Tuesday, 13 December 2016, Pages 923 - 933, Episode 18, End of Penelope, End of Ulysses

Important info:

A new round of reading Ulysses on Tuesdays with Fritz Senn will start on 17th January 2017 at 17.30h. PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD!

(Molly Bloom's statue in her fictional home in Gibraltar)

The eighth and the last 'sentence', rather stream of Molly's thoughts, starts with a 'no' and ends with a capital 'Yes'. (The book starts and ends with the alphabet 's'.)

Molly is wide awake. In fact she has not slept since Bloom fell asleep after kissing her bottom. Her thoughts have jumped from place to place, from person to person: Gibraltar, streets of Dublin, Howth, Bloom, Milly, Rudy, Boylan, Mulvey, Stanhope, Josie, Stephen...  Her most recent thought has been of Boylan, and how he had no manners (... pulling off his shoes and trousers there on the chair before me so barefaced without even asking permission and standing out that vulgar way...).

She once again thinks of all the amount of pleasure a woman's body gives men, and wishes, almost envying them that she were one herself for a change just to try with that thing... Molly is reminded of a vulgar song she had once heard, ".. my uncle John has a thing long..." but proves that she is quite a liberated woman with her thought, "... it (listening to cornerboys singing this song as she passed them) didnt make me blush why should it either its only nature..." Because its only nature, it would be much better if all remain friends, instead of being jealous of one another for doing whatever!

Her musings reveal a picture of the Blooms that shows the lack of intimacy in their daily life. Bloom is so cold, never embracing her except sometimes, whereas a woman (like her) wants to be embraced 20 times a day almost to make her look young. Molly seems to be so starved for love and so yearns to be in love or loved that she is ready to snatch some with a sailor or a wildlooking gipsy in Rathfarnham, the only problem being that half of them (sailors) are rotten again with disease. Still not pleased at having been asked to get his lordship his breakfast in the morning (it is never clear whether and when Bloom asked her to do that), Molly is all for the world to be governed by women, because a woman whatever she does she knows where to stop, and as they (men) dont know what it is to be a woman and a mother.

Her thoughts shift to Stephen who is running wild now out at night, and then to her own dead son, and to wondering whose fault it was that Rudy was born sick, dying soon after birth. She thinks of the moments of conception - we came together when I was watching the two dogs up in her behind. Bloom had thought of the same event on his way to the funeral of Paddy Dignam the previous morning. How life begins (Episode 6, Hades, Penguin, p. 110).  Soon Molly is out of this gloomy remembrance, returning to thoughts of women - we are a dreadful lot of bitches - a turn around from the earlier thought of the world should be governed by women!

It is Stephen again. Rather it is his last name that Molly thinks of next - Dedalus I wonder its like those names in Gibraltar - and is reminded of many funny names, such as Pisimbo, Mrs Opisso, she knew there. She tries some Spanish sentences to see if she has forgotten the language, and is satisfied that she hasn't forgotten it all. These thoughts are just interludes before returning to Stephen. The poor fellow was dead tired and wanted a good night sleep. She would have brought him his breakfast in bed, in a nice pair of red slippers and a nice semitransparent morning gown, and would have introduced herself to him, either with Im his wife or would have tried some Spanish, pretending that they were in Spain. In any case, just like Bloom, she too would love to have a long talk with an intelligent welleducated person. 

She gets quite 'heated up' thinking about Bloom and his vagaries, but at the same time her 'anger' gets tempered by the understanding she has for her husband. Does Molly have second thoughts of her afternoon with Boylan when she thinks, "... its all his (Bloom's) own fault if I am an adulteress...", further consoling herself with "... if thats all the harm ever we did in this vale of tears God knows its not much doesn't everybody (do it too) only they hide it ..."?

Drawers, underclothes, being kissed on the bottom ... Molly's mind is awash with these thoughts. She wants to buy new underclothes, but "because of this bloody pest of a thing (periods?)", she knows that she will have to wear the old things. It might even be better so as she tells herself, "... Ill wipe him off me just like a business his omission...."

