Tuesday, 25 August 2015, Pages 430 - 440, Cyclops, Episode 12

We stopped and dispersed at: "— Amen, says the citizen" (Penguin p. 440) (Gabler 12.1674).

After having produced a big spit, in insult to Bloom, the Citizen wipes himself with a handkerchief, of which we now get an elaborate description. It is rendered both in mock imitation of the epic (the most famous description of this kind is that of the shield of Achilles in the Iliad) and as a parody of a description of Irish artworks or of Celtic art. The mere "handkerchief" (of 12.1434) is appreciated as the "intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth" (12.1438). We had encountered a handkerchief earlier, in episode 1, where Mulligan pulls Stephen's dirty one out of his pocket, calls it "the bard's noserag" and describes its colour as "snotgreen" (1.73). Now we have an exaggeration of it.

A 19th century depiction of Achilles' shield found on: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shield_of_Achilles

            We find more exaggerations and sendups in the course of the episode: of foreign customs (e.g. in the description of Zulu chiefs visiting England, the "delegation of the chief cotton magnates ... ", 12.1514), of the Bible (at 12.1534), and of types of fiction (Crafton's entering the Pub with Cunningham and Wyse is rendered as an important arrival would be described in a historical novel: "Ho, valet! ...", 12.1595).

            Back in the pub scene, Bloom continues his (rather serious) talk, seems more forceful or infused with emotion than usual, gets himself a little embarrassed and increasingly cornered (e.g. in his slightly jumbled talk about "love" and "the opposite of hatred" (12.1485)) and finally chooses to find an excuse to leave the pub. He is not a skilled speaker, clumsy with his cigar, and not very focused. Indeed, the emphasis on now in his words, "And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Also now. This very moment. This very instant.", may be indicative of where his focus really is (i.e. on the "now" of the plot, the time when Boylan is visiting Molly) (12.1467).

            The men continue with more talk of England's cruelty to Ireland, until Lenehan takes the floor and starts talking about Bloom and his actual reason for leaving the pub: He claims Bloom has left to pick up money he won at the horserace and, to corroborate, tells the story of his encountering Bloom earlier in the day and borrowing his newspaper. As we read in chapter 5, Bloom had lent Lenehan the paper to have a quick look at something and then, probably to get rid of him, offered to let him keep it, adding "I was going to throw it away" (5.534). It is now that something comes together for us as readers, which could not have made sense before. Bloom's 'You can keep it, I was going to throw it away' (5.534, repeated at 5.537), and Lenehan's "I'll risk it" (5.541) and running off contain a misunderstanding. Retrospectively (and with an ideal memory) we are now able to tell what happened: Lenehan, who is into betting, wants to look at the paper to read about the horserace. He knows the horses' names, one of which is Throwaway. He mishears Bloom's words about "going to throw it away", hearing a reference to Throwaway, and misinterprets them as a hint for a bet. His answer "I'll risk it" (i.e. to bet money on Throwaway), which could not make any sense either to Bloom or to us when we were in chapter 5, becomes clear now. Cyclops then, itself a chapter of misunderstandings (everything is hearsay, nothing is straight fact), recalls the episode in Homer where Odysseus saved himself through a play on words (calling himself "Outis", which means 'nobody') and, ironically, works precisely as Bloom is not doing a play on words.

            At (12.1561-72) we find an interlude, the narrator having taken off to the gents' room ("Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort ..."), is now urinating and talking or thinking to himself again. His thoughts come out in spurts (which seems somewhat appropriate to his relieving himself).

            For some reason, there seems to be something about Blooms the pub men find irritating, as we can tell from the way they talk to him and about him. (Another small link to the Odyssey Fritz Senn pointed out: Odysseus's name means 'somebody who makes people angry').

            The reading ended on the citizen's "Amen" and a general blessing to the round of drinkers. True to type, the text will continue as if taking the "Bless you all" at face value and hold forth a more extended blessing (in imitation of a ceremonial church blessing). Next week, a blessing that extends over more than a page is awaiting us, starting at 12.1666: "And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, …"

Tuesday, 18 August 2015, Pages 420 - 430, Cyclops, Episode 12

We read as far as "Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words" (Penguin 430) (Gabler 12.1437).

