and Stephen share at the moment: 1-that neither of them possess a key to their homes [however, Leo has only propped his door closed, and he fully intends to be back after his trip to the butcher]; 2- that both men are dressed in black because they are showing respect for the dead [Leo has a funeral to attend this morning after breakfast]. 

5. Leo has an eye for the ladies, particularly well-rounded ones.   He also loves organ meat.  These two ideas are probably connected.

6. Leo also appreciates the scatological elements of blood, guts, etc.  We shall shortly hear more about this than we ever wanted to know.

So, here are some questions for discussion as this train pulls into the station for refueling:

— How are the cat and Molly similar?

–Why does Leo carry a lucky potato?

–How does the idea of “Homerule sun rising up in the northwest” connect to our previous discussions of Irish-Anglo relations?

— Why is Leo buying pork sausage when he is supposed to be Jewish?

ULYSSES Funmary #3: Proteus

By JERRY GRIT

With “Proteus,” we come to the end of Ulysses‘ Part 1, its Telemachiad (the chapters focused on Dedalus-Telemachus). Although, it was a short chapter, it was long on confusing, headache-inducing obscurity. 

Not very much happens in the chapter. Stephen walks on Sandymount Strand along the polluted Dublin Bay, thinks about a bunch of stuff (past experiences, people he knows, philosophical and historical observations). He rests on a rock. Sees a floating dog’s corpse. Gets scared by another dog running nearby, owned by the gypsy cocklepickers picking cockles in the bay. Gets inspired and works out some poetic lines on a piece of paper ripped for Deasy’s letter. He (maybe) masturbates, pees, and picks his nose.

If we recall from the Odyssey, Proteus was a smelly, shape-shifting god who would tell you stuff only if you were able to pin him down. (He also had a thing for seals, but who doesn’t?)

The difficulty of the chapter has a lot to do with this homeric parallel. The reference to the Odyssey is not made with characters or plot, as it was primarily achieved in the first two chapters. Rather, the chapter’s style–Stephen’s internal monologue–is the Proteus. (This will not be the last time we’ll see the homeric reference in the chapter’s style.) And it is by pinning down this protean flux and flow of thought, memories, and observations are we able to gain some insight. This blog and your comments is our collective wrestling match with this chapter’s (and book’s) slippery mutability. Check out these takedowns…

Change is evident throughout. Stephen walking on the Sandymont Strand, along the flowing waters of Dublin Bay. It’s about noon, right at high tide time. Gypsy cocklypickers are a transitory people. So a lot about the physical setting Stephen finds himself is shared with his own fluctuating thoughts and inability to concentrate. (BTW…don’t mean to unnecessarily pathologize, but is Steve ADD or are we experiencing the typical flow of thought as best represented in text?)

Another move. Fathers and sons. Before, the focus has been on moms. Here, we get introduced to Stephen’s dad through his not very kind thoughts and willful disowning of him. And there are other fathers and sons. You have Stephen’s thoughts about the bedridden Uncle Richie abusing his stuttering son Walter, and then there’s the absinthe-drinking forgotten Kevin Egan and his neglectful milk-drinking son Patrice. All of these display pretty awesome dad-son dynamics…No, they’re awful. We get a very clear sense of the directionlessness Stephen suffers in the absence of a father or even a father figure. 

Speaking of fathers, Bloom is once more foreshadowed in dream. This time, its Stephen’s dream (p. 47). While Haines was freaking out about stalking panther, Stephen was being led around a “street of harlots” by a melon-salesman to visit an unseen third person. You could see this as foreshadowing and/or as a manifestation of Stephen’s own unconscious desire for direction and/or melons. 

Stephen ends his Telemachiad motherless, fatherless, and now homeless. He’s heading off to his 12:30 meet-up with Buck Mulligan at the pub called (not incidentally) the Ship. He’s still engaged in his art, however vampire-obsessed it might be. There’s still hope for Stephen, but the mast-crucifixes he sees on the horizon suggests he won’t be having it easy anytime soon.

We did it! We have made it passed where so many have fallen short. And now our efforts will truly begin to pay huge dividends. Next, we launch into the Odyssey where we follow Leopold Bloom and the fun really begins.

And find out how many more wrestling references I can make!

ULYSSES pp. 41-51, “Proteus”

By JERRY GRIT

No question. This reading, although short, was a slog. But it’s a worthwhile slog. And a slog that will be richly rewarded. 

I went through and finished up the chapter, however it may raise an uproar about pacing. Dwelling on this chapter could drive us nuts. I thought it best for our collective health and morale to just get this one behind us. Marilyn Monroe would have wanted us to.

Here’s how the tweets went:

• P41. SD lost in thought along polluted bay, realizes passed aunt’s house, bird associates. Recalls meeting son of Kevin Egan, expat in Paris.
• P42. SD recalls living in & coming back from Paris; the unpunctuated telegram about dying mom; Egan as Fenian hero compared 2 his wimp son.
• P43. SD recalls being sought out by Egan in Paris; Egan tells Irish indep mvmt war stories & asks SD 2 tell son in Ireland that he’s ok.
• P44. SD thinks Ireland forgot Egan. Looks up @ tower, knows he won’t be going back. Sits on rock, looks @ bloated dog body floating in bay.
• P45. SD scared by a dog running @ him. Mocks own cowardice, recalls BM’s bravery in saving drowning man. Links self 2 Irish history of fakes.
• P46. SD recalls man drowned 9 days before & mom’s death. Sees dog’s owners. Dog barks @ cocklepickers, sniffs bloated dog, pees on rock.
• P47. SD recalls last night’s dream of being led by a melon-seller 2 see someone. Sees gypsy c-pickers leave, has dirty thoughts about lady.
• P48. SD inspired w/poetic lines, writes on paper from Deasy letter. Looks @ shadow, tries 2 reach the ideal again, recalls girl from monday.
• P49. Thinking about girl, SD maybe masturbates. Borrowed boots makes SD recall wearing girls shoes in Paris. SD pees on rocks. Tide comes in
• P50. SD thinks again of drowned man’s corpse, Lycidas. Thirsty, rises 2 go 2 meetup w/BM @ bar The Ship. Has bad teeth. Realizes hanky lost.
• P51. SD picks nose. Doesn’t care who sees. But worried he’s being watched. Looks out 2 ocean, sees ship w/3 masts, look like 3 crucifixes.