It is almost 6 in the morning. (The nuns will soon be ringing the angelus.) An unearthly hour, though, theyre just getting up in China now coming out their pigtails for the day. (Why on earth Molly thinks of China and Chinese must remain a mystery here!) Molly plans to do the place up that day, in case he (Bloom) brings him (Stephen) home. They (Molly & Stephen) can have music and cigarettes, she can accompany him (for that she has to clean the keys of the piano with milk first). A big question is what she should wear (shall I wear a white rose). The thought of the white rose makes her recollect how she loves flowers (... Id love to have the whole place swimming in roses...), and triggers off recollections of nature, of wild mountains, the sea, waves, fields of oats and wheat, ... At this point when thoughts of nature come up, Molly's belief in the Creator surfaces. She has no patience left for atheists or whatever they call themselves ... they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow... 

sun is the cue to recollect Bloom telling her "... the sun shines for you...." on that day they were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head.  What follows is a fond recollection of her getting engaged to Bloom, which she did because she saw he understood or felt what a woman is and true to her pragmatic nature because she knew she could always get round him... Thoughts of Gibraltar alternate between those of Dublin... with Molly acknowledging to herself that she was leading him on till he asked her to say yes...

Which she did do by saying, "... yes I will Yes."

(Photograph of a poster at the Joyce Museum in Trieste taken by K.S.)

With that affirmation of life, we closed Joyce's Ulysses. With these words, I close this blog. It has been an incredible experience of reading Ulysses with Fritz Senn, and writing about it. Thanks to all who read the blog.

Tuesday, 6 December 2016, Pages 916 - 923, Penelope, Episode 18

We reached the end of the seventh stream of Molly's interior monologue, stopping at "... what am I going to do about him though"  (Penguin 923.32), (Gabler 18.1367)

This means that we have just one more stream of thoughts to read, and shall be finishing this round of reading Ulysses next week on 13th December, about 2.5 years after we started with the book on 27 May 2014. After the book is closed, it is planned to lift a glass in honour of James Joyce at the James Joyce Pub, Pelikanstrasse 8. Hope many of the members of the reading group will join!

Before looking at what all went through Molly's mind on these pages, it is interesting to read what Judge John M Woolsey said in his judgement on December 6, 1933 in New York. Richard Ellman* writes in his biography of Joyce, that Judge Woolsey put his view neatly and pungently:
I am quite aware that owing to some of its scenes 'Ulysses' is a rather strong draught to ask some sensitive, though normal, persons to take. But my considered opinion, after long reflection, is that whilst in many places the effect of 'Ulysses' on the reader undoubtedly is somewhat emetic, nowhere does it tend to be aphrodisiac.
'Ulysses' may, therefore, be admitted into the United States."

The rest, as we all know, is history!

Judge Woolsey

Last week, we had left Molly reminiscing about her visit to that dry old stick Dr. Collins for women diseases on Pembroke road. She had not liked him much, neither had she understood his words, though she thought she liked him when he sat down to write the thing out frowning so severe his nose intelligent like. He was also clever enough to spot that. Whatever that 'that' was, Molly knew that it was due to thinking of him (Bloom). During their courtship, Bloom had written to her quite mad crazy letters, had quoted from Keats. Molly, who remembers this as a thing of beauty and of joy for ever, does not of course know that it was from Keats. Thinking of Bloom's letters, Molly realises that she is still sitting on the chamber pot. Bloom is sleeping at the foot of the bed**, with his hand on his nose like that Indian god... all yellow in a pinafore lying on his side on his hand with his ten toes sticking out. 

Is Buddha, that Indian god with his ten toes sticking out?
Note Buddha is not a god, and is never pictured in yellow (pinafore) unlike Krishna, another Indian God!

Molly suspects that Bloom has been with some other woman. (I wonder was it her Josie.... but knows that he'd never have the courage with a married woman.) She is used to his throwing his sheeps eyes at those in skirts. She thinks of the various friends of Bloom, of Fanny MCoy who aspires to be a singer like herself (shed want to be born all over again), of poor Paddy Dignam (... what are his wife and 5 children going to do...). She is afraid that Bloom will lose his job (coming home with the sack soon... on account of those Sinner Fein or the freemasons.) She thinks of another book he had given her, Aristocrats Masterpiece (rather, Aristotle's Masterpiece!)

Molly then thinks of Stephen, whom Bloom had brought home in the night, whom she had seen eleven years ago as a eleven year old boy. (... a darling little fellow in his lord Fauntleroy suit...). She reads new meanings in the cards she had laid the previous morning (... he was on the cards this morning...). Molly fantasises about Stephen (... Im not too old for him if hes 23 or 24...). Asking herself why arent all men like that (young, like gods), she is reminded of the lovely little statue of Narcissus that Bloom had bought. That statue, not Stephen hopefully,  must be on Molly's mind, when she thinks: I could look at him all day long curly head ... often felt I wanted to kiss him all over also his lovely young cock.... I wouldn't mind taking him in my mouth ... (Think of Judge Woolsey's final words ;-))

Her thoughts clearly do return to Stephen. She wants to lay the cards again in the morning. Decides, 'Ill read and study all I can find or learn a bit off by heart ... so he (Stephen) won't think me stupid.'. As she day dreams about Stephen, she becomes aware of Boylan (what am I going to do about him though....) 

