Tuesday, 23 December 2014, Pages 200 - 205, Lestrygonians, Episode 8

(Important info: The reading group will meet next on Tuesday, 6 January 2015. )

We read as far as "No gratitude in people." (Gabler 8.399) (Penguin 205.10)

Mr Bloom is still talking to Mrs Breen, whom he thinks of as being shabby genteel, as he observes her blue serge dress (she had that on two years ago) and the contents of her untidy bag. Deciding to change the subject (from U.P.:up), Bloom asks her whether she had seen anything of Mrs Beaufoy. Actually he had meant to ask about Mrs Purefoy but the name he utters is Beaufoy. This is an echo of what had happened that morning after Bloom had prepared and had breakfast. Asquat on the cuckstool, he had opened the newspaper in which there was that days's prize story, Matcham's Masterstroke. Written by Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' club, London. Being aware of why he said Beaufoy instead of Purefoy, Bloom wonders whether he had pulled the chain after he finished his act. He remembers that he indeed had pulled the chain. (Read more about that episode here.)

Mrs Breen tells Bloom that Mrs Purefoy is in the lying-in hospital (maternity hospital) in Holles street. She has been in labour since three days. Bloom feels sorry to hear the news. As a known-figure, an eccentric of Dublin, whom Bloom says is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, passes them by, Mrs Breen notices her husband shuffling out of Harrison's, and hurries off to catch up with him. Bloom tells to himself, "Meshuggah". (Yiddish: eccentric, crazy; Gifford 8.314) Does he refer to Denis Breen or Cashel Farrell?

As Bloom passes the building of Irish Times on Westmoreland Street, he thinks of the advertisement he had placed in the paper: 'Wanted, smart lady typist to aid gentleman in literary work.'

Source: http://www.joyceimages.com/chapter/8/?page=7

Though he thinks that there might be other answers (to his ad) lying there, Bloom is in no mood to check on them as he already has gone through fortyfour answers. That is how he had come in contact with Martha Clifford, from whom he had received a letter - with lots of questions - that morning. The other answer he thinks of is from Lizzie Twigg, who had recommended herself saying that her work had met the approval of the eminent poet A. E. (aka George Russell)

The paragraph that follows (Penguin 202.27ff) is full of ads that Bloom recalls. (It is not clear whether he is just remembering reading them or is actually reading them in the window of Irish Times.) As Bloom continues to walk, he thinks of poor Mrs Purefoy, and of her methodist husband. The word methodist rings in thoughts about the food they eat, the rules they have to keep, the many kids the Purefoys have (hardy annuals he presents her with), Mrs Purefoy groaning on a bed for three days, etc. Dreadful simply! Bloom is thankful that Molly got over lightly the delivery of Milly. Bloom thinks that they ought to invent something to stop that, of Twilight sleep idea (a partial anesthetic that had recently come into use), of Queen Victoria trying the same, and so on. Investing time to find such a solution would be - according to Bloom - much more useful than writing articles like the one Ned Lambert was reading loudly that morning in the Newspaper office (the pensive bosom of the silver effulgence).

Bloom thinks of Molly again. Of Molly with Mrs Moisel. (Mrs Moisel was a neighbor, and was pregnant at the same time as Molly.) He thinks of snuffy (sulky) Dr Murren. Of how people knock on doctors' doors at all hours. But keep them waiting months for their fees. No gratitude in people.

This post brings us to the end of 2014. We want to take this opportunity to thank you for your positive feedback about this blog, and to wish you all a great beginning to 2015!
Ch+Sa

Tuesday, 16 December 2014, Pages 193 - 200, Lestrygonians, Episode 8

We read as far as "Change the subject." (Gabler 8.275) (Penguin 200.20)

Last week when we left Bloom, he had finished feeding crumbs of Banbury cakes (two for a penny) to gulls, had wondered why the saltwater fish were not salty, and had just noticed an anchored rowboat carrying an advertisement for Kino's trousers. On these pages, Bloom's wanderings continue. During its course, he wonders about the kinds of advertisements that would be effective (and not effective), thinks fondly of his wife Molly and daughter Milly, catches the smell of food from Harrison's, and meets Mrs. Breen, the former Josie Powell.

For Bloom, the advertisement procurer, placing an ad on the rowboat is a good idea. All kinds of places are good for ads.  Like the ad of Dr Hy Franks for claps (venereal diseases) in the greenhouses (public urinals). Like the self advertisement of the dancing master, Magninni (actually Magninnis, the dropping of the 's' makes the name sound more Italian. Naturally.)

By then Bloom sees somebody, thinks that he recognizes him, but is not sure that it is in fact the person who he thinks it to be. Decides not to think any more about it, and moves forward. (Is the person Bloom thought he saw was Boylan?) The position of the timeball on the ballastoffice shows that the time is after one in the afternoon. (A 'time ball' is a ball on a pole rigged to drop at a specific time, so that ships' chronometers could be checked / Gifford* 8.109. Read more about the time ball of the Ballast Office here.) Thinking of time, Bloom is reminded of one of the books he admires, the book, The Story of the Heavens, (download the book here) by the astronomer royal, Sir Robert Ball (1840 - 1913). He is also made aware of the fact that he does not understand exactly what 'parallax' means. This kind of 'not understanding', leads his thoughts to Molly, to whom he had tried to explain that morning the meaning of the word metempsychosis.

The art of advertising becomes the topic of Bloom's thoughts once again as he sees a procession of sandwichmen (men who are carrying advertisements hung from their shoulders) carrying the letters H. E. L. Y. S.

A Sandwich man
Source: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30937/30937-h/30937-h.htm

Bloom does not think much of this kind of advertisement. He had suggested instead to Hely, the stationer, another modern kind of advertisement with smart girls in a transparent showcart. He knows that people, women too, would be curious at such an advertisement. They would stare, look back too. 'Looking back' makes Bloom think of the Genesis story of Lot's wife, who by looking back turned into a pillar of salt.

