Wednesday 18 December 2013

Tuesday, 17 December 2013, Pages 811 - 818, Ithaca, Episode 17

"... from the house of bondage to the wilderness of inhabitation effected?" {(17.1022) Gabler, p. 818 (Penguin)} is where we stopped at the last meeting of the reading group in 2013.

We are back in the world of "trivials" after the shock felt last week by the reciting of the antisemitic poem by Stephen. Bloom's thoughts wander again. Rather, he is occupied with the memories stirred up by the mention of the daughter of the Jew in the poem. Memories of Milly as a child (born on 15 June 1889) counting one, tloo, tlee, of her dolls, of her blond hair (though born of two-dark headed ones), of her adolescence, of the letter she had written on her 15th birthday (which was just a day preceding the current happenings), of his trying to teach Milly elements of biology and physics using an owl and a clock which he had got as matrimonial auguries, and of her giving him as a gift on his 27th birthday, a breakfast moustachecup of imitation Crown Derby porcelain ware.

Bloom's thoughts are intercepted by the temporary departure of his cat. This catapults Bloom's thoughts into wondering about the similarities and differences between the cat and Milly, in what becomes the pinnacle of labored writing.

This style of writing continues. Said in plain English, Bloom offers Stephen a bed, which is declined by Stephen. On the imminent departure of the much-cared-for-guest, Bloom is made to think of Mrs. Emily Sinico, mirroring the scene of a similar declining of an offer in the story, A Painful Case, from Joyce's Dubliners. Bloom does not give up on enticing Stephen. He would so love to continue the contact which would mean for him (Bloom) rejuvenation of intelligence and vicarious satisfaction. Among other things, he proposes that Stephen teach Molly Italian, that Milly coach Stephen in singing, that they both  (Bloom and Stephen) meet in a suitable place and engage in a series of static semistatic and peripatetic intellectual dialogues. Bloom, who would have gone through a number of disappointments to date, would really be depressed if his offers were rejected. Because he realizes that the society/human existence has reached a critical turningpoint which can only be saved by amending many social conditions, the product of inequality and avarice and international animosity.

Bloom, at this point, is - once again - his kind and lovable self. He is the Bloom we know!

All that remains now is to wish you all, co-readers of Bloom's saga, happy holidays and a great beginning to 2014!

Wednesday 11 December 2013

Tuesday, 10 December 2013, Pages 804 - 811, Ithaca, Episode 17

Today we stopped at: "hypnotic suggestion and somnambulism", 17.849  (Gabler), p.  811 (Penguin)

After we were occupied in this chapter for a long time with apparently trivial questions
(e.g: what lay under exposure on the lower, middle and upper shelves of the kitchen dresser, opened by Bloom? (p. 788, Penguin), Who drank more quickly? (p. 791, Penguin), What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? (p. 800, Penguin)) and not so trivial ones (e.g. What to do with out wives. (p.802, Penguin)), we are catapulted into the world of antisemitism that was to engulf Europe within years after the publication of Ulysses. Joyce builds this up quite slowly, and talks at first of three seekers of pure truth, Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides, and Moses Mendensohn (p.805, Penguin). Then some Hebrew statements appear, only to be followed by names of books that are sacred in Judaism along with those that narrate Irish legend. 

As the conversation (?) moves on to the development of languages, from the Egyptian epigraphic hieroglyphs to Celtic writing, we are confronted with Stephen's auditive sensation and Bloom's visual sensation. (This chapter mentions very often such complementary elements, here e.g. auditive vs visual.) It is then that Joyce attributes (albeit in Bloom's perception) the appearance of Stephen to the 'known' appearance of Christ, leaving us with the question whether Stephen is the Christ of Ulysses.

In what looks like a very sudden step (a catastrophe, a turning point), Stephen starts to recite a legendary poem, which is seeped in antisemitism, though it is composed of such innocent looking words:

Little Harry Hughes and his schoolfellows all
Went out for to play ball.
And the very first ball little Harry Hughes played
He drove it o'er the Jew's garden wall.
And the very second ball little Harry Hughes played
He broke the Jew's windows all.
...

This recitation of Stephen leaves us with many questions:
1. How can Stephen, who has been so cared for by Bloom, recite such a poem in his host's place?
2. Why does he do it?
3. What does Joyce really mean with the words, "secret infidel" when he poses the question: "Why was the host (secret infidel) silent?" after asking, "Why was he host (reluctant, unresisting) still?"