(Joyce has built in many songs on these pages too: O beau pays de la Touraine from Meyerbeer's opera Les Huguenots (listen here), Bill Bailey won't you please come home, a ragtime song by H Cannon (listen here), Phoebe dearest by Bellamy and Hatton (listen here),  goodbye sweetheart by J. Williams and J. L. Hatton... / listen here.)

* James Joyce by Richard Ellman, p. 667, 1983, OUP, ISBN 0-19-281465-6
** The bed connects Joyce's Ulysses to Homer's Odysseus. Bloom did not know much about the bed (... he thinks father bought it from Lord Napier...). Odysseus knew everything about it 'among men there is no one living... for built into the well-constructed bedstead is a great symbol which I made myself with no one else...'

Tuesday, 29 November 2016, Pages 906 - 916, Penelope, Episode 18

We read as far as "... his mad crazy letters..." (Penguin 916.20), (Gabler 18.1176)

(The countdown has started in earnest. My Penguin edition has 17 more pages only. After we reach Molly's ultimate yes, we will all go for a drink at the James Joyce Pub on the Pelikanstrasse.)

By now all of us have got used to the unbelievable manner in which Molly opens her thoughts to us. There is no topic that is taboo, there is no thought that she does not share with us. If some readers squirmed at some of the topics we have so far read, these pages will take away the last vestige of any such uneasiness still remaining!

Plaice, not place

Molly thinks, with relief, of the wind she just released in pianissimo (who knows if that port chop ... was quite good...), of the rotten cold in Gibraltar and how she used love dancing about in a short shift then make a race back into bed with that fellow opposite ...  there the whole time watching with the lights out, of their cat (what a robber too that lovely fish place - in non-Molly language, plaice - I bought...), of the fish she would like to buy in the morning ( I hate those eels cod yes Ill get a nice piece of cod...), a boat ride she had gone on with Bloom, of Milly and finally about her periods that just started. More significantly though, we start to get to know Bloom from her point of view, and we get to know the 'trouble' Molly had with Milly. As usual, her thoughts jump back and forth from one topic to the other.

At the start, she is occupied with thoughts of Gibraltar but soon they turn to Bloom. She hopes that hes not going to get in with those medicals leading him astray to imagine hes young again. (... squandering money and getting drunker and drunker couldn't they drink water....). She recollects a boat trip with Bloom. It must have been a rough ride, and Bloom was not an experienced boatsman (definitely no Odysseus!), as Molly thinks its a mercy we werent all drowned. She would have liked to have tattered his (Bloom's) flannel trousers down off him but for that longnosed chap and Burke (mentioned also in Cyclops, episode 12, Penguin p. 395) out of the City Arms Hotel, who were watching.  There was no love lost between Blooms and that longnosed chap. This thought makes Molly shortly remember the book, Sweets of Sin, by some one like Mr de Kock. She wonders whether he was given that name (as he was) going about with his tube from one woman to another. Soon she is back with her thoughts of the boat trip, when her new white shoes were all ruined with the saltwater. 'Saltwater' is a cue to think of Gibraltar, and of some people (Luigi, for one) she knew there. 

It is back to Bloom again. Bloom with all kinds of plans including all those lovely places they could go for the honeymoon (Venice by moonlight with the gondolas, the lake of Como), and converting part of their house to a musical academy. Plans that remained merely plans. Molly, who is obviously left alone in the house for the better part of the day, is obviously uncomfortable being alone. She thinks of that hardened criminal who was in jail for 20 years (Odysseus was on his voyage for that length of time too), and who came out and murdered an old woman for her money. She knows that there isnt much to steal indeed the Lord knows still its the feeling especially now with Milly away.... Bloom differs from Odysseus in yet another way. One night when she was sure she heard burglars in the kitchen, he went down in his shirt with a candle and a poker as if he was looking for a mouse as white as a sheet.

And so we come to Milly. To the relationship between Molly and Milly. To Milly having been sent away to learn to take photographs like his grandfather (Bloom's grandfather, Virag, had a photo atelier in Hungary.) Molly thinks it was done on account of me and Boylan.  Only he would get such an idea. Molly thinks of the stormy time they went through when Milly was home, of her tongue (to be) a bit too long, telling her (Molly), "your blouse is open too low." Molly even feels a bit "jealous" of the intimacy between Bloom and Milly, particularly as she notices he was always talking to her lately at the table explaining things. That feeling is compensated as she knows, if there was anything wrong with her (Milly) its me (Molly) shed tell not him (Bloom). Molly had tried to "teach" Milly proper manners, for example, not to leave knives crossed like that. She tells herself, "If he doesnt correct her faith (i.e., 'well', 'then') I will".  She also knows that Milly is like what she herself was at that age.