Bloom had worked in the past for the Hely's collecting accounts. That was a devil of a job, particularly collecting money from the convents, like the Tranquilla convent in Rathmines, south of Dublin. Convents, nuns, Pat Claffey, the daughter the pawnbroker, who became a nun... each thought leads to the next.

The sight of the Rover Cycleshop on Westmoreland street is a cue to think of races, of him attending The Glencree dinner with Molly, who was then wearing an elephantgrey dress with braided frogs. It was the year Phil Gilligan died. It was ten years ago: ninetyfour he died. (This last sentence is the first hint that the day of Bloom's wanderings is set in the year 1916.)

Braided frogs
Source: http://bennosbuttons.com/fr-1104-braided-frog-closure.html

As he walks on reminiscenceing about Molly, Bloom meets Mrs. Breen, formerly Josie Powell. They converse for a while, doing small talk. Mrs. Breen wants to tell Bloom about her husband, and rummages in her handbag. Bloom's keen eyes observe all the things the handbag contains. Finally Mr. Breen fishes out a postcard with the words U.P.: up. (One of the many explanations Gifford* (8.258) gives for U.P.:up is that in Charles Dickens's Oliver Twist, chapter 24, this expression is used by an apothecary's apprentice to announce the imminent death of an old woman.)  Though there was no name of the sender on the card, her husband was very upset at receiving the card, and was at that moment going to Mr. Menton's office to take an action for ten thousand pounds.  For libel.

While Mrs. Breen folds the card into her untidy bag and snaps the catch, with Bloom observing how unkempt she looks- Shabby genteel - pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny soup smell assails his nose. He realizes he is hungry too. It is lunch time.

*Ulysses Annotated, Notes for James Joyce's Ulysses by Don Gifford with Robert J. Seidman. University of California Press, 1988

Tuesday, 9 December 2014, PART B, Pages 190 - 193, Lestrygonians, Episode 8

We stopped at "Kino's    11/-   Trousers." (Gabler 8.92) (Penguin 193.19)

It is lunch time! Bloom is once again the main protagonist of an episode!

After having been bad-mouthed by the editor, Bloom is walking again, and is nearing the sweet shop, Graham Lemon's. (Actually Lemon & Co., Ltd.). Seeing a sugarsticky girl (sticky handling all those sweety stuff such as pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch..?) shoveling scoopfuls of creams for a boy(?) from the school run by the Christian Brothers, Bloom thinks how bad it is for their tummies. The board in front of the shop proclaiming 'manufacturer to His Majesty the King', makes Bloom imagine the king sitting on his throne, sucking red jujubes.

A young man from Y.M.C.A. hands over a flyer to Bloom. Bloom walks towards the river, reading - (He, not his slow feet that walked him riverward, is reading the flyer) - about the 'coming' of Dr John Alexander Dowie, restorer of the church in Zion ( a place in Illinois). The flyer's fiery tone makes Bloom think not only of all sorts of things where blood is made to flow (God wants blood victim) but also of an ad he had seen of luminous crucifix (Wake up in the dead of night and see him - Our Saviour - on the wall, hanging).  Bloom would not be Bloom, if he would not think of what causes such luminescence. His thought lead him again to his wife and to the memories of Rudy.

Further on Bloom notices Simon Dedalus' daughter, still standing outside Dillon's auctionrooms. He feels sorry for the motherless girl in tatters, whom he had already seen in the morning. Naturally he does not hold much of the doctrine, increase and multiply.

On the O'Connell bridge, he notices a brewery barge carrying export stout for England. Bloom's thoughts move on to the brewery, of getting a free pass from Hancock (an acquaintance?) to visit the brewery, of vats of porter, of rats that perhaps get into the vats!

(Source: https://geolocation.ws/v/P/20251426/oconnell-bridge-dublin/en#)

Looking down, and seeing gulls flapping their wings, Bloom thinks of how Reuben J's son must have swallowed a good bellyful of that sewage when he fell over the wall into the water of Liffey, and of Simon Dedalus' comments that morning on the way to the funeral about Reuben J paying one and eightpence too much to the fisherman who fished out the son from the water.

Seeing the gulls, Bloom crumples the flyer and throws it to the gulls. Only part of the words, Elijah is coming, can still be seen. But the gulls are really not so gullible as to go after a ball of paper. Appreciating their wits, Bloom buys two Banbury cakes for a penny from the old apple woman close by, crumbles them up, throwing the crumbles to the gulls. The gulls swoop silently two, then all, from their heights, pouncing on prey. (Fritz Senn's comments: These gulls must be Zürich gulls. The Dublin ones are too fat to swoop down so!) They wheel around, flapping weakly. But Bloom is not going to feed them anymore. After all he does not get even a caw from them. As thanks.

Bloom's eyes move on to a rowboat, rocking at anchor, carrying an advertisement:
Kino's
11/-
Trousers.

Tuesday, 9 December 2013, PART A, Pages 186 - 189, Aeolus, Episode 7

Today we completed episode 7 and started 8. Thus this week's blog posting will be in two parts.  This, PART A, will deal with the concluding pages of the episode 7, whereas PART B will deal with the beginning of episode 8.

Last week, we had left Stephen and Professor MacHugh walking to the boosing shed (pub), Mooney's. They were followed by the editor, Myles Crawford and J.J. O'Molloy. Stephen was telling the professor about two Dublin vestals (elderly women), climbing up the Nelson's pillar. Bloom has rushed back - just as Odysseus is driven back to the island of Aeolus (Gifford 7.962) - after meeting with Keyes. His effort at catching the attention of the editor regarding the advertisement only elicits highly rude remarks from Myles Crawford.

The photo at left shows how the Nelson's pillar looked before it was blown up (photo at right) in 1966.

(Source: http://www.mixedmartialarts.com/thread/2359314/Forgotten-Architecture-Nelsons-Pillar-Pics/?pc=6)

The editor tells J. J. O'Molloy that there is no way (Nulla Bona) that he can give him any money. Just as they catch up with MacHugh and Stephen, they hear Stephen telling the professor about the two ladies who sat on top of the pillar eating the brawn and bread and wiping their twenty fingers (4 hands x 5 fingers each!) Myles Crawford makes fun of the women saying, 'out for the waxies Dargel." (Dargel was a favored picnic spot of the rich. Waxies (= cobblers/shoemakers) Dargle is the picnic spot frequented by the poor.)