A few more notes. We have at the end here Stephen’s first burst of creativity, or at least creativity directed toward creating poetry. Amid Stephen’s gloomy thoughts about the recently drowned man’s body bound to surface at any time, poor and lonely Kevin Egan in Paris, and not being able to go back to the tower, Stephen improvises a few lines. He sets down his flowing, changing thoughts on paper, like Menelaus pinned down Proteus.

I’m not judging if that poem will be any good (“He comes, pale vampire”…could be proto-Twilight vampire lit?), but it does mark the height of the Telemachiad and suggests that Stephen is not yet doomed to spend the rest of his life sad and uninspired in Dublin. The will to create still exists, however he’s been humbled by life and is still hung up by his own issues. 

I’m not sure Stephen masturbates when thinking about the Leeson park girl on p. 49 (“Touch me. Soft eyes. Soft soft soft hand…”). My memory is that Joycean scholars are not unanimous. But something’s happening there. And we have the first reference to the “word known to all men” (which will occur 2 more times). Thankfully, Hans Gabler has identified this word as “love.”

It’s also interesting to note his (postcoital?) thoughts on his not-completely-heterosexual attachment to Buck Mulligan . Stephen seems to lament the inevitable break between him and Buck. But he acknowledges that the break is his own choice. Stephen’s unwillingness to compromise his art or his life to play the games and scams that Buck survives on, shows how he still prioritizes what he imagines it means to be an artist over human connection. To Stephen (at this point), art requires isolation.

I’ll funmarize all of “Proteus” tomorrow. And then, finally, we get to the good stuff.

Process Comment: Pacing

By ANDREW CASHMERE

When you break it down to it’s most simple level, therapy is about change. A person is doing or feeling or something they don’t like and would like to change what they are doing or feeling. The different theoretical orientations (Psychodynamic, Cognitive-Behavioral, Humanistic) conceptualize how to bring about change differently, but all aim to help the client change. During therapy, client and therapist talk about what the client is doing or feeling and how to bring about change, but occasionally things get stuck and the therapist needs to make a comment about the process of change. I like process comments. They are fun and usually lead somewhere interesting.

All of us fall into one of two groups. Either we have not read Ulysses or do not appreciate it as much as we would like. We are in the process of changing those conditions. Here is a process comment: the pace at which we are reading Ulysses feels really fast. Really, really fast. In fact, I think I have whiplash. I was struggling to keep up until Friday. Then I went out of town for a wedding, came back this afternoon, and now I feel completely lost and that I’ll never catch up. I can’t even keep up with the comments. And we haven’t even finished the first week. And holy shit, you people know a lot more about what is going on than me.

I’m not saying we need to slow down. If everyone else is comfortable than I’ll just learn to deal with it, but I would feel better if at least one other person feels like the dumb kid in class right now. Anyone else feel dumb? (sound of crickets)

UPDATE: Administrator’s Note on “Process Comment: Pacing”
By JERRY GRIT

I was saving this for a moment of crisis…

Yes, that’s Marilyn Monroe reading Ulysses, and look how far she is!

Let this be encouragement to you all. Whether reading poolside in bikinis, Grand Canyon-side in climbing boots, or post-wedding with a completely inappropriate cognitive therapy theoretical orientation, if Marilyn can do it on a merry-go-round, you can too.

ULYSSES pp. 37-40, “Proteus”

By JERRY GRIT

I only managed 4 pages tonight. I forgot how, although short, “Proteus” was one of the more difficult episodes in Ulysses and how it’s usually at this point most Ulysses readers become Ulysses readers no more. 

If you take anything from this post, let it be simply this: don’t give up.

Here’s the twreading I managed for these pages, and it’s hopelessly incomplete:

• P37. SD walking on strand, attempts 2 reach essence of reality beyond protean sight&sound. A lonely egghead. Sees nurse who delivered him.
• P38. SD thinks: umbilical as phone line 2 Eve; the inconsequence of his parents. Remembers: Deasy’s letter; 12:30 meet @bar; visit w/aunt.
• P39: SD imagines dad mocking aunt’s family. Recalls past visit. Uncle Rich a bedridden opera-loving drunk, son Walt studders. SD’s ashamed.
• P40. SD still lost in thought, mocks own rebelliousness, earnestness & ambition. Recalls own perverted prayers 2 see naked ladies.

We are at the last chapter in Ulysses’ Telemachiad, the 3 chapters focused on Stephen Dedalus. And in this culminating chapter of the first part, we get a very up-close experience of Stephen and his machinations of his mind. 

Instead explaining the protean hodgepodge of esoterica that constitutes Stephen’s thoughts (everything from Aristotle, heretics in the early Catholic Church, Italian mystical views of history)–which I don’t think I could do competently, anyways–I find it far more worthwhile to think about this chapter more in terms of  how it develops Stephen’s character. 

His thoughts on Aristotle, Church history, all his studies in Paris, all add up to convey his sense of disconnectedness and isolation. He can’t get past sight and sound to penetrate the eternal essence, to connect. 

He can’t even find connection to his own family. He thinks of his father as  (in Blamires’ words) “a meaningless physical coincidence.” And he’s ashamed of his mother’s sister (Aunt Sara) and her sad family. 

He realizes he can find no inspiration or beauty in what’s he’s studied or his own family, and devolves into a torrent of self-mockery. 

And because he’s an egghead, his thoughts, his mockery are all constituted by arcane references. He’s trying really hard to be clever, and we shouldn’t be intimidated or turned off by this cleverness. We should instead understand how he makes it difficult for anyone to like him.

The takeaway for us should be: he’s a lonely, smart, sensitive dude who is unfulfilled by his studies, alienated and ashamed of his family.

You can try to throw your life away and try to figure out all the references, but it may drive you nuts. I would advise to give it a good effort and turn the page. There is so much more ahead which won’t require you caring about a heretic who died of bowel trouble in 336 AD.