Thoughts return to her current life. Molly wonders whether she is ever going to have a proper servant again. But having such a person in the house means that shed (the servant would) see him (Boylan) coming. They had a domestic servant, old Mrs Fleming, (who is leaving them), who had once dropped a rotten old smelly dishcloth that got lost behind the dresser, which Molly had luckily retrieved. Otherwise, imagine, what the visitors Bloom brings home unannounced would think! Like that previous night when he brought Stephen home, and took him to the dirty old kitchen, where, thank god,  - it wasnt washing day - no old pair of drawers of Molly's were hanging. Molly is quite despondent, and thinks, "when Im stretched out dead in my grave I suppose Ill have some peace."

At that moment, her periods start. Molly spends the next moments wondering what am I to do (as Boylan is expected again on Monday), with this usual monthly auction (= action). She is reminded of one such experience when she and Bloom had gone to the Gaiety, (Bloom having been given free tickets by Michael Gunn, the manager of Gaiety), when she was very aware of her periods, when a gentleman of fashion was staring down at her, and Bloom was going on about Spinoza and his soul.
(Bloom had also thought of this moment in Sirens, episode 11, Penguin p. 367). The current feeling of inconvenience is compensated by the relief that he (Boylan) didnt make me pregnant as big as he is
Molly gets up, thinking, O Jamesy (Jesus or James J?) let me out of this, to use the chamber pot. How the waters come down at Lahore! (Typical of Molly to 'confuse' Lodore of the original poem by Robert Southey to be Lahore.)

We completed reading these pages with Molly's reminiscenses about a gynacologist, a Dr. Collinson Pembroke Road, she had visited. Next week, we shall deal with his mad crazy letters...

Tuesday, 22 November 2016, Pages 900 - 906, Penelope, Episode 18

We stopped at the end of the fourth unpunctuated sentence of the episode at "... one more song"  (Penguin 906.10), (Gabler 18.908)
i.e., there are four more such sentences till we finish reading Ulysses.

Man, oh, man, are things getting here explicit! Molly's mind revolves on these pages mostly around Mulvey, her boy friend she knew in Gibraltar (... it never entered my head what kissing meant till he put his tongue in my mouth...), her leading him on (... I had that white blouse on open...) but not letting him (... I wouldn't let him touch me inside my petticoat..., I pulled him off into my handkerchief...),  his giving her that clumsy Claddagh ring for luck that she gave Gardner (another boy friend) and so on.

Claddagh ring

Last week we had left Molly thinking how lonely she was (... I wish somebody would write me a love letter...). The word 'letter' acts as a cue to think of Mulvey. His was the first letter she had received. He had signed it an admirer. She had hidden it her her petticoat bodice all day reading it up in every hole, trying to find out (the hidden message?) by the handwriting or the language of stamps.

(Source: http://www.ipdastamps.org/languageofstampsEnglish.html)

From Mulvey she learnt what kissing meant. She had told him, for fun, that she was

engaged (to be married in 3 years) to the son of a Spanish nobleman named Don Miguel de La Flora. Well, if she did not marry La Flora, she did end up marrying Bloom: Flora, Bloom, Flower...  (there is a flower that bloometh...). Molly had taught Mulvey (who said that he was from Cappoquin, a small town on the River Black water in Ireland) how to count the pesetas and the perragordas, and all about the old Barbary apes. She thinks of the time they spent one day in May, on the day before he left, laying over the firtree cove (the name should have been fig tree cave), when she was wearing a white blouse that she had opened in the front to encourage him. Encouraged he certainly was, because she remembers that he wanted to touch mine with his for a moment which she wouldnt let him. That is when she had pulled him off into her handkerchief. Ines, the old servant, had warned her that one drop even if it got into you at all, it would get you consumption* or leave you with a child embrazada. There follows in her thoughts quite a detailed description of their adventure together though lying in her bed now, Molly, who is not even sure of his name - Jack? Joe? Harry? - wonders about his age (about 40 perhaps), whether hes married some girl on the black water (his town in Ireland). She knows that she was a bit wild, and did things that the old Bishop preaching about womans higher functions would not approve.