Tuesday 3 December 2013

Tuesday, 3 December 2013, Pages 794 - 804, Ithaca, Episode 17

We stopped at, " ... (a mendacious person mentioned in sacred scripture.), 17.687 (Gabler), p. 804 (Penguin)

Last week we had read about the first of the four separating forces between Bloom and his temporary guest, namely, name. Started today reading about the relation that existed between their ages. Joyce takes about half-a-page to tell us (not directly, of course) that Stephen was born in 1882, and that 16 years before in 1888 when Bloom was of Stephen's present age, Stephen was 16. This is followed by a long list of calculations of "what, when.." Soon, the thoughts (or is it the conversation between the two) turn to Dante of The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Not only with the introduction of Dante but also with many other hints, Joyce has created a kaleidoscope - arranging and rearranging the events of the day - in his creation of Ulysses.

Other things - apart from name and age - that are considered here in great detail are their educational careers, their temperaments (Bloom's is said to be scientific where as Stephen's is artistic), their parentage, art of advertisements, The Queen's Hoel in Ennis (where Bloom's father had committed suicide), and the big question of what to do with wives on long evenings! After considering many options including parlour games, Bloom favors courses of evening instruction specially designed to render liberal instruction, as she (his wife) usually interprets polysyllables of foreign origin phonetically: e.g. metempsychosis as met him pike hoses (page 77, Penguin)

While talking about parents, there is a hint about why Bloom asserts on page 745 (Penguin) that he in reality is not a jew: "... told him his God, I mean Christ, was a jew too, and all his family, like me, though in reality I'm not."

The problem I faced today was not really knowing whether what we are reading are mere thoughts in Bloom's and Stephen's minds or whether they are having a conversation. The thing that contradicts the former is the fact that there is an apparent connection, a kind of response, between these "thoughts". This would not have been possible if these were merely thoughts. On the other hand, what speaks against it being a regular conversation is the fact that Stephen has so far been an uninterested, reticent, guest. Let us hope that we will be able to find the answer to this question by the end of the chapter!

Wednesday 27 November 2013

Tuesday, 26 November 2013, Pages 785 - 794, Ithaca, Episode 17

Today we read as far as: "Dunbar Plunket Barton", 17.445 (Gabler), p. 794 (Penguin)

After Bloom, while filling the kettle with water from the tap, muses - on nearly two pages - over its (water's) universality, properties, chemical composition, various states of aggregation, usefulness etc - and after hearing about Stephen's distrust of the aquacities of thought and language, he suppresses his natural desire to counsel Stephen about his washing and eating habits. He refrains from the former, as he realizes the incompatibility of aquacity with the erratic originality of genius


Meanwhile the water in the kettle boils. This is explained in yet another longish passage in still convoluted manner. A beautiful example of how Joyce mocks writing styles is the way he explains how one knows when water starts to boil. Anybody else would have written, most probably, that steam starts to escape from the kettle when water boils. Not Joyce. He writes: "A double falciform ejection of water vapor from under the kettle lid at both sides simultaneously".


What has Stephen been doing all this time? Perhaps he looks around in the kitchen, noticing things albeit unconsciously. In any case Joyce comes up with a long list of household goods and food distributed on the three shelves of the kitchen dresser. At the same time, Bloom's attention is drawn to two torn pieces of tickets lying on the dresser. Joyce uses this detail to create another list which should help our memory in reconstructing the various events of the day. 


Bloom prepares two cups of cocoa. Stephen continues to be uncommunicative. Bloom concludes by inspection though erroneously that his silent companion was engaged in mental composition, he (Bloom) reflected on the pleasures derived from literature of instruction rather than of amusement... These thoughts lead him to remember the verse he had written when he was just 11, and to the four separating forces between his temporary guest and him: name, age, race, creed.


Joyce's attempt to make this chapter come out dry and factual becomes a mockery of scientific writing. Facts become, very often, gross exaggerations. Conciseness is sacrificed to verbosity. This, in a way, is the exact attraction of this chapter. Ithaca, is a very funny chapter. There is much here that makes us, the readers, smile.


(Note: Read here an essay on the literary style of this chapter, Ithaca, by the Modernism lab at Yale University.)