ULYSSES Funmary #2: Nestor

by BEN VORE

Behold! I am about to reveal to you my amazing ability to perform a super secret Joycean mind meld which allows me to discern some of the thoughts and probing questions of a few Wandering Rocks regulars. Allow me to address those unspoken questions here:

“Could you just give me a brief overview of what’s actually going on in this episode? I’m new to Wandering Rocks and have chosen to remain in the shadows of anonymity until I get my sea legs, so to speak.” – Anonymous 

Yes, Anonymous (although I know who you are!). Stephen Dedalus is a history teacher and he’s teaching his class about Pyrrhus. It’s toward the end of class and the natives are restless. They ask for a joke and Stephen tells a morbid riddle that kinda freaks everyone out. But then class is over and everyone runs outside to play hockey, everyone except a kid named Sargent. Sargent needs a little extra help with math. Stephen helps him and feels an affinity for the kid. After that Stephen goes into headmaster Deasy’s office to collect his paycheck. Not only does he get paid, he also gets an earful of preachy monetary advice, curious historical assessments, anti-Semitic accusations and then some good old misogyny to top it all off. Deasy asks him to deliver a letter to some local newspapers, which is Stephen’s out. 

“I don’t speak Latin, so could you translate Amor matris for me? Also, Mike Allen’s corn hole tournament was a farce.” – Tad Smith

Tad, Amor matris translates to “mother love.” Joyce uses the phrase while Stephen is helping Sargent (with whom he feels a certain kinship) with his sums. This is noteworthy because Sargent ( “ugly and futile”) doesn’t seem like a lovable kid, although Stephen reasons that “someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart.” Here we have Amor matris, made all the more poignant because as Eric Jerric Jerry noted in his Telemachus Funmary, “Stephen is haunted by his dead mother, and his guilt surrounding her death. She asked him to pray for her at her deathbed. He refused.”

“This is well and good, but what about the last part of the sentence? It’s ‘Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive.’ And I’m really still steamed about that sham tournament.” – Tad

Based on my copious reading of commentaries, analysis and annotations, I believe I’m correct in saying that “subjective and objective genitive” suggests that amor matris can mean either a mother’s love for a child or a child’s love for a mother. It’s a two-way street. Why is this important? It might have something to do with Stephen’s ability to be the actor — or the acted-upon — for the journey ahead. Sort of like how you, Tad, have the choice to passively accept that it was indeed a sham tournament, or actively lodge an official protest with the International Corn Hole Association (located, conveniently, here in Cincinnati, Ohio).

“You said yesterday that ‘History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake’ is the episode’s money quote. Elaborate, please. And you know what else is money? Your unparalleled fashion sense.” – Andrew Cashmere

Thank you, Andrew! What a kind thing to say.

This is a money quote on several different levels.

1. It’s a rebuke to Deasy. Deasy tells Stephen that “all history moves towards one great goal, the manifestation of God.” Stephen wants none of it.
2. It’s a rebuke to Haines. Back in “Telemachus” Haines tells Stephen, “It seems history is to blame,” an easy way to absolve certain parties (read: Brits) of responsibility. Stephen sees history as personal, close-at-hand, sometimes violent (especially with regard to Irish history). Note too that during this conversation Stephen’s color is rising and that Haines has “detached” some tobacco fibers from his mouth before speaking “calmly.” One speaks of a living, breathing history; the other exists in a sort of “ahistory.” 
3. It’s true on a personal level. Stephen is a gloomy guy. He’s haunted by his dead mother. He’s wracked by guilt. He couldn’t make it on his own and had to move back home. A loudmouth and a freeloader kicked him to the curb. He sits through lectures by anti-Semitic blowhards. He’s literally trying to wake up from the nightmare of his personal life.

There’s also the tension here of how we should read history, a question that echoes from Stephen’s thoughts earlier in the episode. Thinking of Haines (though Deasy fits the bill too), Stephen muses, “For them too history was a tale like any other too often heard, their land a pawnshop.” Stephen’s history isn’t pliable in the same way because it’s anchored by fact, not memory. ( “Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam’s hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death? They are not to be thought away.”) So while Haines/Deasy absolve themselves of any responsibility for history, Stephen can’t shake it free.

“I have always wanted to be a star hurling player. Do you have any footage I could watch of you playing?” – Brooke Jackson

Yes, Brooke, I do!

“What would you prescribe for someone prone to coughballs of laughter which drag after them rattling chains of phlegm? I’m asking on a friend’s behalf.” – Mark Hoobler

Mark, I would advise your friend that it’s probably time to stop laughing altogether. Or get a lung transplant.

“As you may have noted if you read my spot-on post ‘swine flu — excuse me while i fail to be frightened,’ I’m not buying the media hype. But should I be at least a wee bit concerned about another outbreak of foot and mouth disease?” – Gflawrence 

Gflawrence, your post was indeed spot-on. And while I don’t want to downplay the potentially pandemic effects of another foot and mouth disease outbreak, you should rest assured that humans are rarely affected. Sleep easy tonight.

“Would anyone out there like a little perspective on Stephen’s classroom management skills from an actual 7th grade teacher (and Wandering Rocks participant!)? You would? Great! Because I’ve already written a blog post about it. Enjoy.” – Liza Anne

Thank you, Liza Anne!

“I rather enjoyed John Hodgman’s ‘Jokes That Have Never Produced Laughter.’ Might there be one more?” – Katie Else

Indeed there might, Katie! 

A dog goes into a bar. He is wearing an eye patch. The dog says to the bartender, “Have you heard the one about the one-eyed dog?” The bartender, who is deaf in one ear, thinks the dog is making fun of him. He asks him to leave. The dog says, “Don’t you have a sense of humor, deafie?” At the end of his shift, the bartender is tired of all the jokes. Today it’s a one-eyed dog. Yesterday it was a horse with rickets. The day before: ants. He lives above the bar, in a small room. He spends the night alone there, listening to his battery-operated radio, which picks up only a bad jazz station. He listens to bad jazz with his bad ear.

 

That closes the book on “Nestor”!

NEXT UP: The orphaned “Proteus”! What kind of monster would fail to adopt this poor child?*

* = clearly not you, as you are not a monster!