Not that she would mind as she thinks, God send him sense and me more money.  Molly's thoughts turn to being Mrs. Bloom. She used to write it in print to see how it looked on a visiting card. In any case having Bloom as the last name is better than having Breen (Bloom had told her about meeting Mrs. Breen before he fell asleep) or Brigs or even Ramsbottom. Even Mulvey as a last name is not something she would be happy about.  All these names turn her thoughts to her mother, who had such a lovely name: Lunita Laredo ("Little moon" of Laredo; 18.282, Gifford), and with whom she had fun running along Williss road to Europa Point (the southern tip of Gibraltar).

Memories of Mulvey return. Molly would have wanted to give him a memento. He had given her a Claddagh ring for luck. She had given this pure 18 carrot* gold ring to Gardner, who had a moustache (Mulvey was cleanshaven), and who later died of enteric fever in South Africa.

The sound of the train interrupts her flow of thoughts again. That weeping tone leads Molly to think of Love's old Sweet Song**, one of the songs she had rehearsed the previous afternoon with Boylan. She imagines how she would breath, form her lips, open/close eyes when she would sing that song. Singing, music, concerts, remind Molly of her competitors, a lot of squealers, students of Kathleen Kearney (the character in the Story, Mother, from Dubliners). Molly obviously has little 'respect' regarding these Irish homemade beauties, because she knew more about men and life when she was 15 than theyll all know at 50.

Molly feels some wind inside, just as Bloom did at the end of Sirens, episode 11. It makes her wish for even a bath, her own room, or at least own bed, so that she would not feel his cold feet on her. As she was thinking of singing just then, she releases her wind in piano, piannisomo: sweeeee ... eee one more song!

* There are some beautiful confusions a la Molly here: Consumption (tuberculosis) instead of consummation (act of validation of marriage by sexual intercourse), 18 carrot gold (in some editions, the word has been corrected, obviously the editor did not understand Joyce's intention!) instead of 18 carats gold, Vatican instead of viaticum (Eucharist as given to dying person)!
(Page references in Penguin: 902.9, 904.31, 900.24 respectively.)

**Joyce has inserted quite a few songs on these pages: Shall I wear a white rose by H. Saville Clarke (lyrics here, audio here), My sweetheart when a boy by F. Enoch (lyrics here, audio here), Molly darling by Will S. Hays (lyrics here, audio here), My Lady Bower by F. E. Weatherly (lyrics here, audio here) and of course, Love's old sweet song by G. C. Bingham (lyrics here, audio here and here). 

Tuesday, 15 November 2016, Pages 893 - 900, Penelope, Episode 18

We stopped at "... bottom of the ashpit." (Penguin 900.6), (Gabler 18.747)
(Notice the full stop after ashpit? It is the very first full stop in this episode. There is one more. At the very end!)

On these pages, we are - rather Molly is - mainly concerned about three things: love making (... I feel all fire inside me...), her earlier life in Gibraltar (... its like all through a mist...), and her loneliness in Dublin (... I posted to myself with bits of paper in them so bored sometimes...).

At the start of our reading today, there was a remarkable stream of thoughts: ... this one not so much theres the mark of his teeth still where he tried to bite the nipple I had to scream out arent they fearful trying to hurt you.... Whose teeth? Who tried to bite...? Bloom or Boylan? Most probably it was Boylan and Molly must be thinking of her escapade with him that afternoon. But it could equally well be Bloom. Because she had just thought of how he burnt the kidney that morning, and the reference to 'bottom' (bottom out of the pan, Penguin 893. 10) could have made her remember how he had kissed her 'bottoms' just before falling asleep! In any case, through out this episode, we had to be extra careful in interpreting Molly's 'he's.

Molly thinks how much milk she had while she was breast feeding Milly, how Penrose, a delicate looking student staying with Citrons in no 28 had caught her washing through the window, how, when weening Milly, she had made Bloom suck the milk because otherwise her breasts were too painful. Bloom who had found that Molly's milk was sweeter and thicker than that of a cow, wanted to use it in his tea. These comments of Bloom are recalled with fondness, as Molly thinks that if she could only remember half of the things, she would write a book out of it the works of Master Poldy

All these thoughts make her feel aroused (... I wished he was here or somebody to let myself go with and come again like that I feel all fire inside me...), and she thinks again of her love making in the afternoon, and count the days till Monday when Boylan is supposed to visit again (O Lord I cant wait till Monday).