Wednesday 20 November 2013

Tuesday, 19 November 2013, Pages 776 - 785, Ithaca, Episode 17

Today we read as far as "distrusting aquacities of thought and language", 17.240 (Gabler), p. 785 (Penguin)

We follow the " keyless couple" Bloom and Stephen on their way home to Bloom's house. They are both "keyless" because Stephen has given his to Mulligan and Bloom has left his in another pair of trousers' pocket. They virtually end up breaking into Bloom's home by climbing over the railings in front of the house. We follow them closely through accurate descriptions of even the most mandane and familiar movements (common actions one would never think about with such awareness) like searching a pocket or turning on a tap.

Accuracy and precision are going to be some of the leading motives of Ithaca. It is written in a question-and-answer form, reminiscent of that of the Catechism (the way the Catholic church dishes out its truths). It also has a scientific touch, nearly mathematical in its attempt to be exact. Everything is treated as if it were of equal importance (a dust bucket seems as important as a tree or the Roman Catholic Church). Things are described neutrally, precisely, exhaustively and from a detached point of view, in an objective language - the kind you would use for instructive texts or legal documents, focusing on accuracy, and at the cost of brevity. (Joyce told his friend Frank Budgen that Ithaca was "the ugly duckling" in the book.)

And yet, things get out of hand, again. Though Ithaca seems to want to get a grip back on things and to regain control, the striving for precision and exhaustiveness defeats its purpose. See, for example, the wonderful, long list of what Bloom admires in water: the list grows and grows, but the longer it gets the more things are likely to have been left out, in a way. The more detailed the lists, the more things are likely be missing. 

Wednesday 13 November 2013

Tuesday, 12 November 2013, Pages 771 - 776, Eumaeus, Episode 16

Today we stopped at: "less than the arc which it subtends."
17.10 (Gabler), p. 776 (Penguin)


Bloom and Stephen have to stop in the road for an old horse which is dragging a sweeper. Bloom feels sorry for it and wishes he had a lump of sugar. Stephen is singing, which prompts Bloom to say that he'd have a lot in common with his wife, who is a lover of music too, and starts imagining plans for having Stephen's voice trained and establishing him as a successful singer. This would have the benefit of bringing in some money and of lifting Dublin's musical life to a more distinctive taste, and Stephen could still devote himself to literature in his spare time. Another piece of advice Bloom gives to Stephen is to cut away from Mulligan, who has no qualms about talking about him behind his back. The horse deposits three steaming turds on the road (a scene described with attempts to lift, on a stylistic level, what is evidently dropping). Stephen carries on singing as he and Bloom walk away into the distance. 

At this point, a shift in perspective occurs and the scene is perceived from the driver of the sweepercar's position, who (though he can't hear what they're saying) watches the two men walking away side by side. Bloom and Stephen walk into the distance (a cinematic scene, in a way), linked in companionship but apart from each other mentally.

We talked about the voice in this chapter, since it seemed to some that it couldn't really be Bloom's, he seems so different from how we know him. Maybe the chapter, particularly its ending, invites us to see the voice as detaching itself from the characters (though it may originate from what they say and do) - like something that lays itself over the events, or something into which the events are transposed but that claims existence in its own right.

One last time, an example of what we have come to enjoy as typically (and funnily) Eumaean, with its deliberately awkward style, the metaphors that don't go well together, then taking over and getting out of hand completely:

Added to which of course would be the pecuniary emolument by no means to be sneezed at, going hand in hand with his tuition fees. Not, he parenthesissed, that for the sake of filthy lucre he need necessarily embrace the lyric platform as a walk in life


In Ithaca (the next chapter, on which we started) it's rather the precision which gets out of hand. It is written in a pattern of question and answer, it strives to be exact (almost mathematically so), as if it were trying to get back the hold that's been missing (viz. the looseness and laxness of the previous chapter). But, again, the effort seems to defeat its purpose.