ULYSSES pp. 31-36, “Nestor”

by BEN VORE

The pp. 31-36 tweets:

• p31. Greasy Deasy laughs at SD’s debts, calls him a fenian, then lectures him on The Potato Famine. This guy’s a royal prick.
• p32. Deasy asks SD to deliver a letter to the papers. He types, SD reminisces about the racetrack and playing hockey (“the joust of life”).
• p33. Deasy’s letter is about … foot and mouth disease? Cue anti-Semitic bluster!
• p34. Deasy really hates the Jews. SD wants to awake from the nightmare of history, hears God in “a shout in the street.”
• p35. Deasy to SD: You’re not a born teacher. SD to Deasy: “A learner rather.” SD rustles the sheets, really wants this conversation to end.
• p36. Deasy has to get in one last anti-Semitic joke. It’s bad. He’s a sad, phlegmy blowhard. SD says nothing; at last he’s free of him.

On to the recap:

We pick up in the middle of Stephen’s transaction with Deasy, who has just lectured Stephen about thrift and self-reliance and then — being the prick that he is — goes in for the kill by asking poor Stephen if he too can say I paid my way. I never borrowed a shilling in my life. I owe nothing. Of course Stephen can’t, and p. 31 begins with a comical internal accounting of Stephen’s extensive debts. Stephen answers Deasy’s question with, “For the moment, no,” which prompts Deasy to laugh “with rich delight” and respond ( “joyously,” no less), “I knew you couldn’t.” Say it with me: This guy is a jerk.

But he’s just getting warmed up. Like many a bully who masks his insecurities beneath an obnoxious personality, Deasy assumes Stephen is Fenian (an Irish Catholic nationalist), and thus hostile to Deasy being a Tory (an English-fearing Protestant). This is all Deasy needs to begin espousing his views on Irish history, going back to the Irish potato famine. 

Let’s watch a short clip for some background on the famine. For our purposes, the first 40 seconds are the most relevant here. Should you choose not to watch the remaining 2:38, please just put your head down on your desk and go to sleep or something.

Can someone get the lights please?

How about that creepy Famine with the scythe? Yikes!

For fun: Read through the comment thread on the video to get a little taste of the ongoing Irish/British hostilities with regard to this little bit of history.

As for its relevance to us and “Nestor,” it’s worth one more quick tangent on the name Deasy. According to Ulysses Annotated, The Deasy Act (1860) was “an act ostensibly intended for land reform in Ireland but in practice a ruthless regulation of land tenancy in favor of landlords (i.e., in favor of the pro-English, anti-Catholic establishment).” If Joyce named his Nestor after this Act, as seems likely, then we can see Deasy as the smug, self-serving, condescending embodiment of English Superiority whose selective reading of history would pin blame for the famine back on “you fenians.” The SparkNotes commentary sums it up nicely: “The purpose of [Deasy’s] lecture is less to teach than to assert authority, an authority that is undermined by several factual errors.”

Once Deasy is done lecturing he asks Stephen for the favor of delivering a letter to the papers (Stephen has the hook-up). The hot button issue Deasy is eager to sound off on? Foot and mouth disease. ( “There can be no two opinions on the matter,” Deasy says. That’s another way of saying, “Everyone who doesn’t agree with me is an idiot.” Blooooooooow-hard, Blooooooooow-hard.)

As Deasy types, Stephen (seated “before the princely presence,” a nice little echo of Telemachus/Nestor) recalls a trip to the racetrack with his friend Cranly, then — hearing shouts and whistles from the hockey game outside — imagines himself down on that field, engaged in “the joust of life.” But in Stephen’s head, the game takes a rather grisly turn and ends with “the frozen deathspew of the slain, a shout of spear spikes baited with men’s bloodied guts.” (He’s been watching The Last Boy Scout one too many times.)

Then we get an ugly blast of anti-Semitic bile from Deasy, who suspects Jews have infiltrated every sector of the “highest places” in England. (He’s just getting warmed up.) Stephen recalls standing on the steps of the Paris Stock Exchange and contends that greedy merchants can be Jew and Gentile alike. Jews, Deasy retorts, “sinned against the light.” Stephen counters by asking, “Who has not?” This leads to the money quote of this episode, spoken by Stephen: “History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.”

Deasy, surely caught off guard by cryptic non-responses to his anti-Semitic charges, tells Stephen that “the ways of the Creator are not our ways. All history moves towards one great goal, the manifestation of God.” At that moment there are more shouts from the hockey game. “That is God,” Stephen says, gesturing outside. This throws Deasy for a loop. “A shout in the street,” Stephen adds. Hooray! Ay! Whrrwhee!

Deasy is way off-balance by this point, so he shifts from anti-Semitism to some good old-fashioned misogyny. He trots out the tireless charge that “a woman bought sin into the world.” Stephen has had enough and politely raises the letters, indicating he’ll be off to take care of Deasy’s business. But Deasy keeps going, telling Stephen “you were not born to be a teacher.” Stephen is strangely passive here. “A learner rather,” he responds, but his heart isn’t in the fight. He rustles the sheets some more and keeps trying to get out the door. The conversation ended long ago for him.

Deasy, perhaps worried Stephen didn’t pick up on how Deasy really felt about the Jews, runs after him in the street to tell one more anti-Semitic joke. After he tells it, we get this rather repulsive little sentence:

A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. 

Yum! Who’s hungry?

You’d better get hungry for the Nestor Funmary tomorrow. We’ll try to draw together the loose threads and tease out this “history is a nightmare” business. Until then, some questions for discussion:

• Can you feel that you paid your way and never borrowed a shilling in your life? No? Are you ashamed of yourself then?
• Have you suffered from foot and mouth disease? Really? You have? Sick. You disgust me.
• How is God like a shout in the street?
• Is Deasy right in his assessment of Stephen as a teacher? 
• What to make of Stephen’s increasing non-responsiveness from that point on? His internal monologue basically gets turned off.

Also, anyone with a firmer grasp on European history (here I’m thinking particularly of resident scholar Katie Else) care to tell us more about the Irish Potato Famine?