We encounter more nationalistic talk between the pub goers, who praise the Irish language, in contrast to which the English, a mere "patois" (12.1191), has left its traces in Europe only in the "cabinet d'aisance" (the WC) (12.1205). This triggers another interpolation, written as if about an ancient Irish hero in the old Irish past, drinking a toast to his foes (the English) while sitting on a WC:

He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods. (12.1210)

Bloom mingles in the talk, a little awkwardly (he doesn't have the verbal agility as his fellow Irish countrymen) and rather provocatively (cf. his comment: "Some people can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own." (12.1237)). Fritz Senn suggests that Bloom's (uncharacteristic) aggression might be due to his being acutely aware of what is going on at the same time in his home.

The men's talk eventually moves to how England exploited Ireland and left it virtually without trees (the issue of deforestation was indeed a genuine concern at the time). The ensuing interpolation, true to type (and to the question of what we do when we have no trees) brings up the idea of breeding trees in a parody of a tree wedding: "The fashionable international world attended en masse this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley" (12.1266), followed by a list of all the attendants ("Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, ...") and an account of what they were wearing, "a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze ..." (12.1266).

Back in the pub, the rather forceful pro-Irish, anti-foreigner talk proceeds and orders for drinks continue to be placed. The question "What will you have" is answered unanimously - and yet variously - with "an imperial yeomanry", a "Half one", "a hands up", a "bottle of Allsop" (12.1318).  Within only a few lines, the characters have come up with four different names for the same drink, i.e. beer. Fritz Senn says some passages of Cyclops could be read as an encyclopedia of the many different ways in which one can order the same drink (for those interested in reading an essay on this, see Fritz Senn. "Logodeadalian Bypaths: Evading the Obvious". Hypermedia Joyce Studies. March 2015. Available through: http://hjs.ff.cuni.cz/main/essays.php?essay=senn). Incidentally, the various names also make an insiders' code as they would only be known to the regulars of the pub.

The reading closed on more aggressive talk about the English (the way they starved the Irish, their use of cruelty in discipline and training etc.), as well as on the French (a "set of dancing masters" (12.1385)) and the Germans (the "sausage eating bastards" (12.1391)), and on increasingly aggressive behaviour toward Bloom (he is ridiculed and insulted).

The last thing this blog has time for, but can't resist pointing out, is the hilarious parody of the catholic Credo at lines 12.1354 ff.:

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

Compare with the original:

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord: Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary; suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell; the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into heaven, is seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.

Next week, we will pick up from the Citizen's mighty spit and the handkerchief with which he has just wiped himself (12.1438).

Tuesday, 11 August 2015, Pages 412 - 421, Cyclops, Episode 12

We read as far as "... the winged speech of the seadivided Gael." (Penguin 421.14) (Gabler 12.1189)

The company in Barney Kieran's pub, which has been discussing about Irish sports and shoneen (British, literally 'would be gentlemen) games the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone ... etc, moves on to a discussion about the boxing match, the Keogh-Bennett match. (According to Gifford - 10.1133-34 - the match does have some basis, since an M. K. Keogh did box one Garry in late April 1904. Percy Bennett, a member of the Zurich consular staff when Joyce lived in the city, is a grudge substitute for the more Irish Garry). During Alf Bergan's description of how Keogh boxed Bennett (made him puke what he never ate), and bringing up the name of Boylan, Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of blood, a topic of least interest to the Dubliners gathered there. In fact, this boxing match is described by yet another interpolation, written as a parody of sports journalism style (It was a historic and a hefty battle..../Penguin 412.34).

If there was one name Bloom did not want to hear mentioned then, that was of Boylan. But the name is mentioned, with Alf Bergan even bringing up that he's running a concert tour now up in the north. Bloom's comments (My wife?... He's an excellent man to organize. Excellent) are met by the others with 'suspicions' regarding what really is happening.

At this stage there are two short interpolations (Penguin 414.22 & 28) about Bloom's wife, written as a parody of medieval romance, another about the entrance of Ned Lambert and J. J. O'Molloy, two characters we had met earlier. The narrator describes the situation of J. J. O'Molloy, who, though a lawyer, has come down in life. Bergan mentions again Breen and Breen's violent reaction to the postcard saying U.p:up. O'Molloy tries - using legal language - to wheeze out a confession from Bergan that he in fact wrote that infamous card.  As they all finally agree to enjoy their pints in peace, they see the Breens and Kelleher passing the door. O'Molloy is asked about some legal cases, and his willing answers lead to another interpretation (And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month... / Penguin 418.18), this time in the style of the proceedings of a court case.