Tuesday 5 November 2013

Tuesday, 5 November 2013, Pages 762 - 771, Eumaeus, Episode 16

Today we stopped at "who made toys or airs and John Bull" 
16.1769 (Gabler), p. 771 (Penguin)



Bloom is still silently enjoying, with some self-satisfaction, the retort he snapped at the fanatical nationalist in Cyclops. He dislikes the way the cabmen talk about and laugh at Parnell, though, and he also regrets that Stephen should waste his time in brothels and risk catching venereal disease. Many of Bloom's thoughts about Stephen and his words to him are inspired by his mistaken interpretation of him, though. We continue to see and enjoy various (failed) attempts by Bloom (but also by Stephen) to sound original, as e.g. in the following muddles:

But something substantial he certainly ought to eat, were it only an eggflip made on unadulterated maternal nutriment or, failing that, the homely Humpty Dumpty boiled.
(Bloom's inventive wording for "egg")

-- At what o'clock did you dine? he questioned of the slim form and tired though unwrinkled face.
(Bloom's alternative to a simple "when?")

Stephen:
-- One thing I never understood, he said, to be original on the spur of the moment, why they put tables upside down at night, I mean chairs upside down on the tables In cafes.
Bloom:
At least he would be in safe hands and as warm as a toast on a trivet.
(Bloom's muddle out of as warm as toast and as right as a trivet)


It gets late, time to retire, Bloom would like to take Stephen home with him but doesn't know how to word his invitation and turns around various possible phrasings in his head (and he also remembers that, the last time he took a lame dog home for the night, Molly got rather angry). He would also like to help Stephen materially. Finally, he manages to make him leave the shelter with him in what is made to look like a mysterious, high tension, gangsteresque paying-for-the-drinks-and-leaving-swiftly-scene.

Outside, talk turns to the subject of music and Stephen, who has been rather silent, loosens up a little. He is not very firm on his legs, though, and Bloom goes to his side to support him. He says to him, "The only thing is to walk then you'll feel a different man. It's not far. Lean on me". He passes his arm in Stephens and leads him on. Stephen replies "Yes", uncertainly, "because he thought he felt a strange kind of flesh of a different man approach him, sinewless and wobbly and all that". Stephen, who rather dislikes physical contact, does feel a different man, but that different man is Bloom. Bloom and Stephen are talking at cross purposes all the time here - Bloom wanting to show that he knows, Stephen talking without explaining or caring. Incidentally, "sinewless" and "wobbly" are adjectives that would describe rather well the way in which this chapter is written.




Tuesday 29 October 2013

Tuesday, 29 October 2013, Pages 753 - 762, Eumaeus, Episode 16

Stopped at "... committed his remains to the grave." 
16.1528 (Gabler), p. 762 (Penguin).

Bloom's internal monologues - and Stephen's silence - continue in the cabman's shelter. Most of the episodes we read today are related to Parnell and his downfall.

(Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Stewart_Parnell)

These are triggered by the cabman: "One morning you would open the paper, the cabman affirmed, and read: Return of Parnell", who says that he (Parnell) had simply absconded somewhere. The coffin they brought over was full of stones. ... And so forth and so on. These statements set Bloom to think about the inadvisability of Parnell's return. He wonders: Something evidently riled them in his death, reminding the reader of Parnell's saying, "Don't throw me to the wolves", about which Joyce had commented: "They did not, because they tore him apart themselves." Bloom goes through - in fact not just once but twice on these pages - about Parnell's personality (a born leader of men which undoubtedly he was and a commanding figure, a six footer or at any rate five feet ten or eleven in his stockinged feet....), how he was betrayed by his own followers, and how he - Bloom - was the person who had handed Parnell his silk hat when it was knocked off his head, and how he - Parnell - had said, "Thank you"! Bloom is as usual mixed up in his thoughts. The first time he thinks of the case of the silk hat, he remembers Parnell telling him, "Thank you!" and the next time he remembers the incidence, it becomes "Thank you, sir!" Thus Bloom does not even remember what exactly the great Parnell said to him! Thinking of the case of Parnell naturally leads to thoughts of Katherine O'Shea, the affair with whom was the cause of Parnell's downfall. He mentions to Stephen, who has been silent all through, that she was Spanish too. Stephen goes off on a tangent, mentioning The king of Spain's daughter, Spanish onions etc. Bloom, naive as he is, takes the fact of Katherine O'Shea being the daughter of the king of Spain seriously. This clue of Spain leads his thoughts to his wife, whose picture showing her opulent curves he produces from his pocket and shows it to Stephen. 

Loose parallels are drawn between Katherine O'Shea's cottonball of a husband and Bloom as well as between Katherine O'Shea and Molly and between Parnell and Boylan (who is just hinted at and remains unmentioned). Thoughts of Molly remind Bloom of that very morning, when he had brought her tea to her bedside and she had asked him about the meaning of met him pike horses

Thus in these pages, we get to have a good peep into Bloom's mind though we have absolutely no idea of what is going in the mind of his companion, Stephen.