Stephen finishes his story and lets out a sudden loud young laugh. The professor, obviously impressed by Stephen, tells him that he reminds him of Antisthenes, the greek philosopher, who wrote the book, 'Of Helen and Penelope', which is believed to have been lost for over a thousand years. Hearing the name, Penelope, Stephen thinks of Penelope Rich, the Countess of Devonshire, known also as Shakespeare's Dark Lady.

They cross O'Connell street where tramcars of eight lines are standing motionless due to a short circuit ( a common enough occurrence in the early days of electrifying trams), with Stephen and the professor talking about the title to be given to the story. The professor comes up with a title in Latin, and Stephen suggests two alternatives alluding to the Bible. Looking at the statue, the professor recalls Stephen's referring Nelson as the onehanded adulterer, and remarks that it tickles him to which the newspaper man adds, 'Tickled the old ones too... if the God Almighty's truth was known.'

Thus Horatio Nelson (1758 - 1805) was the cynosure (center of attention) on this fair June day!

(Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horatio_Nelson,_1st_Viscount_Nelson)

Tuesday, 2 December 2014, read to Page 186, Aeolus, Episode 7

We read to "he strode on jerkily", next heading is: "RAISING THE WIND" 
(Gabler 7.994) (Penguin 186)

We pick up the conversation among the characters at the newspaper office. They talk about a speech given by Taylor on the issue of whether the Irish language should be revived or not. Presumably, Taylor's speech was elaborate but spoken without the help of a script and, since there seem to have been no shorthand-typists present when he delivered it, it was never recorded either. For the reader, this raises the question of whether it is likely that McHugh should be able to quote Taylor's speech himself verbatim and on the spot. In Aeolus, a chapter on windy speech and oratory skills, we are made to believe so, at any rate. Incidentally, there is a recording of Joyce reading the Taylor-speech passage (scratchy but intelligible)  made in 1924 and available on Youtube. To listen go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhW0TrzWGmI

Note that, here too, the various characters' speech is intermingled with Stephen's thoughts, often triggered by a word they say. Here's an example ("revealed to me" reminds Stephen of "It was revealed to me" in saint Augustine):

His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his speech. And let our crooked smokes. Noble words coming. Look out. Could you try your hand at it yourself?

– And it seemed to me that I heard the voice of that Egyptian highpriest
raised in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride. I heard his words and their
meaning was revealed to me.

FROM THE FATHERS

It was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were
good could be corrupted. Ah, curse you! That's saint Augustine.

- Why will you  jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language? (…) (7.834 ff.)

In contrast to the highflying orations and rhetorical tricks he has been listening to, Stephen takes the floor and produces a story of his own, totally unembellished, which he makes up out of the two women he saw earlier on the beach. The "midwives" are now portrayed as two women who've come from the fringes of the city to visit Nelson's Pillar (a high rising monument and symbolic of the British empire) and he gives them names too (Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe). Note that Stephen's paragraph starts with "Dubliners" (right after the heading "DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN" at 7.921). The way he tells his story is indeed not unlike the way Joyce himself wrote Dubliners (seemingly on side issues and out of raw and rough materials he encountered). The language is at its barest, very detailed and with no embellishments.

With "RETURN OF BLOOM" re-enters a character at an unfavourable moment: Bloom tries to catch the editor to talk about his advertisement when the men are already heading out of the office. In other words, he picks the worst possible moment to talk (i.e. an Irishman on his way to the pub) and, besides, he is not a good speaker himself, he is totally flustered, is making little sense and the editor doesn't really care about the ad anyway. Fritz Senn points out the irony here of Joyce making his Ulysses (a figure traditionally associated with great skill and agility in action and in speech) a bad speaker and a fumbler.

Tuesday, 25 November 2014, Pages 168 - 177, Aeolus, Episode 7

The reading stopped today at "... both our lives." Penguin (177.16), Gabler (7.765)

Thanks to input from Sabrina!

Tuesday, 18 November 2014, Pages 156 - 168, Aeolus, Episode 7

We stopped at a recurring phrase, an echo of an earlier thought of Stephan, at "Bullockbefriending bard." (Gabler 7.528) (Penguin 168.7)

Yes. Stephen reappears. We had left him at the end of the third episode, though we did have a glance of him when Bloom and others were going in a carriage to Dignam's funeral (Penguin /p.109).  We meet many others too on these pages, many of them characters we know from The Dubliners.

Bloom has left the typesetting/printing room and has entered softly the office of the Evening Telegraph. His entrance is marked only by professor MacHugh, who murmurs  - biscuitfully to the dusty windowpane -, 'The ghost walks.' (According to Gifford (7.237), this is a theatrical and journalistic slang for 'salaries are being paid.') The other two - Ned Lambert and Simon Dedalus - in the room do not pay any attention to Bloom. They are busy having delightful fun, reading a passage by Dan Dawson in that day's newspaper.  The professor, eating a biscuit - a water biscuit ( i.e., a cracker) - does not want to hear any more of that stuff. Bloom stands aside, having his own thoughts about J. J. O'Molloy, who has by then come in, and about Dan Dawson, who is referred to as Doughy Daw by MacHugh.

Finally thinking that life is too short (to spend reading such articles as by Dawson), Simon Dedalus whisks Ned Lambert away to have a drink. Myles Crawford, the editor, who has come out of his inner office, is not ready to join them just then. Seeing the coast (being) clear, Bloom moves to the inner office, saying, "Just a moment, Mr. Crawford... I just want to phone about an ad." Obviously there was just one telephone there, in the editor's office. We get to hear Bloom's making the telephone when there are silent interludes in the room; 'Twentyeight..... No, twenty.... Double four.... Yes.' Soon Bloom leaves the office of the Evening Telegraph and goes in search of Keyes to fix up the ad.