TOMORROW: The “Nestor” Funmary!

But who has adopted “Proteus”?

ULYSSES pp. 24-30, “Nestor”

by BEN VORE

I have attempted to replicate Jerry’s Eric’s exemplary twreading skills. (Emphasis on “attempted.”) Let’s revisit the tweets before launching into the analysis:

• p24. SD teaches remedial History. One student thinks Pyrrhus was a pier. Classmates chortle.
• p25. SD perplexes class with “a disappointed bridge.” Indulges in reverie about Aristotle, gets swarthy kid named Talbot to read Milton.
• p26. More Aristotle: “Thought is the thought of thought.” Class winds down and asks for a riddle. SD tells a terrible one.
• p27. punchline: “The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush.” Wah-wahhh. SD misses his mom. Ugly kid fails math but mom loves him.
• p28. Torturous math problem. Makes SD think about Hamlet again. Ugly kid just wants to go outside and play hockey.
• p29. Enter Deasy. He’s our Nestor: Blowhard, also pompous, self-righteous and misogynist. Now he’s the teacher and SD is the student.
• p30. Deasy pays SD, says “Money is power,” takes Shakespeare out of context. Deasy paid his way — the pride of the English!

Some observations:

Stephen is not teaching AP History.  He’s got some rowdy kids in his class, but he’s not much of a disciplinarian either. A student named Armstrong gets a laugh out of answering that Pyrrhus (he of the Pyrrhic victory) is a pier. Stephen seems like that poor teacher who can’t translate what’s in his head to how he teaches. Nor does he seem able to steer discussion down any constructive path, leading to a terrible riddle (which Ulysses Annotated notes “is a joke at the expense of riddles, since it is unanswerable unless the answer is already known”). This made me recall the section of John Hodgman’s The Areas of My Expertise entitled, “Jokes That Have Never Produced Laughter.” He lists five; I will choose my two favorite:

A duck goes into a pharmacy. He says to the pharmacist, “I need some ointment for my beak. It is very chapped.” The pharmacist says, “We have nothing for ducks here.”

and

A man goes into a bar. He has a dog with him. The dog is wearing an eye patch. The man says to the bartender, “Ask me about my dog.” Unfortunately, the bartender does not hear him, because he was deaf in one ear as a child. He serves a woman at the other end of the bar. When he comes around to the man with the dog again, the man orders an imported beer. He forgets what he was going to say about the dog. 

Stephen sure misses his dead mom. So why does he tell this terrible riddle? It hints at not just his extremely poor sense of comic timing but also the fact he’s still grieving. (To the grief-stricken, morbidity does acquire a certain hilarity.) Stephen’s one redeeming moment with a student is after class with the “ugly and futile” Sargent. As Sargent reworks a math problem, Stephen notes the boy’s physical oddities (a “lean neck and tangled hair”) but then reflects “yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart. … She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life?” We’re back at the grace and miracle of a mother’s love (amor matris), something Stephen no longer has.

Deasy is a pompous windbag. He’s Joyce’s Nestor. (In all fairness, Homer’s Nestor is far less pompous.) He’s also the school headmaster. The first physical trait we see of him is his “angry white moustache.” Joyce doesn’t say as much, but I get the impression Deasy is a large man. (Joyce refers to him several times as “old,” and at the end of the chapter we see Deasy running after Stephen and “breathing hard,” suggesting he’s out of shape. Then he coughs up “a rattling chain of phlegm.”) Deasy, who is pro-British (and anti-Semitic … more on this tomorrow), pays Stephen and delivers a lecture entitled “Money is Power.” While there are merits to Deasy’s thrift and self-reliance (he tells Stephen the Englishman’s proudest boast is I paid my way), certain flourishes in his speech suggest Deasy is a self-righteous blowhard. He begins his speech, after all, with the dreaded “When you have lived as long as I have…,” then takes Shakespeare out of context (quoting Iago unironically, which Stephen calls him on). Now we have Stephen, previously the (mostly ineffectual) teacher, sitting as the pupil under another (mostly ineffectual) teacher.

Finally, a couple small sidenotes:

• It is noteworthy that Stephen’s students play hockey, an English game, and not something more authentically Irish like hurling. Here’s a picture of a large man hurling:

“I accidentally put my jersey in the dryer!”

• Stephen thinks a lot about Aristotle, and I would try to flesh some of this out tomorrow (specifically about Stephen’s reading of Aristotle as it relates to questions of history) if not for the fact I’d have no idea what I was talking about. So I open the floor to any Aristotelian scholars who would like to shed greater light on these themes.

Questions for discussion:

1. What is a disappointed bridge? 
2. Does Stephen’s identification with Sargent ( “like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness”) explain why their encounter appears to be the only connection between a student and teacher in this episode?
3. Why don’t pharmacists sell beak ointment?

We’ll tackle the rest of “Nestor” tomorrow.

In the meantime, I’m off to intramural hurling!

ULYSSES Funmary #1: Telemachus

By JERRY GRIT

First, an administrative matter.

We need episodes adopted. “Proteus” doesn’t have anyone, and that could start as early as Tuesday. (It’s only 14 pages! It’s only a baby!).

If you plan on reading Ulysses with us, please find it in your heart to call one of these episodes your own. You will get to dictate the pace we read it, put up a tweet* for each page you read, post on your reading, and funmarize the chapter. 

For the bigger babies (over 40 pages), I’ve cut these into smaller baby pieces. (“Circe” poses a unique problem. I’ll talk about my special rotation for that one when  we get closer…let me know if you want to be involved in this, as well)

Feel free to adopt as many episode (or episode parts) as you can! They need you. I need you.

You won’t be alone. We’ll be there all along the way to help and to applause.