Wednesday 23 October 2013

Tuesday, 22 October 2013, Pages 745 - 753, Eumaeus, Episode 16



We read as far as " - Who? the other, whose hand by the way was hurt, said." 16.1296 (Gabler), p. 753 (Penguin).

Still sitting in the cabman's shelter, Bloom is still trying earnestly to engage Stephen in a conversation. Stephen, when he does care to answer, comes up with something  short and crisp, something that Bloom often cannot make head or tail of! For example, when Bloom talks about "what a patent absurdity it is on the face of it to hate people because they live round the corner and speak another vernacular", Stephen responds with "Memorable bloody bridge battle..." Understanding what Stephen refers to this time, Bloom agrees with him thoroughly, and thinks that it was all largely a money question.

Bloom continues to talk of Jews, and how they contributed to the British society when Cromwell allowed them in. From the Jews he moves on to the Turks and thinks of Islam. Next it is the turn of patriotism. Bloom comes up with his understanding of the word -, ending with the statement, "Where you can live well, the sense is, if you work". Not paying any attention to his barrage of words, Stephen hears only the last three words. "Count me out, he managed to remark, meaning work." This starts another one of Bloom's discourses, this time on the importance of various kinds of works. According to him, a person who, like Stephen, tries to live by his pen is as important as a peasant. He says, "You both belong to Ireland..." "You suspect, ... that I may be important because I belong to... Ireland". (says Stephen)... "I suspect, Stephen interrupts, that Ireland must be important because it belongs to me." (In this statement Stephen becomes the altar ego of Joyce.)


Watching the young man beside him, Bloom thinks of the many examples of "... cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly nipped in the bud of premature decay and nobody to blame but themselves." Bloom is carried away by his own thoughts on various topics, when he notices the pink edition of the Evening Telegraph lying there. His eyes run over many captions till he arrives at a note on Patrick Dignam's funeral. The note that must have been written by Hynes talks about what a genial personality Dignam was, and goes on to list the names of people who attended the funeral that morning (see chapter 6). The list contains many errors. Not only has Bloom become L. Boom it also mentions that Stephen Dedalus B. A. was at the funeral, when actually he was not there. Stephen is interested in finding out whether the letter (see chapter 2), which he brought that morning to the newspaper has been printed. (It has.)  While Stephen reads the letter printed on page two, Bloom reads on page three about the horse race in which Throwaway was the winner and on page four about the Slocum Disaster.



View the entire paper of that day, 16 June 1904 at http://cas.umt.edu/english/joyce/notes/020064newspapers.htm

Again no real conversation takes place between Bloom and Stephen. In fact this section in chapter 16 is dotted with long internal monologues of Bloom. Well, what else can it be, when Bloom has the silent Stephen as companion! And much of it dwells on what are facts, what is truth, and how reliable are reports. When an event has to be rendered somehow and, for this, turned into a particular medium (language, for example), it undergoes changes invariably and can not help losing (or gaining) something on the way.

Tuesday 15 October 2013

Tuesday, 15 October 2013, Pages 737 - 745, Eumaeus, Episode 16

We stopped today at "It's a patent absurdity on the face of it to hate people because they live round the corner and speak another vernacular, so to speak." 16.1103 (Gabler), p. 745 (Penguin)

Bloom and Stephen are still in the cabman's shelter. The loquacious sailor is still around. Fittingly the language used here often contains many a nautical phrase - for example: to unfurl a reef, p. 738; giving it a wide berth, p. 739., and the talk centers on shipwrecks and accidents at sea. Reticent Stephen is still quiet. The longest sentence he speaks is: "... we have the impetuosity of  Dante, and the isosceles triangle, Miss Portinari, he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino."

Though actually not much happens, many different topics are touched upon in these pages: Bloom compares the women of Italy with those in Ireland (to the latter's disadvantage), mentions that he was in the Kildare Street museum earlier in the day (see, chapter 8), where he was impressed by the splendid proportions of hips, bosom. The sailor goes out to have a swig out of the two flasks of rum sticking out of each pocket and to relieve himself, as observed by Bloom, while the other customers of the cabman's shelter talk of ships, ship wrecks, and the sorry state of the Irish shipping industry. This inspires the keeper, Skin-the Goat, (assuming he was he), who has his own axe to grind, to sing the glory of Ireland, and to proclaim that Ireland would be the Achilles Heel of England. His advice to every Irishman was: stay in the land of your birth and work for Ireland and live for Ireland. Ireland, Parnell said, could not spare a single one of her sons.