frseeeeeeeefronnng, the whistling sound of train makes Molly think of the poor men that have to be out all the night from their wives and families in those roasting engines. In this she comes across as quite a sympathetic person, caring, like Bloom, for people in unenviable situations. Her thoughts move on. To how hot the day was, how lovely and refreshing the rain that came was, just as she was thinking it could get as hot as in Gibraltar, where the Sun was so hot and one got so soaked (in sweat) that it faded all that lovely frock(s). Her father's friend, Mrs. Stanhope had sent her one such frock from B Morche paris, and had written a p c (a post card) too.  Mr. Stanhope, whom she called wogger,  was awfully fond of Molly and used to break his heart at her. He was attractive to a girl in spite of his being a little bald.  Mrs. Stanhope had given her books - all Victorian novels - to read: Moonstone by Wilkie Collins, Shadow of Ashlydyat and East Lynne by Mrs Henry Wood, Henry Dunbar by that other woman (Molly forgets the author's - Mary Elizabeth Braddon's -  name), Lord Lytton Eugene Aram (rather, Eugene Aram by Edward Bulwer-Lytton) and Molly Bawn by Mrs Hungerford.  Molly had given Henry Dunbar to him (Mr. Stanhope?) with a photo of Mulvey, her first boy friend, to show that she indeed had someone. Anyway, she does not like books with a Molly in them like that one (Molly Flanders) Bloom brought her. Molly still remembers the day when Stanhopes left Gibraltar. Whatever had happened to them in the mean time? Were they no more?

A crossed letter

It was very dull in Gibraltar for Molly after the Stanhopes left. The days passed like years. She received not a letter from a living soul. It is not any better now. Molly is obviously quite lonely. How she wishes for some interesting encounters! She has no visitors or post ever except for cheques or some advertisements like that wonderworker that Bloom had received. Even Milly sent her just a card. The last letter she herself had received (but for the one from Boylan received previous morning) was from Mrs Dwenn, who had written from Canada to ask for the recipe of pisto madrileno and from Floey Dillon, who wrote to say she was married to a very rich architect. Thinking of Floey makes Molly recall the death of Nancy Blake, a friend of Floey, and the problems related to writing letters. Apparently spelling is not a strong point of Molly. Bloom keeps on pointing to her the mistakes in her writing; for example, no stops. Though Boylan had in fact sent her a letter, it wasnt much. She thinks, perhaps I could write the answer in bed to let him imagine me (in bed?). She would not write those long crossed letters. Instead she would use just a few simple words that one could twist how one liked. She would not even take the advice from manuals like ladies letterwriter. Because its all very fine for them as for being a woman as soon as you'e old they might as well throw you out in the bottom of the ashpit.

Tuesday, 8 November 2016, Pages 887 - 893, Penelope, Episode 18

We stopped at "... all for his Kidney...." (Penguin 893.10), (Gabler 18.568)

The pages, rather Molly's nocturnal thoughts, are getting quite a bit explicit. That Joyce put such candid thoughts into the mind of Molly, an Irish Catholic woman, in the early part of the 20th century is incredibly remarkable. I cannot help wondering where they originated. We all know that Joyce wrote explicit letters to Nora when he was away in Ireland in 1909. These letters known as James Joyce's 'Dirty Letters' to his wife, are now at Cornell University. Though Nora herself is said to have initiated such correspondence, none of her letters have been found. Yet. In any case, a glance at the 'dirty letters' do show that much of what we read on these pages does originate in this correspondence.

Last week, we had left Molly thinking of her trip to Belfast with Boylan. She knows that Boylan has plenty of money (his father supposedly made his money by selling the same horses twice to the cavalry; Penguin, p. 414; Gabler 18.403), and hes not a marrying man. So it is as well,  Molly thinks, if she gets some out of him, going round with him shopping buying those things in a new city (Belfast).

Molly thinks of her love making with Boylan (... hes heavy too...) and how she would prefer for him to put it into her from behind the way Mrs Mastiansky said her husband does it. That afternoon, stylishly dressed Boylan was in blazing anger when he read in the stoppress that he had lost twenty quids by betting on the wrong horse, following the tip given by Lenehan. (This horse race and the fact that Throwaway, an outsider horse, had won the race, has accompanied us since Lotus-eaters, episode 5.) The name Lenehan acts like a cue to remember the Glencree dinner, and how he (Lenehan) was making free with her, and how too the lord Mayor was looking at her with dirty eyes.

Thoughts of fine linen in Belfast have not left Molly. She would like to have at least two other good chemises and one of those kidfitting corsets, as they are praised in advertisements that they give a delightful figure line ... obviating that unsightly broad appearance across the lower back to reduce flesh. The idea of delightful figure recalls to her mind that her figure is not all that ideal (my belly is a bit too big).

Unlike Bloom whom she considers quite frugal and careful with money, Molly wishes that she could be a bit more free in spending (... I always want to throw a handful of tea into the pot ... instead of measuring and mincing ...). With her three dresses and an old hat, she knows that not only men wont look at her but women also try to walk on her.