Meanwhile Lenehan has also come out of the inner office, and is his usual jocular self. He manages to get a cigarette from J. J. O'Molloy after he lights his and MacHugh's cigarettes. Just as Lenehan starts to pose a riddle* that nobody seems to want to hear, enter Stephen and Mr O'Madden Burke. Stephen has brought the letter, which Mr. Deasy had given him that morning. It is on on the foot and mouth disease. Sitting on the rocks at the beach that morning, Stephen had thought of a poem, and having had no paper to jot it down, had torn of a piece of paper from that letter. As the editor notices the torn part, the poem comes back to Stephen's mind.

On swift sail flaming
From storm and south
He comes, Pale Vampire,
Mouth to my mouth.

As MacHugh peers over the letter and notices that it is about the foot and mouth disease, and asks "Are you turned....?", Stephen recalls what he had thought that morning as he got the letter from Mr. Deasy: "Mulligan will dub me a new name: the bullockbefriending bard." (Penguin/ p.44)

Joyce, having given the name Aeolus to this episode, has included in this episode lots of references to wind: gale, windfall, whirlwind, hurricane, ... The episode has many references to features of languages and literature: doric, cretic,... (doric is a Scottish dialect, cretic is a meter.) The meanings of the subtitles are sometimes obvious, sometimes not. It is, in any case, a noisy episode with lots of interruptions but is also a very graphical, a very visual episode. Almost cinematic in nature.

*Lenehan's riddle: What opera resembles a railway line?
Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

Tuesday, 11 November 2014, Pages 149 - 156, Aeolus, Episode 7

Read as far as "He entered softly." (Gabler 7.235) (Penguin 156.25)

News and the printing of newspapers are the subjects we read about on these pages.

Bloom and Red Murray are watching William Brayden, owner of the newspaper, go up the stairs. Rather Bloom watches the fat folds of the neck of Brayden. Red Murray is obviously full of respect for Brayden. He not only whispers, "Don't you think his face is like Our Saviour?" but he also says gravely: "His grace phoned down twice this morning." It is not clear who "His grace" refers to? To Brayden, to the Archbishop of Dublin, ...? This kind of respect is lost on Bloom. On hearing "Our Saviour" he thinks that he (Jesus?) rather looks like the Italian tenor Mario.

Source: http://palazzodecandia.it/eng/tenor.html

Bloom leaves Red Murray, and goes to meet Nannetti. (Joseph Patrick Nannetti was an Irish-Italian master-printer, who was also the Lord Mayor of Dublin.) He meets there Hayes, who has come to Nannetti to print the obituary notice of Dignam. Bloom is reminded of Dignam buried under the earth, and the old grey rat that was running around the gravestones that morning.

Source: http://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/person/mp128375/joseph-patrick-nannetti

Watching Nannetti, Bloom thinks of the many kinds of headlines/news that would help a newspaper sell. Meanwhile the machines clanked in threefour time. Thump, thump, thump. (There is lots of 'sound' on these pages. Machines go thump, thump, sllt, sllt,... Doors go ee, cree...) As Hynes is leaving, Bloom reminds him that he should draw money from the cashier, hinting - for the third time that day - of the three bobs (shillings) Hynes has borrowed from him. 

Bloom talks to Nannetti about the advertisement Alexander Keyes wants but knows not to say too much. Better not teach him his own business.  Bloom is told that they could insert a par (paragraph) in the paper about Keyes if the latter agrees to give a three months' renewal. As no more attention is paid to Bloom, he stands watching the typesetters, and thinks of their work admiringly. Reads it backwards first. Quickly he does it. Must require some practice that. This line of thoughts make Bloom think of his father, of his reading his hagadah (Haggadah), and of the stories therein. Regarding the story, "And then the angel of death kills the butcher and he kills the ox and the dog kills the cat", which has been interpreted as the history of successive empires that devastate and swallow one another - Egypt, Assyria, ... (Gifford, 7.213), Bloom feels it sounds a bit silly till you come to look into it well. Justice it means but it's everybody eating everyone else. That's what life is after all. "

Bloom leaves and goes down the house staircase. He takes out his handkerchief which smells of the lemon soap he had in his pocket. That smell reminds him of Martha's letter that he received that morning. "What perfume does your wife use?" While debating whether he should go home, he hears laughter from the Evening Telegraph office. Recognizing Ned Lmbert's voice, he entered softly, the office of the Telegraph.

Finally, Martin Cunningham's spelling bee conundrum reads: "It is amusing to view the unparalleled embarrassment of a harassed pedlar while gauging the symmetry of a peeled pear under a cemetery wall." A conundrum is a riddle. Such conundrums are/were used to test whether one is able to correctly spell the words (with single ars, double ars, double esses, etc.)

Tuesday, 4 November 2014, PART B, Pages 147 - 149, Aeolus, Episode 7

We stopped at "Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck." (Gabler 7.48) (Penguin 149.11)

This episode has a different feel, different look compared to the previous one. It has relatively short sections, with each section having a title, just like a newspaper with sub-headings. It is all about urban life. As we get further into the episode, it becomes quite windy with words, often hollow words. Just like some newspapers!

The episode starts with the heart of Dublin, the clanking of trams on their way before Nelson's pillar. This is followed by a description of activities at the nearby General Post Office. Then we meet Bloom talking to Red Murray, a porter,  who cuts out an advertisement (of Alexander Keyes - Bloom was trying to get the ad extended) from a newspaper. As Bloom prepares to leave with the cut out to go to the offices of Evening Telegraph, Red Murray calls his attention to the entrance  of Brayden, the editor of the newspaper, Freeman's Journal. As Bloom looks at the stately figure, he thinks of his fat folds of next, fat, neck, fat, neck. 

Tuesday, 4 November 2014, PART A, Pages 141 - 147, Hades, Episode 6

Today we completed episode 6, and moved on to episode 7. Thus this post will be in two parts. This part, PART A, deals with the conclusion of episode 6. PART B deals with the episode that follows.