Bloom clearly does not agree with all this rhetoric.... he was fully cognisant of the fact that their neighbours across the channel, unless they were much bigger fools than he took them for, rather concealed their strength than the opposite. He tells - recalling the scene with The Citizen in chapter 12 - Stephen how he had heard not so long before the same identical lingo, and how he simply but effectually silenced the offender. He says - in the typical manner in which we have come to know how Bloom speaks, confusing issues - "He called me a jew, and in a heated fashion, offensively. So I, without deviating from plain facts in the least, told him his God, I mean Christ, was a jew too, and all his family, like me, though in reality I'm not." (The question of whether Bloom is a Jew or not, discussed in a chapter that seems to keep asking 'what is reality?', is ingenious.)

Remembering this earlier incidence with the Citizen in the tavern, Bloom makes, what is perhaps the most important statement in these pages we have read so far in this chapter. He says: "I resent violence or intolerance in any shape or form...It's a patent absurdity on the face of it to hate people because they live round the corner and speak another vernacular, so to speak."

Tuesday 8 October 2013

Tuesday, 8 October 2013, Pages 729 - 737, Eumaeus, Episode 16


Today we read as far as 
"That's why I asked you if you wrote poetry in Itlaian." 16.881 (Gabler), p. 737 (Penguin).
A streetwalker appears at the Cabman's Shelter (the same one Bloom had tried to avoid being seen by in Sirens, and now tries to avoid again) when its keeper makes a rude sign to take herself off. Bloom continues his efforts to engage Stephen in conversation, rambling on about various subjects (some necessary evils of society, the importance of compulsory medical inspection of brothels, the human brain, the soul), to which Stephen only offers a half-hearted and disinterested response in terms of a scholastic definition of the soul - and at which "Mr Bloom thoroughly acquiesced in the general gist of this though the mystical finesse involved was a bit out of his sublunary depth" (in plain words, he shuts up and does not have a clue about what Stephen is saying). The two characters seem to operate mentally on a different level. And, although they have finally come together, there has not been anything climactic or grand about it (as there would have been, say, in the meeting of father and son in a classical epic as in the coming home of Odysseus). 

But Bloom, who has not had any kind of intellectual conversation the whole day, is unrelenting in his efforts to win or impress Stephen. He even tries, unsuccessfully, to make him drink coffee (and even attempts to get it ready by stirring the clotted sugar from the bottom) and eat a bun that was like one of the skipper's bricks disguised. At the same time, he remains  wary of other people's tales. While "Sherlockholmesing up" the sailor and considering his tales he whispers to Stephen "Do you think they are genuine? He could spin those yarns for hours on end all night long and lie like old boots" (thereby ironically calling to mind Sherlock Holmes' classic reading of boots: he knows where a certain character has been because he can tell from his boots - which here tell the truth). 

We will probably find a lot more of this hovering between a story's assumed likelihood and unlikelihood (a 'can't be true' and a 'but then it may be true'), as in: Yet still, though his eyes were thick with sleep and sea air, life was full of a host of things and coincidences of a terrible nature and it was quite within the bounds of possibility that it was not an entire fabrication though at first blush there was not much inherent probability in all the spoof he got off his chest being strictly accurate gospel.

Finally, the Bloom we meet in this chapter is not exactly the Bloom we have encountered so far. Here he is - on one level - inquisitive and bombastic in the use of language. On another level - in his caring attitude towards Stephen, in the various topics he touches upon - he is still the Bloom we know.




Tuesday 1 October 2013

Tuesday, 1 October 2013, Pages 719 - 729, Eumaeus, Episode 16

Today we read as far as "That worthy, however, was busily engaged in collecting round the someway in his. Squeezing or...", 16.682 (Gabler), p. 729 (Penguin). 

