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.)
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.)