Now on to the funmarization…

I’ll hit the main plot points:

• Stephen Dedalus has been back in Dublin, having been recalled from Paris (and his attempt to become a profligate artist) when his mother is dying. His mother has since died, and now he’s living in a tower with Buck Mulligan (plump, profane smoothtalker). They have a houseguest named Haines, a rich Brit in Ireland conducting folklore research, who also has night terrors. Stephen’s father is still alive and living in Dublin, but we’ll get to that.
• Stephen hates being back. He feels oppressed by family, church, and state. He longs to be free so as to be an artist again, but finds himself stuck.
• Stephen is haunted by his dead mother, and his guilt surrounding her death. She asked him to pray for her at her deathbed. He refused. For whatever his Jesuit education and demeanor, Stephen is not a practicing Catholic. He rejects the Church as an imposition on his art. Yet, he nonetheless feels guilt for his disobedience to his mom at her death. He’s a conflicted dude.
• Buck Mulligan and Haines have probably been colluding with each other to get Stephen out of the tower, so Haines can move in. And Stephen has caught on. Mulligan is Stephen’s friend, but he’s a bigger friend to Haines’ money. 
• Mulligan has gotten the only key to the tower away from Stephen (even though Stephen has paid the rent). Although, Mulligan and Haines have not made their move to boot Stephen out, Stephen knows what’s coming.
• Stephen leaves Haines and Mulligan to collect his paycheck, to wander, and to figure out what to do.   

We’ve finished the first chapter (of three) that constitute the Telemachiad (the chapters that focus on Stephen-Telemachus).

Any questons?

———–

* = This is actually really fun. Reducing Joyce to 140 characters is empowering.

A “Nestor” Preview, A Conversation Around Reading Methods, and Your Favorite Irish Slang Terms

by BEN VORE

At the bookstore where I am employed, teenagers are beginning to trickle in to purchase their summer reading books. The other day one such student approached me at the information counter and showed me his list, which required him to select one of four titles. “We should have these in, so you can take your pick,” I said as we walked over to the summer reading cases. “I already know which one I’m picking,” he said. “The shortest.” (The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie it is.)

Anyone notice how long the “Nestor” episode is?*

Let’s tackle it in two days. I’ll twread and recap pp. 24-30 tomorrow (so we can dig into the juicy financial transaction which occurs between Stephen and Deasy) and then pp. 31-36 Sunday.

I think it would be helpful to hear what method everyone is using to read Ulysses. I took Jerry’s advice and purchased Ulysses Annotated (which has proved to be quite a life preserver thus far). But now I’m faced with the problem of deciding when to consult the annotations: During the reading? After? Before? During is the most practical yet it blunts any momentum and threatens to bog one down in textual minutiea. After would theoretically allow for smooth, uninterrupted reading except for the fact we’re reading Ulysses, not The Monster At The End of This Book. And before, while conceivably like watching game tape and developing a subsequent strategy, is simply depressing: Twenty-odd pages of full-justified, double column text with lots of inscrutable abbreviations? What did we sign up for again? (And why I am typing this at one in the morning in the middle of my vacation?)

After reading two episodes now, this is the strategy I’ve settled on:

1. Attempt to read the episode sans annotations;
2. Re-read the episode with annotations at hand (or on the screen, as lizaanne42 recommends);
3. Proceed directly to the liquor cabinet for a stiff drink.

Basically, I’ve resigned myself to at least two readings. Except “resign myself” sounds defeatist. Let’s try: I’ve embraced the fact I need at least two readings. To paraphrase the Beastie Boys, Wandering Rocks is like the lotto: You gotta be in it to win it.

What other methods have been helpful? Anyone drowning out there?

Finally, I thought it might buck up morale and be a nice team-building exercise (a Wandering Rocks trust fall, if you will) to start a friendly blog rivalry with the hosers over at infinitesummer.org. And what would cripple a bunch of pomo pantywipes more than some bona fide Joycean epithets? So let’s debag those scrotumtightening fenians and collect some prepuces!

Maybe give ’em some foot and mouth disease!

A coughball of laughter we phlegm in their general vicinity!

Rotto!

 

* = I did not consult the length of this episode before selecting “Nestor.” Honest. Nevertheless, I anticipate feeling judged and scorned by others in the group, especially the poor sap who signed up for “Circe.”

ULYSSES p. 14-23, “Telemachus”

By JERRY GRIT

Seriously, these twreads are pretty awesome. I’m not missing a thing. You’re all suckers if you’re still reading the book.

• P14. BM patronizes milkmaid. SD’s sympathetic to her but resents her submissiveness. Haines (Brit) speaks Gaelic, but maid doesnt understand.
• P15. Haines guilts BM 2 pay milkmaid. BM underpays. Maid leaves. BM begs SD 2 bring money 4 drinks. BM 2 swim with Haines. SD doesn’t bathe.
• P16. SD quips agn. Haines wants 2 collect SD’s quips. BM tries 2 get SD 2 ask Haines 4 $. SD refuses. BM resigned, says SD needs 2 play them.
• P17. All get dressed 2 leave, SD takes cane & tower’s only key. All 3 walk together. Some tower talk. Haines asks 4 SD’s Hamlet theory.
• P18. BM makes fun of theory, SD lets him. Haines says tower recalls Elsinore, one-ups w/another theory. SD feels odd as the only 1 in black.
• P19. BM sings his own song about a joking Jesus, dances away. Haines laughs but says 2 SD he shouldn’t. Asks if SD a believer, SD rebuffs.
• P20. Haines criticizes personal god idea. SD says SD’s misunderstood. SD knows they want 2 take the key. SD says SDs servant 2 church&England.
• P21. SD’s esoteric thoughts about Church heresies, links thm 2 BM. Haines’ an antisemite. They watch boats. Mention Milly Bloom’s dirty? pic.
• P22. BM gets ready 2 swim w/another dude already in sea. Old dude jumps out of sea. Redheads are horny liars. BM says he’s Adam, asks 4 key.
• P23. SD gives BM key & money. BM extols theft & swims. Haines says theyll meet later. SD leaves knowing he’s been screwed & can’t come back.

So that brings us to the end of the “Telemachus” chapter. So far so good. 

Just a few more notes. I want to call attention to the subtle parallels to the Odyssey’s 1st books. We start with absent fathers (there are no dads here, but possibly for the old dude who pops out of the sea). There’s a milkmaid recalling Athena’s disguise, when she went to Telemachus to get him off his duff to find out about Odysseus. The maid shows up just as Stephen-Telemachus is usurped from his home, to begin his journey.