Patrick Dignam's burial is almost over. The funeral party moves away. Bloom and others walk through the cemetery, looking at tomb stones and other such embellishments. Bloom is brusked by John Henry Menton, when Bloom makes him aware that his hat is a little crushed. Bloom, chapfallen, moves on reflecting over Menton's behaviour: "Thank you (indeed). How grand we are this morning!" Thus the episode of Dignam's burial ends with an unexpected remark.

The clay fell softer. Bloom thinks that Dignam will soon be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.  While Hynes starts noting down the names of the people who came to the funeral, he approaches Bloom to know his christian name. This is another small, apparently insignificant detail that gains significance as it shows that Bloom is an outsider in the Dublin society. People call him 'Bloom' and not by his first name. Bloom supplies names of two other people to the list, a real one - M'Coy whom he had met that morning, and - inadvertantly - a 'wrong' one, Macintosh,. When Bloom says 'Macintosh', he just means a man wearing a macintosh but Hynes understands it being the name of that man.

As the mourners move away, Hynes says, "Let us go round by the chief's grave."

The chief, Charles Stewart Parnell (1846 - 1891)                               Source: http://www.glasnevintrust.ie

As they talk about Parnell, Bloom walks on. The sight of the saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Ireland's hearts and hands makes him feel that such embellishments are of little use. More sensible to spend money on some charity for the living. He recalls that he will be visiting his father's grave on the twentyseventh. 

The engravings on the gravestones bring to his mind the immortal poem, An Elegy written in a country churchyard, by Thomas Gray. Typical of Bloom, he calls it Eulogy in country churchyard, and attributes the poem to Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell. The many a grave in the cemetery make Bloom wonder: "How many! All these here once walked round Dublin." He comes up with ways to remember the dead people. For example, to recall the voice, use gramophone. (It was invented already in 1877 by Thomas Edison.) As he ponders over how the recorded voice of a poor old greatgrandather would sound, he notices a grey rat toddling along the side of the crypt, and disappearing under the plinth. 

Bloom thinks of the various ways - apart from burial in the ground - available for disposing of a dead body: cremation, Parsee tower of silence, burial in the sea... (By the way, it is because the Parsees consider earth, fire and water to be sacred and must not be polluted, they use the Tower of Silence to dispose of their dead, which are then eaten by birds.) 

Soon the gloomy thoughts leave Bloom. He feels that there is plenty to see and hear and feel yet. By then Martin Cunningham and John Henry Menton appear. Bloom was acquainted with Menton, having  won once a bowling game against him. Perhaps that was why Menton had taken a dislike of Bloom. When Bloom tells him that his hat is a little crushed, he is acknowledged curtly, with just a Thank you!

"Thank you. How grand we are this morning!"

Note: This last incidence has a Homeric echo. At the end of Book 11, Odysseus encounters in the underworld the shades of several of his former comrades in arms, including Ajax, who refuses to speak to Odysseus because he is still "burning" (angry) over the fact that in the contest over who was to bear Achilles' arms after his death, the Lady Thetis and Athena awarded the honor to Odysseus. (Don Gifford, 6.1025)

Tuesday, 28 October 2014, Pages 132 - 141, Hades, Episode 6

Stopped at "Just as well to get shut of them as soon as you are sure there's no." (Gabler 6.871) (Penguin 141.6)

The main topic on these pages is the burial of Patrick Dignam, or rather, the musings of Bloom about death, burial, religious service etc.

Bloom follows along with his group the coffin to the burial place. On the way, Corny Kelleher comments on the difference in the service they have just heard to the service in the Irish church, saying, with solemnity: "'I am the resurrection and the life'. That touches a man's inmost heart." Bloom says, 'It does', but thinks that no touching the heart of the fellow in the six feet by two with his toes to the daisies. For, the heart is a pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets bunged up: and there you are.  I love these thoughts. They make 'death' such a matter of fact happening. Just a pump that gets bunged up one day! Basta! What is there to philosophize about!

Bloom also does not hold much with the thought of resurrection. Because "once you are dead you are dead." No calling 'Come forth, Lazarus' would recall dead people back to life. He thinks of all that remains of a person, after death, is pennyweight of powder in a skull. (A pennyweight is 24 grammes/grains, and is 1/20th part of an ounce.)  If he is thinking of the weight of the soul here, he would be wrong, of course. (The common belief that the soul weighs 21 gm is also wrong as it is based on flawed scientific experiments.)

The group marches to the burial place. It is a strange group, totally unconcerned about the death of Dignam. They tell jokes. They laugh. When John O'Connell, the caretaker of the cemetery, joins the group, Bloom wonders what it means to be the caretaker of a cemetery; "Wonder he had the gumption to propose to any girl. Come out and live in the graveyard..."

At the burial place itself, Bloom's imagination runs riot. He thinks of how the soil would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails. The coffin itself makes him think that it does seem a waste of wood. All gnawed through. They could invent a handsome bier with a kind of panel sliding. As the gravediggers lower the coffin and fling heavy clods of clay on to it, Bloom turns his face away, thinking how awful it would be if he (the dead person) was alive all the time. His busy mind suggests all kinds of solutions - pierce the heart to make sure (it has stopped), put a telephone in the coffin, a airhole -   to rescue the supposedly dead person.

Thus Bloom's thoughts on death, burial, the religious service, etc are highly rational. Reading these pages, one cannot help but feel that one knows Bloom very well indeed. The image below shows how Joyce imagined Bloom looks! (It is apparently, the only sketch of Bloom!)

(Source: http://www.geoffwilkins.net/ulysses/images/Bloom.jpg) 

By the way, David Suchet does resemble closely Joyce's sketch in his role as Bloom in the documentary Great Modern Writers! 

Tuesday, 21 October 2014, Pages 123 -132, Hades, Episode 6

We read to "... along a lane of sepulchres." (Penguin 132.8),  Gabler (6.639)

We have followed the carriage ride to its end at Prospect cemetery. The journey has taken the characters from one end of the city to the other (from Newbridge Avenue in the South-East to Glasnevin in the North-West) and they now get off and follow the coffin into the cemetery for the burial.