She will be 33 in September. Women at that time seem to age fast. Like Mrs. Galbraith, who was much older than Molly, who had a magnificent head of hair that she used to toss back like Kitty OShea, but whose beautys on the wane. What about that Mrs Langtry the jersey lily the prince of Wales (King Edward) was in love with,  whose jealous husband is said to have made her wear a kind of tin thing (a chastity belt), something that is as "true" as the things (such as drinking the champagne out of her slipper after the ball was over) in some of the books that Bloom brings for her. She wishes that Bloom would chuck Freeman and would go into an office or something where hed get regular pay, and would even smoke a pipe like father to get the smell of a man...

Shopping is still on Molly's mind. She thinks of one such event where she went shopping with Bloom, who thinks he knows a great lot about a womans dress, whereas whenever she asked him does that suit me, whether the hat looked like a weddingcake standing up miles off her head or like a dishcover, he would say yes.

At this point, Molly's musings get quite explicit. She thinks of her breasts in particular and breasts in general (... curious the way its made 2 the same in case of twins theyre supposed to represent beauty...). She thinks of the breasts of those (Greek) statues in the museum (where Bloom had gone in the afternoon to examine their rear parts! See Lestrygonians, episode 8). In any case, it is obvious that Molly does not care much for the anatomy of the male either (... they hide it with a cabbageleaf...). And she thinks of the dirty bitch in the Spanish photo Bloom has in his drawers (Ithaca, episode 17).  Her thoughts remain with Bloom, who can never explain a thing simply the way a body can understand (met something with hoses in it; see also Calypso, episode 4), and burns the bottom out of the pan all for his Kidney, ...  

Tuesday, 1 November 2016, Pages 879 - 887, Episode 18, Penelope

We stopped at "... for the fat lot I care ..." (Penguin 887.9), (Gabler (18.411)

We have completed almost half of this final episode of Ulysses.Molly's monologue must be listened to - or read aloud - to truly appreciate what Joyce has created in this episode. (You can get a taste of it here, an excerpt from Joseph Strick's 1967 production of Ulysses.)

Before falling asleep, Bloom has obviously told Molly that he had met Josie Powell, current Mrs Breen. (See Lestrygonians, episode 8.) Molly now muses about the mutual jealousy felt between Josie and herself when both were being courted by Bloom, who Molly thinks was very handsome at that time trying to look like Lord Byron (Penguin, p. 879), (Gabler 18.219).

Lord Byron (Source here)

Leopold Bloom (Source here)

At that time Bloom had given her gifts - Byron's poems and three pairs of gloves. Thinking of Mrs. Breen, she also thinks of her dotty husband, who sometimes used to go to bed with his muddy boots on (Penguin, p. 880), (Gabler 18.218). Musings on husbands and wives such as the Purefoys, Breens, she herself and Bloom reminds her of Mrs Maybrick who in 1889 was convicted (whose death sentence was commuted later) of poisoning her husband with white Arsenic. Wondering why they call it Arsenic (Arse + nic), Molly is true to herself when she thinks wasnt she the downright villain to go and do a thing like that, finding at the same time a possible justification for Mrs Maybrick's behaviour saying of course some men can be dreadfully aggravating drive you mad... (Penguin p. 880), (Gabler 18.237).

She remembers sitting in D B C (Dublin Bakery Company) with Bloom, having ordered 2 teas and plain bread and butter laughing and trying to listen (to Bloom's explanations??) when she saw Boylan, who was sitting with his two old maids of sisters looking at her foot which she was wagging and which she herself does not like ("I don't like my foot so much", Penguin p. 881, Gabler 18.262.) This must have been the first time where the two felt mutual attraction, as Molly remembers of having gone back to D B C two days later hoping to meet Boylan again, a hope that was not fulfilled. This thought about her 'foot' (that attracted Boylan to her) triggers off memories of Bloom asking her once to take off her stockings (while lying on the hearthrug in front of a fire), and another time to walk in muddy boots in all the horse dung she could find. These unusual 'desires' of Bloom make her realize, perhaps once again, that hes not natural like the rest of the world (Penguin, p. 881), (Gabler 18.268).

Molly is reminded of not having paid much attention to what Bloom was then saying, as her attention had moved to the sight of the man with the curly hair, then to Bartell dArcy who had kissed her on the choir stairs, and whose name was not on Bloom's series of Molly's lovers (Penguin, p. 863), (Gabler 18.274), not having been told by Molly yet about this guy. One day Molly plans to surprise him with this information. It would be a surprise to Bloom as according to Molly Bloom thinks nothing can happen without him knowing when he hadnt an idea about her mother till we were engaged otherwise he'd never have got me so cheap... Not much is known in Ulysses about Molly's mother. Was Molly illegitimate? Is that why Bloom got her so cheap? And what exactly is meant here by 'getting so cheap?)