There are also a lot of references to the Irish Renaissance which was all the rage in turn-of-the-century Ireland (Yeats, Synge, and that crew), which meant to celebrate authentic Irish country folk (of the west, east was more cosmopolitan and British-influenced). The British rich guy Haines is there to collect Irish folklore and knows Gaelic. The old Irish lady is unfamiliar with Gaelic. It suggests Joyce’s dubiousness about this movement.

There are also references to what will be developed later: Stephen’s Hamlet theory, the “photo girl” picture of Milly Bloom (Leopold’s daughter), the drinking later that day.

My favorite word from this reading: dewsilky.

NEXT: Onward into “Nestor”! The “Telemachus” Funmary (huh?)

There’s still time to join the fun and recruit for more fun!

ULYSSES p. 4-13, “Telemachus”

By JERRY GRIT

The Ulysses twreading (my* awesome neologism for “tweeting while reading”) is going pretty well, apart from the horseface fiasco (Buck has equine features, not Stephen…as I confused in my twreading on the first page). I read 10 pages for today, tweeting a summary after each page. Here’s how they went, all under one forty:

June 16

• In preparation for tomorrow’s post…I will tweet once per page tonight. Starting now…
• P 4. Stephen complains about 3rd roommate Haines (eccentric rich Brit), worried about living with a dude with night terrors and a gun.
• P 5. D’oh! Buck has the horseface! Buck guilts Stephen about his mom’s death & his refusal to pray beside her. She haunts him in dreams.
• P 6. Stephen wears only black b/c in mourning. Buck holds up a cracked mirror, repeats rumors of Steve’s insanity. Stephen quotes Hamlet.

June 17

• Busy day banging head against wall. Will twread now. Will use abbreviations SD=Stephen Dedalus; BM=Buck Mulligan (ha!); UA=Ulysses Annotated.
• P7. BM senses that SD is fed up with BM’s bs. BM asks for SD’s trust. Also asks SD to try to borrow money off Haines. Brit-bashing ensues.
• P8. SD tells BM that he overheard BM call his mom beastly dead after her funeral. Embarrassed BM plays off, espouses irreverent lifeview.
• P9. SD says he was offended, BM tells him not 2 b. Haines calls up 4 breakfast. BM leaves singing. SD alone recalls singing same song 2 mom.
• P10. SD broods on mom. Recalls dreaming of hr ghost. SD begs mom 2 leave hm b. BM yells breakfast ready & Haines is sorry for night terrors.
• P11. SD dont want Brit’s money, says he’s getting paid. BM says theyll get drunk. SD thinks about bringing BM’s bowl down. Doesnt wanna serve.
• P12. 3 towermates sit at table 4 breakfast. BM wants milk. Milkmaid is sighted coming up. BM makes strong tea, refers 2 SD’s stay in Paris.
• P13. Irish folklore inside jokes. Old milkmaid comes in. BM makes fun of her reverence. SD recalls Athena’s milkmaid disguise, Odyssey I-II.

Although I feel strongly that these summaries pretty much capture the depth of meaning on every page (and that you could probably read them in place of the actual book and not miss a thing), there a few points I want to make. 

When we last left Stephen Dedalus in the final pages of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, he was ecstatic and set to flee Ireland for Paris, to escape the pressures of family and the oppressive moral culture of Ireland, to spend all his days drinking wine in cafes, sleeping with prostitutes, and other impious writer fantasies.

But from the beginning of Ulysses, we know that flamed out. The beginning of Ulysses continues the structure in Portrait, where each chapter ends on a high, and begins on a low. Where Portrait ends with Stephen on his biggest high, Ulysses begins with Stephen at his lowest low yet. He’s was called back to Ireland as his mother was dying.  He’s displaced from his father’s home, and about to be displaced from a ghetto tower by people he can’t stand. And now he’s haunted by his mother’s death because he didn’t pray for her when she begged him to.

 

(Obvious, I know, but I couldn’t help it.)

There’s also something to be said of the towermate situation. It’s an important dynamic, with larger significances. With Buck Mulligan as the typical Irish bourgeois and Haines as the crazy, rich**, armed British visitor, we have a picture of British occupation and Irish submission. When Stephen thinks of returning the bowl of lather Buck left on the roof, he fears becoming “a servant of a servant” (p.11)  

Stephen’s longing to be free of the nets of country and family is still in tact, however entangled he now finds himself.

 And finally, we have our first quasi-sighting of Leopold Bloom! Any guesses where? It’s on p. 4…

Any questions?

NEXT: I will *try* to read 20 10 pages for tomorrow.

Follow the twreading!

And Adopt-An-Episode before it’s too late! You’re encouraged to tag team!

——-

* = I was curious if I could really claim this word as my own. I found that I might be able to claim my definition as original, but not the word. You can get tarot twreadings. People twread their tweets (that’s just stupid). Just so there’s no confusion, on Wandering Rocks, twreading means tweeting while you read.

** = In the Ellman biography, he recounts how when Joyce was living with Gogarty in the tower, they also had a British house visitor, who was also armed and had night terrors. It is assumed that Joyce left the tower after he was shot at by the Brit during one of his episodes. I’m sure Joyce wields the “lancet of his art” (p.7) to settle some scores here. 

ULYSSES p. 2-3, “Telemachus”

By JERRY GRIT

I read the first page* of Ulysses today. Hopefully, you did too.

I tweeted while I read it, which was not easy. Keeping “insights” to under 140 characters at a time is not conducive to literary analysis. It also took me less than 2 hours to read the page. I do not recommend this at all. Going forward, I’m going to tweet just once after every page I finish. 

For what it’s worth, here’s all the tweet action today, with some links added.