Bloom is glad to get out of the enclosed space they have been sitting in. He also takes the opportunity to shift the soap from the pocket where it was making him uncomfortable to another (see the quick exchange of soap and newspaper at 6.494): "Change that soap now. Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his inner handkerchief pocket. He stepped out of the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other hand still held."

Ian Gunn, a Joyce scholar who has been putting together what (for want of a better expression we will call) 'hard facts' about Dublin and things connected with the Blooms and with  7 Eccles Street (e.g. numerous maps, diagrams of their house etc.) has also got a diagram of Bloom's pockets which can be seen online. To see the "Pocket Topography" go to his webpage, which will show you the picture below. Click the individual pockets to see what is in them (choose item of clothing on the bottom, or go by object by choosing from list on the left):

Go to: http://www.harenet.co.uk/no7/pockets/index.html

Generally and most of the time, we get Bloom's view of the scene as something of an outsider (note e.g. the description of the funeral mass and the rituals ("A server bearing a brass bucket with something in it came out through a door." (6.589)), which is not unlike the descriptions of the church service we had in chapter 5 (Lotus Eaters).

Talking of Bloom the outsider and Bloom's perspective, it is also worth noting that, at the same time, it is here that the perspective shifts away from him for the first time in the book. See the following passage, in which we get a brief outside view of Bloom. Cunning and Power are speaking after getting off the carriage (6.525):

All walked after.

Martin Cunningham whispered:
— I was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom. -What? Mr Power whispered. How so?
—His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham whispered. Had the

Queen's hotel in Ennis. You heard him say he was going to Clare. A nniversary.
— O God! Mr Power whispered. First I heard of it. Poisoned himself?

He glanced behind him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the cardinal's mausoleum. Speaking.

To end, here is a note for clarification:

6.456: Fogarty is a characters from a shortstory in Dubliners. He is the owner of a grocery shop, whom Tom Kernan hasn't paid yet (therefore, "left him weeping... though lost to sight, to memory dear" acquire an ironic note):

-  How is that? Martin Cunningham said. Left him weeping, I suppose?

-  Though lost to sight, Mr Dedalus said, to memory dear.

6.421: ("Born! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road.") is imaginary (it happens only in Bloom's thoughts.

Tuesday, 14 October 2014, Pages 114 - 123, Hades, Episode 6

Stopped at "... Mr Dedalus granted." (Penguin 123. 10),  Gabler (6.414)

Mr Bloom is still rattling along with Martin Cunningham, Mr Power, Simon Dedalus in the creaking carriage to the burial of Paddy Dignam.

They go past many known places (National school, Meade's yard, St. Mark's, Queen's theater, ...) as well as numerous statues & landmarks (Sir Philip Crampton's memorial fountain bust, Smith O'Brien, a statue by Farrell, the hugecloaked Liberator's (aka Parnell's) form, Gray's statue and Nelson's pillar).

(Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nelson's_Pillar)    (Source: http://www.joyceimages.com/chapter/6/?page=2)

The sight of the large bill board of Eugene Stratton and Mrs. Bandmann Palmer reminds Bloom of the visit pending that afternoon. He's coming in the afternoon. Her songs. Just as Bloom is thinking of Boylan, a man, wearing a hat by Plasto, passes by. Cunningham and Power say 'How do you do?' Blazes Boylan acknowledges their greetings, and moves on. Bloom looks at (reviews) his nails to avoid looking at Boylan. He (Bloom) thinks of Boylan as the worst man in Dublin. The others know that Boylan is arranging a concert with Molly, Bloom's wife. Though Bloom answers their questions about the concert, he is preoccupied with what would be happening at home right then, with the picture of Molly and her singing, Vorrei e non.... (At first Bloom makes a mistake in recalling the famous aria from Don Giovanni as Voglio e non Vorrei, but corrects himself immediately.)

It is not only of Molly that Bloom thinks of. Mr. Power's referring to Molly as Madame, makes him wonder whether it is true about the woman he (Mr. Power) keeps. Later he thinks of Martin Cunningham's awful drunkard of a wife, who was leading him (Cunningham) the life of the damned. 

Bloom tries telling a story, an awfully good one that's going the rounds about Reuben J and the son. Unfortunately he is not a great storyteller. To add to that he is interrupted continuously by others. They all knew the story of Reuben J's son jumped into the Liffy and was saved by a boatman. There is laughter in the carriage for a while till Martin Cunningham reminds them that they better look a little serious as they are, after all, on the way to a burial. The talk then moves to the unexpected death of Dignam with Bloom declaring that the sudden death was in fact the best death. There is silence in the carriage. Bloom defends his words by saying, "No suffering, .. A moment and all is over. Like dying in sleep." Still no-one spoke.

Round the Rotunda corner, a tiny coffin goes by reminding Bloom of Rudy's death. While Simon Dedalus thinks that it's well out of it, Mr. Power declares that the worst of all is the man who takes his own life. Though he does not know that Bloom's father had committed suicide, Cunningham knows this and says, "It is not for us to judge." Bloom thinks of the suicide, the inquest, the evidence given by the Boots boy from the hotel, and the letter addressed as For my son Leopold. 

As the carriage comes to stop, because of a drove of branded cattle passing by, Bloom comes up with some ideas of what the corporation could do so that such traffic jams do not occur: run a tramline from the park gate to the quays, ... all those animals could be taken in trucks down to the boats (to be sent to England); to have a municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan. It would be more decent than galloping two abreast. Mr. Dedalus granted that there's something in that.