Last week we left Bloom and Stephen in the cabman's shelter, in the "company" of - among others such - a sailor, who had started spinning stories of his adventure. (We were in fact reminded that Homer's Odysseus was also a sailor, also an adventurous one!)  The sailor in the cabman's shelter continues to spin stories. Apparently, his ship anchored that afternoon but he has not yet been home to meet his little woman, who he says is waiting for me. She's my own true wife I haven't seen for seven years now. He talks of the various countries he has visited, of seeing a crocodile biting the fluke of an anchor, of maneaters from Peru that eat corpses and livers of horses. In proof he produces a picture postcard (which he claims to have been sent by a friend) of a group of savage women. The problem is, though, that the card mentions this is a scene from Bolivia, and it is addressed to a se
ñor a boudin, in Santiago, Chile. Earlier the sailor said that his name is D. B. Murphy. So who is boudin? Here Fritz Senn drew a very interesting parallel between Homer's Odysseus and Joyce's boudin. He said: "In French, Boudin means blood sausage. Homer wrote that on the night when Odysseus returned home to find it full of suitors, he spent the night in his bed tossing and turning like a blood sausage!" 

As the sailor is entertaining the people in the cabman's shelter with stories of his adventures, not many people pay attention to him. Bloom is in his own world, thinking of many things, imagining the scene at the sailor's home when he would finally return, daydreaming how it would be if he could also travel via the sea to London (the furthest he has been so far is Holyhead), and of turning this voyage to an advantage by arranging concert tours with an all Irish caste, (note the 'e' at the end of the last word) with the Tweedy-Flower grand opera company....

As Bloom emerges from his thoughts (and what is rendered here as something like an interior monologue), he finds that the sailor is still talking. About the Chinese, for example, who cook rats in soups, about seeing a man killed by an Italian in Trieste,... To demonstrate how the killing took place, the sailor pulls a clasp knife out of his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket

At which point, someone in the dark mentions the famous Phoenix Park murders, which according to this person, was done by foreigners on account of them using knives. It is at this remark, passed obviously in the spirit of where ignorance is bliss, that Stephen, who has been silent all through, exchanges meaningful glances with Bloom, both wondering whether the keeper of the cabman's shelter (supposedly Skin-the-Goat) heard what was said.

This part of the episode, which the sailor ends by opening his shirt to scratch himself (there was lice in that bunk in Bridgwater,..) and thereby displaying a tattoo showing three things: the symbol of the mariner's hope and rest (i.e an anchor), the figure 16, and a young man's side face. (Fritz Senn says, if anyone knows what the meaning of the figure 16 on a tattoo is, to please tell him. Interpretations for the figure have been offered but non has proved satisfactory so far.)

Yes, there are lots of stories in these pages. But there is also a good dose of Tennyson, Milton, Longfellow, Thomas Hardy, Shakespeare. The chapter centers on the idea of homecoming (though so far nobody seems in a hurry to get there) and it is full of tellings of the typical adventure story. Ample proof is readily produced for it, and yet, we are never quite sure and remain wary of reports, rumours  and of the tales of the soit-disant sailor.




Tuesday 24 September 2013

Tuesday, 24 September 2013, Pages 710 - 719, Eumaeus, Episode 16

Today we read as far as "Queenstown harbour, Stephen replied." 510.417 (Gabler), p. 719 (Penguin). 

We saw last week how Stephen and Bloom met Corley, who, claiming to be down on his luck, pressed Stephen for help. Stephen gives him a half-a-crown for which Corley tells him, "You're a gentleman". This is in contrast to what Buck Mulligan had said to Stephen in chapter 1 (page 2, Penguin): "He (Haines) thinks you're not a gentleman." Corley asks Stephen about who his companion is and tells him that he had seen "him a few times in the Bleeding Horse (a pub) in Camden street with Boylan the billsticker". Bloom has kept himself out of this conversation though he has been observing both Stephen Corley's "dilapidated hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally, testifying to chronic impecuniosity"


After Corley moves on, Bloom and Stephen continue on their way to the Cabman's shelter, with Bloom trying to engage Stephen in a conversation. Here we see a different Bloom, different from how we have so far known him. Here he seems quite interfering and asks Stephen quite personal questions. For example, he says "I don't mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your father's house? - To seek misfortune, was Stephen's answer." He talks about Buck Mulligan and suggests to Stephen later - on hearing a couple of Italians talking animatedly "near an ice cream car adjacent to the men's public urinal" (of all places),  that he should write poetry in Italian, that beautiful language (not realizing the Italians had been arguing about money and insulting each other rudely). Stephen (who does) still couldn't care less.