Citizen's next remarks about strangers coming over here to Ireland filling the country with bugs - aimed obviously at Bloom, a foreigner amidst the Dubliners - is ignored by Bloom. Instead he starts talking to Joe, asking him to put in a word to Mr. Crawford, the newspaper editor, about the Keyes advertisement that he is trying to acquire. Citizen does not, of course, stop. He says, referring to how the British got into Ireland, "The strangers,.. Our own fault. We let them come in...." Bloom does not react. He looks to be awfully interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner,.. the citizen scowling after him, and the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when. This one sentence is very picturesque. One can almost breath the anti-semetic/anti-foreigner air in the room.

Citizen's next remark about 'dishonored wives' induces Alf Bergan to produce, gigglingly, a copy of the Police Gazette. (It was a New York weekly newspaper devoted to reports of scandals etc, a forerunner of today's tabloids.) By then, John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan enter. The topic moves on to what happened at the meeting in the city hall from which they had come. It is time for another interpolation with a reference to the most obedient city. (The motto of the city of Dublin is 'Obedientia Civium Urbis Felicitas': The obedience of citizens is the happiness of a city.)

(Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dublin#/media/File:Coat-of-arms-of-Dublin.svg)

Apropos interpolations: As I wrote in my last post, I have been a bit uncomfortable with these innumerable interpolations, not being able to really ascribe them to any person in the pub. Google led me to the link, where the article about this episode, Cyclops, helped me solve the puzzle!

Tuesday, 28 July 2015, Pages 402 - 412, Cyclops, Episode 12

We stopped at the end of yet another list of names, this time of clergymen (!), at "... etc., etc." (Penguin 412.10) (Gabler 12.438)

The reading will continue on Tuesday, August 11th. i..e., there is no reading on August 4th because of the annual workshop at the Foundation.

We had concluded our last session with the longest interpolation about an execution. This interpolation was triggered by a song quoted by the citizen. The execution looked at first like a hanging, then like a beheading. In any case this was yet another case of gross exaggeration.

Now our narrator continues talking about what was happening then in Barney Kiernen's pub: the citizen talking about the Irish language and the corporation meeting, Joe Hynes chipping in as he had got a quid from someone, Bloom - with a cigar in his mouth - lecturing about Gaelic league and the antitreating league, his own experience on one of the musical evenings, and the citizen's old dog,... Again much of this (particularly the part about Bloom) does not correspond to the facts. And obviously the narrator is uncomfortable with this huge, growling and grousing beast. (I'd train him by kindness, so I would, if he was my dog. ... his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws.)

This talk about the dog triggers off another interpolation of the episode. This time it is  in the style of a newspaper article authored by a dog, the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog! (As should be expected in this book by Joyce, there is much going on in this interpolation that is not mentioned in this post.)

"Irish setter head" by Ehog.hu - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Irish_setter_head.jpg#/media/File:Irish_setter_head.jpg

Another round of drinks is ordered by Joe. His offer of a drink is again refused thankfully by Bloom, who says that he came in just to meet Martin Cunningham, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. There is a Freudian slip here with Bloom saying 'wife's admirers' when he actually means ' wife's (Dignam's wife's) advisers'. Bloom starts off again 'boringly' on insurances, mortgages, etc, and is interrupted by Bob Doran drunkenly (he does not even remember Dignam's first name)  asking Bloom to pass on his condolences to Dignam's wife. At this point, we are taken back to the story, The Boardinghouse, in Dubliners, in which Bob Doran gets trapped to marry the daughter of the house.

The pints ordered are downed, the narrator continues about how they started talking about the foot and mouth disease, with Bloom chipping in with his tips for treating cattle. The mention of two M.P.s, Field and Nannetti (William Field and Joseph Nannetti) going that night  to London to participate in the (discussion) in the house of commons is the green signal for one more interpolation, this time about the proceedings in the parliament. This quite a long interpolation ends with a list of (real) prominent members of the clergy in the audience.

Finally, I must admit that I am uncomfortable with these interpolations as I do not really get in whose mind these thoughts occur. Thoughts are after all just neural activities, and exist in the brain of a person. Even in a novel. As enjoyable as these interpolations are, particularly stylistically, I would have loved to have some hints as to who is thinking these thoughts. None but Joyce?

(Those who missed the reading this week also missed the parallels drawn by Fritz Senn between Homer's Cyclops and Joyce's. It was great to hear it straight from the horse's mouth!)