Joyce hints at a number of songs on these pages: Rattle his bones over the stones. He is only a pauper, whom nobody owns. (Penguin 120.6); Has anybody here seen Kelly? Kay ee double ell wy. (Penguin 121.29) 

Tuesday, 7 October 2014, Pages 107 - 114, Hades, Episode 6

"Before my patience are exhausted." is where we stopped today. (Penguin 114.4), Gabler (6.170)

So we started Hades, episode 6. In the Greek mythology, Hades has come to mean the abode of the dead. In Homer's Odysseus, Hades is written about in the books 11 (in which Odysseus makes an offer of blood to summon ghosts)  and 24 (where the passage of souls led by Hermes to Hades is described). Joyce's Ulysses does not describe any such bloody ritual, and Bloom, the protagonist of the novel, accompanies, almost as an outsider, a group of mourners (there is no question of his leading them) to the funeral of Dignam. This episode describes how this group consisting of Martin Cunningham, Mr. Power, Simon Dedalus and Mr. Bloom travel in a creaking carriage as part of a procession of carriages through Dublin to the Prospect Cemetery where Dignam is to be buried.

(Source: http://www.joyceimages.com/chapter/6/)

Already at the beginning of the episode we are given ample opportunity to feel the outsiderness of Bloom. We also act as participants to the various thoughts fleeting through Bloom's mind. As the episode deals with death, with funeral, it is interesting to spot all those words and phrases which Joyce uses in this episode to hint at death and decay.

In the first couple of pages, the characters of the people in this particular carriage are well developed: Simon Dedalus (father of Stephen) comes across as a bit pompous, temperamental, noisy selfwilled. He takes off in anger about Buck Mulligan, forgetting that he is in a funeral carriage. Martin Cunningham comes across as a gentleman, one who tries his best not to ruffle feathers of others. Bloom's endearing character becomes clear in the polite manner in which he waits to get into the carriage till the others have got in. He remains an outsider in this group despite his efforts to contribute to the conversation that goes on. All that we come to know of Mr. Power is that he has a mild face (110.20). Finally what is interesting in the pages we read today is the fact how little the 'friends' going to the funeral really 'care' for the death of Dignam.

Bloom's thoughts are mainly reactions to what he sees on the way, to what he hears from his fellow travelers. As he sees an old woman peeping out, dragging aside lowered blinds, he thinks of how it is women who dress corpses. When he witnesses the ranting of Simon Dedalus about Buck Mulligan, he does not judge him because he understands what a son could mean to a father, thinking of his own son Rudy, who had died just 11 days old. Bloom is still mourning the death of his son. (If little Rudy had lived. See him grow up. Hear his voice in the house. ... My son. Me in his eyes.) Thinking of Rudy,  Bloom recalls the incidence leading up to the conceivement of Rudy, and he thinks of his daughter Milly, who is like Molly, just the same thing watered down. Seeing the Dogs' home on Grand Canal Quay, Bloom thinks of poor old Athos*, his father's faithful dog. His father had left a note before he committed suicide saying "Be good to Athos, Leopold,..."

Going through the obituary notes in the newspaper he comes across the words '... dear Henry...' in a poem accompanying one of the death notices. These words make him wonder where he put the letter from Martha after he read it in the bath. (Martha knows him only as Henry Flower, has addressed him as 'Dear Henry' in her letter.) He patted his waistcoat pocket. There all right. Some words from Martha's letter come back to him: "Henry dear, do not deny my request before my patience are exhausted".  Perhaps Bloom recalls this particular sentence because of the wrong grammar!  ... are ... indeed!

* The name of Odysseus's dog is Argos.

Of interest: The Boston College Guide to Ulysses offers a google map which one can use to follow the meanderings of Bloom through Dublin. Perhaps it will inspire us to make a trip to Dublin!

Tuesday, 30 September 2014, Pages 100 - 107, Lotus-eaters, Episode 5

Tonight we completed episode 5, which ends on "a languid floating flower" (Gabler 5.572) (Penguin p. 100).

We have accompanied Bloom from the postoffice, where he picked up the letter from his secret correspondent Martha, on his way to a Turkish bath (the one in Dublin which Bloom would have used is no longer there). The chapter reads relatively easily, it is pervaded by a sense of drowsiness, leisure and comfort (escapism maybe). Bloom seems withdrawn, doesn't want to meet anyone in the streets, is very much aware of smells, of himself and of his body. The lingo of advertising too is in his mind, e.g. phrases like "Good morning, have you used Pear's soap?" (5.524) come back to him, which was a well-known slogan at the time.

The prominence of advertising seems to the point, since it too produces drowsiness and a certain lull if it is successful.

A few closing remarks on the end of this episode: Its last paragraph seems odd. It is written in a different style from what we have come to recognize as Bloom's. The words are that of a priest at mass: e.g. "laved" is an unusual word to refer to 'wash'. From the Latin "lavare", it belongs to the register of elevated language and is used to refer to ritual purposes (not that Bloom needs to be aware of this). Then, "womb" suggests warmth and going back to a (presumably) comfortable place. For a basic reading of the closing paragraph, though, let us note the following: it must be Bloom imagining the bath he is going to take (it is not actually happening yet), where he will be lying watching his body ("lemonyellow", like the lemon soap he bought at Sweny's) and his navel, his genitals floating like a flower in the water. (Note that Stephen too thought about naval cords, albeit imaginary ones. Indeed, often what is imaginary when seen through Stephen's eyes is very physical through Bloom's.) Bloom's looking at his own navel and genitals, his use of the name "Flower" to sign letters and the episode's general awareness of scents and smells are only a few of the elements that underline its quiet, forgetful, narcotic, solitary, and rather self-centered mood (Fritz Senn even called it "narcissistic").

Tuesday, 23 September 2014, Pages 97 - 100, Lotus-eaters, Episode 5

The group stopped at "Yes: under the bridge" (Gabler 5.385) (Penguin 100.20).

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Tuesday, 16 September 2014, Pages 87 - 97, Lotus-eaters, Episode 5

We read 10 pages today, stopping at "... flowers of its froth." (Gabler 5.317) (Penguin 97.31)

The highlights of these pages is Joyce's use of the technique of the stream of conciousness. This is especially obvious when the thoughts of Bloom intermingle with the talk of M'Coy. (See for example,  the paragraph starting with 'Doran, Lyons in Conway's.' Gabler (5.309), Penguin (89.33)). Reading the text aloud helps one to separate the thoughts from the spoken words.