In the Cabman's shelter, Bloom orders coffee and tells Stephen, "... it occurs to me you ought to sample something in the shape of solid food, say a roll of some description." Their presence makes the other "waifs and strays", who are eating and drinking there, curious. One of them, a redbearded sailor, asks Stephen his name. On being told that it is Dedalus, he wants to know whether Stephen knows Simon Dedalus, and starts telling an incredible story about
 meeting him in Stockholm and seeing him exhibit his formidable skills as a rifleman when touring with the Royal Circus.

As the sentences quoted above show, it is not clear what is true in this chapter, and what is not. Is the story about Simon Dedalus true? Is it true that Bloom has been seen many times in the company of Boylan? The chapter does indeed seem to be pervaded by a sense that stories cannot be trusted. Even textual markers don't always help much. The dash is usually a sing for direct speech in Joyce, but see e.g.: "- No, Mr Bloom repeated again, I wouldn't personally repose much trust in that boon companion of yours who contributes the humorous element, Dr Mulligan, as a guide, philosopher, and friend, if I were in your shoes." Apart from the irony of the shoes (Stephen is wearing Mulligan's shoes, which Bloom doesn't know), would Bloom really speak like this? Is he just trying to impress Stephen, the learned man? Or is this rather something like a translation of what Bloom might have said into the chapter's own language? Here it seems we wouldn't even trust a dash as a reliable sign. Or also, why does Stephen attract the attention of the sailor in the Cabman's shelter? Are there parallels between this chapter of Joyce's Ulysses and Homer's Odyssey? 

Language and style are certainly something to remain aware of, as are the tall tales produced by characters like the sailor; not forgetting, of course, that Odysseus was a sailor too.

Tuesday 17 September 2013

Tuesday, 17th September 2013, Pages 704 - 710, Eumaes, Episode 16


Today we started chapter 16, the chapter labelled Eumaeus. It is the first of the three chapters that make up the third book of Ulysses.

We stopped at 16.710 (Gabler), p. 710 (Penguin): "However, haud ignarus malorum miseries succurrere disco, etcetera, as the Latin poet remarks, especially as luck would have it he got paid his screw after every middle of the month on the sixteenth which was the date of the month as a matter of fact though a good bit of the wherewithal was demolished."

As the above sentence shows, we are back to 'normal' story telling in this chapter but the language is convoluted and is in a way artificial. (One of the gems is the use of Jupiter Pluvius instead of just saying rain. You will surely discover many more such gems as you read on.) According to Fritz Senn, there is a feeling in this chapter that what is written is not exactly what is meant! But, I admit, that I enjoyed the way Joyce stretches the language, misguides his readers with his disregard of the rules of language. It was like taking a loooong breath of fresh air after that terrific (yes, not terrible) chapter of hallucinations in Nighttown.

What has happened so far in this chapter is that Bloom gets Stephen away from Nighttown. Stephen, who is still a 'bit' drunk, wants something more to drink. Dear Bloom thinks that Stephen wants something non-alcoholic. At that time of morning - it is 1 a.m. - Bloom knows that not many places would be open. So he thinks of the cabman's shelter, as it was called, hardly a stonesthrow away from Butt bridge where they might hit upon some drinkables in the shape of a milk and soda or a mineral. They walk on, and though Stephen is not, as usual, very communicative, Bloom does most of the talking, e.g. lecturing him on the dangers of drinking and whoring. This is reported not in the first person as Bloom would have spoken, but in the third person. As they walk on, a new character - a corporation watchman - appears. Stephen recognizes him as Gumley, a former friend of his father's, and manages to avoid him. Then they meet Corley, who claims to be down on his luck and presses Stephen for help.

Much of the humor of this chapter derives from its language. It wants to be chatty, amusing, impressive but falls short. At every turn it is awkward and strange. As you read on, look out for little stylistic accidents. They're what makes the chapter particularly funny.

Welcome to the Tuesday reading group of Ulysses at the Zurich James Joyce Foundation


Welcome!

Here we will post the page number and the sentence we stop at during our weekly reading of Ulysses. The editions referred to are from Gabler as well as from Penguin. (Those who use digital version, just paste the sentence in the search field to find the exact place!) We hope that this will help you to keep up to date if you miss a reading session!

We would be glad to get your comments and suggestions!

Chandra