1. I’m going to read page 1 of Ulysses now. I’ll give myself 1 hr to finish. I’m starting with 16 followers in twtr. Will probably end with 2. [12:17 pm] 
2. Have to find a copy online first. Had to loan gfriend my copy since I lost hers. No idea what happened. This whole thing has me frazzled. [12:20 pm] 
3. Alright. Here we go, (deep breath) “Robert Langdon awoke slowly.” Wha?! Hey, that’s not right. [12:25 pm] 
4. Now here we go. Starts with a big “S” in “stately” and then “plump” and that’s all for page 1! Easy. [12:32 pm] 
5. Should read next page. Before I do, checking Don Gifford. S stands for Stephen, Subject (1st part of syllogism, there is a logical structure). [12:41 pm] 
6. 2 other parts of the book start with a big M (Molly, middle) and P (Leo-Poldy, predicate). Medievals regarded S-M-P as the order of thought. [12:48 pm] 
7. If S=M, and M=P, then S=P. M, the middle term drops out, combining the subject and predicate. Molly brings together Stephen and Leopold. [12:51 pm] 
8. Moving right along to word 2…nothing on “plump”…though funny to think of someone stately and plump, I guess. Are we getting satire here? [12:53 pm] 
9. Reading the full sentence. Buck Mulligan is coming from the stairhead with a bowl (which will become a chalice according to Don) and razor. [12:55 pm]
10. “Yellow dressinggown, ungirdled”? Gross. Did dudes girdle? I will never finish this page. Been reading for 30 mins. Need to power thru. [12:57 pm]
11. 1st line of dialogue, Introibo ad altare Dei means I will go up to God’s altar. Said in Catholic Mass. Like Homer, an appeal to divinity. [1:05 pm]
12. Also, Buck is having a laugh at Catholic ritual, & poking fun at his tower-mate (they’re living in an actual tower), Stephen. [1:08 pm]
13. He gets Stephen to the towertop, calls him Kinch & fearful Jesuit. To Don, Kinch sounds like a cutting sound. Sounds a like stupid nickname. [1:10 pm]
14. This guy is putting a lot into his shaving ritual. Why hasn’t Gillette optioned this for a commercial. The Mach Mulligan. Ba-dum-bump! [1:15 pm]
15. There’s our boy, Stephen Dedalus. Displeased & sleepy. But I can’t tell who has the equine face, untonsured (!?) hair, pale oak complexion. [1:18 pm]
16. Looking it up…and not finding it. I’m 65% sure it’s Stephen with the horseface. Been at this an hour. Need to pick up the freaking pace. [1:30 pm]
17. Back to barracks…a military command. Buck has both national and religious significance. It’s tuff to do this under 140 characters, btw. [1:41 pm]
18. To Don, the genuine Christine is jokey reference to black mass (and not Applegate), where a woman’s body is used as an altar. Weird joke. [1:45 pm]
19. Chrysostomos is not a sentence! Is this the narrator speaking? Word means golden-mouth, referring to Buck’s gold-capped teeth and big mouth. [1:51 pm]
20. Who’s he’s whistling to? And what’s the current? Looking it up… [1:53 pm]
21. No idea who whistles back. Don & the comic are no help. Current seems to be the wind, which he’s telling god to turn off. What a jokester. [1:59 pm]
22. If the plump shadowed face=Buck, then Stephen must have the horseface! Mystery solved! Can you have just one jowl? Checking… [2:01 pm]
23. According to Webster, jowl just means slack flesh, usually associated with cheeks, lower jaw, throat. Buck probably has a double chin. [2:02]
24. To Don, face description suggests Pope Alex VI, corrupt Renaissance leader/arts patron (good call?). Anyways, a symbol of decadent power. [2:07 pm]
25. Buck makes fun of Stephen’s name. Stephen=1st Christian martyr; Dedalus=ancient Greek artificer, killed his own son with the wax wing plan. [2:08 pm]
26. Stephen still hasn’t said anything yet. Just follows Buck onto the towertop, sits on the gunrest. Is he the resting gun? I’m going nutz.  [2:10 pm]
27. And that’s it! Read page 1 in less than 2 hours. This is going to be a breeze! [2:11 pm] 
28. Signing off. Need to do some actual work, even though this completely exhausted me. Maybe will take a nap. I end with all 16 followers! [2:13 pm]

So, let’s take stock of what happens on page 1. Buck comes to the top of the tower, where he’s living with Stephen. He brings a bowl of lather, a razor, and a mirror, supposedly to shave. He’s still in his yellow(ed?) pajamas. Before he begins to shave, Buck makes fun of Catholic ritual and Stephen (with a bunch of weird, not-funny jokes) while posing as a loud-mouthed, decadent authority figure. He intonation to God parallels to invocation to the muse at the beginning of the Odyssey.

He calls horsefaced Stephen up to the top of tower. Stephen just stares, probably just waking up, and probably annoyed that he was woken up to watch this dude shave. This is probably the roommate situation from hell.

Their residence here is based Joyce’s own brief unhappy residence at Martello Tower, built a century earlier to defend Dublin against a possible Napoleonic invasion. It was 40 ft high with thick walls. It’s single door was 10 ft off the ground, only reached by rope ladder. Sounds like fun, but that rope ladder would get old quick.

Martello Tower.

Joyce lived there with Oliver Joseph St John Gogarty(who is now immortalized as the inspiration for Buck Mulligan). According to the Ellman biography, Joyce had a pretty unfortunate roommate situation living with Gogarty, who was sarcastic, a drunk, and probably really disrespectful of Joyce’s space. I’m imagining Taco Bell wrappers everywhere.

The setting of the top of the tower also recalls Hamlet (act 1, scene 5), where Hamlet confronts the ghost of his father.  Stephen definitely thinks of himself as a more Hamlet figure than a Telemachus one. And just coming off our funmaries, so would I. 

Some questions for discussion:

• Who whistles back to Buck? Is this just the wind?
• Who’s the narrator here? It’s definitely 3rd, but not necessarily omniscient or objective. Definitely seems to have it in for Buck.
• What exactly does it mean to have *untonsured* hair?
• What are the significance similarities/differences between Hamlet and Telemachus?
• Is Buck’s reference to the feminine Christ a subtle nod to Dan Brown’s work?

Adopt-An-Episode Update: We’re only have a little over a third of the episodes in Ulysses adopted. Please find it in your heart to become a parent!

NEXT: I will read 10 pages and post tomorrow!

Adopt-An-Episode or they will die!

—-

* = Technically, I read the first 2 pages of Ulysses. Page 1 just has a big letter and 2 words.