On these pages, we also get to know Bloom a bit more: he has been carrying on a letter-liason with Martha, a person whom he has not met, and who thinks that his name is Henry Flower - well, 'Bloom' is quite close to 'Flower' -; he has a penchant to eye women, specially when they get on or off from a vehicle; he knows some famous arid; his father had committed suicide. And he is still kind of haunted by the torn envelope & by Love's Old Sweet Song! On the whole, these pages act as mirrors to the daily happenings in the life of a not-so-out-of-the-ordinary person. He saunters across acne, crosses roads, meets an acquaintance, a couple get on to a horse-drawn carriage, looks at advertisements, hoardings and bill boards, passes over a hopscotch court, and on seeing a cat sleeping is reminded of a legend about Prophet Mohammed.

Still thinking about the effect of the force of gravity and the value thirty two feet per second per second (value of the acceleration due to gravity at sea level on earth), Bloom enters the post office, produces a visiting card (made under a false name, Henry Flower) that he had hidden in his hat, and asks whether there are any letters for him. This is the first indication we have that he has been carrying on a liason with somebody. As he starts tearing open the envelope to which something is pinned on, he sees M'Coy. Not realizing that Bloom has no interest in stopping for a chat, M'Coy starts small talk. Bloom's attention is divided between the letter he is yet to read, and the sight of a woman and a man about to enter a horse-drawn carriage. He wonders, "which side will she get up?" M'Coy continues to talk as Bloom moves a little to the side of M'Coy's talking head to have a clear view. But just them a heavy tramcar honking its gong slews between. Poor Bloom. Whenever the sight of a girl/woman tantalizes him, something comes in between and blocks his view!

After promising M'Coy that he will make sure to enter his name in the mourners' list at Paddy Dignam's funeral - in case M'Coy is unable to attend the same - Bloom strolls on towards Brunswick street. At the corner, his eyes wander over the multicolored hoardings. Among them was the announcement of that night's play, Leah, starring Mrs. Bandmann Palmer, who had appeared on the previous night as Hamlet.  (She was not the only actress to have played the role of Hamlet.) That realization leads Bloom to wonder, perhaps he (Hamlet) was a woman. (Is that) why Ophelia committed suicide.

Passing a horse carriage stand, (where the horses were - their noses in a nosebag - busy munching oats), and the cabman's shelter, Bloom hums an aria from Don Giovanni and turns into Cumberland street. Treading carefully, he passes over a hopscotch court, sees a child playing marbles, and a tabby (cat) blinking, watching from her warm sill. Bloom's thoughts that it is a pity to disturb them (sleeping cats), reminds him of a legend from Islam, about Mohammed. It is said that once Mohammed on trying to get up as he hears the call for prayer, notices that his cat, Muezza, was sleeping on the sleeve of his prayer robe. Instead of disturbing the sleep of the cat, he decides to tear of the sleeve, and goes to the mosque in a torn robe.

Having found a quiet spot where he can read the letter unobserved, he opens it inside the newspaper (where he has been hiding it), finds that what was been pinned on to it is a yellow flower (which prompts him to conclude that Martha is not annoyed after all) and reads it. This is a typed letter written in a somewhat patchy, shaky style and with a couple of (intentional, on Joyce's part) mistakes in it (e.g. Martha types "world" instead of "word" or "wrote" instead of "write", easy mistakes to make on a typewriter). Bloom seems to feel somewhat ironic about his correspondent, but he reads the letter again, this time punctuating or interspersing it with various types of flowers in several places, thereby rendering an interpretation of what he's reading: "Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume" (5.264-6). On his continued walk, Bloom puts the flower into his heart pocket,  tears up and throws away the envelope and also throws away the pin.
Although he shows no intention of becoming involved any more closely with Martha (he's been thinking "no roses without thorns" earlier but has just thrown away the pin that held this particular flower, maybe preferring the rose without the thorn here) he decides to "go further next time", possibly thinking about becoming more daring and erotically outspoken in his next letter to her.

We may note here that this chapter is full of the pleasantness of the drowsy and the narcotic. Problems are kept at a distance, phantasies are of inebriating, soothing scenes and Blooms seems more interested in letting himself be enveloped by the painless rather than to face the harshness of reality. In this vein, we closed our reading on the description of an image that goes through Bloom's head, one of barrels full of porter, rolling about, then bursting open and a "lazy pooling swirl of liquor" with a froth of flowers washing over everything.

Tuesday, 9 September 2014, PART 2, Pages 85 - 87, Lotus-eaters, Episode 5

Today we completed the episode 4, and started with the episode 5, stopping at "... earth is the weight." (Gabler 5.46) (Penguin 87.22)

Note: Related posts are in two parts: Part 1 deals with episode 4 & Part 2 with episode 5.

Part 2:

Having found out when the funeral of Dignam is to take place, Bloom leaves home at quarter to. What follows is like a guide to walk through Dublin. 

From Sir John Rogerson's quay, Bloom turns into Lime street. In a couple of sentences, Joyce sketches the face of abject poverty, abundant there at that time. Bloom sees a boy carrying a bucket of offal, smoking a chewed fagbutt. He sees a smaller girl with scars of eczema. At first Bloom thinks of telling the boy that if he smokes he won't grow but refrains himself because his (the boy's) life isn't such a bed of roses. Bloom passes many landmarks of the time including the Bethel, Nichols' the undertaker, thinks of the funeral (scheduled for 11) again, of O'Neill, another undertaker, of Corny Kelleher who had got a job at O'Neill's, and of Tom Kernan (a real tea merchant from Dublin and also a character we know from Dubliners). 

Stopping in front of the window of The Belfast and Oriental Tea Company, he reads the labels on tea packets in the window. Choice blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. Bloom's imagines how life could be in Ceylon (Dolce far niente / pleasant idleness). Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to quarrel. He remembers seeing a picture with a chap floating on his back in the dead sea. Wondering why the chap could float without sinking, Bloom tries to recollect, as answer, Archimedes Principle, and is confused about volume and weight. His questioning mind asks him what is weight after all? The answer: It is the force of gravity of the earth is the weight.