Molly's thoughts turn to  the days of her courtship with Bloom, how he had begged her to give him a tiny bit cut off from her drawers (drawers drawers the whole blessed time,
Penguin, p. 883) (Gabler 18.305), how he wanted to enquire the shape of her bedroom, how he wanted to lift her orange petticoat on the road even though it was raining and how she was dying to find out was he circumcised with him shaking like a jelly all over, the letters he wrote (similar to the letters Joyce wrote to Nora), the 8 big poppies he had sent (Molly's birthdate is 8th September), ...

Soon Boylan enters her thoughts with Molly hoping that hell (he will) come on Monday as he said at the same time (at four). Molly thinks how she hates people who come at all hours, like the messengerboy that afternoon through whom Boylan had sent (instead of coming himself) the port and peaches, which made Molly wonder whether it was a putoff.

Again Molly's thoughts switch from Boylan to Bloom, who was not Irish enough though she had the map of it all (that is, she has the map of Ireland all over her face: colloquial for 'it's obvious that she is Irish'; Gifford, 18.378)), who was a freemason, who was putting Lead Kindly Light to music, ...

Lead kindly light, amid the encircling gloom

Lead Thou me on

The night is dark, and I am far from home

Lead Thou me on
(Cardinal Newman, 1833)

Molly thinks again of Gardner, who was just the right height and to whom, "I was lovely the evening we kissed goodbye at the canal lock..", and who died of enteric fever (typhoid), reminding me of Charles Hamilton in  Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind published fourteen years after Ulysses!

Her thoughts turn to the trip to Belfast, where she is going with Boylan, the lovely linen, nice kimono things that she can find there. Prudent Molly thinks it might be better to leave her wedding ring at home on this trip, because as she feels they might ... tell the police on me but theyd think were married O let them all go and smother themselves for the fat lot I care...

Tuesday, 25 October 2016, Pages 872 - 879, Episode 18, Penelope

Reading was stopped at "... more than was good for him..." (Penguin 879.9), (Gabler 18.202)

(Note: As I was not present at the reading, the following notes are based on earlier reading.)

Bloom has fallen asleep. But Molly is awake, and her mind is busy with random thoughts, jumping from one memory to another, remembering all kinds of associations. Many of her thoughts are triggered by what Bloom has described to her of his day, but some of them have to do, though, with the time she has spent with Boylan. Not believing a wee bit his telling her that he had supper at Wynn's Hotel in Lower Abbey Street (Gifford, 18.36-37), she wonders where Bloom actually was that night, whether he had gone to the red light district (because he couldnt possibly do without it that long so he must do it somewhere...). The last time he came on my bottom, she remembers, was on the night when Boylan had given her hand a great squeeze, which she had reciprocated. They had sung 'the young May moon shes beaming love' (Lyrics here, video here.)

In her interior monologue during the quiet predawn hours, Molly dissects Bloom's behavior, the acts he comes up with in order to attract female attention (such as that of Mrs. Riordan (who was pious because no man would look at her twice), of the servant Mary they had in Ontario terrace (about whom Bloom had proposed that she could eat at our table on Christmas if you please O no thank you not in my house), the letter she caught him writing when she came into the front room to show him Dignams death in the paper, ... Molly also feels that Bloom knows about her and Boylan (hes not such a fool...).

Quite a bit of the passage that was read today is about having sex. Molly comes across as being quite 'modern', quite 'uninhibited', something remarkable during the early 20th century Catholic Dublin. She is also in a way 'matter of fact', when she thinks '... with all the talk of the world about it people make is only the first time after that its just ordinary do it and think no more about it...".She thinks of the confession she used to go to when Father Corrigan would question her quite probingly about where exactly she was touched, etc. From Father Corrigan, her thoughts wander to Boylan, who was smelling that afternoon of some kind of drink not whisky or stout (in fact Boylan had a sloegin in the bar at Hotel Ormond; see Sirens, episode 11), who had all he could do to keep himself from falling asleep after they took the port and potted meat, crumbs of which Bloom had found on the bed. In fact Molly confesses to herself that she too fell asleep soundly till the sound of the thunder (think of the thunderstorm that struck when Bloom was at the maternity hospital in Holles Street / episode 14, Oxen in the Sun) woke her up, prompting her to say a Hail Mary just as she used to when it used to thunder in Gibraltar, which would make her feel as if the world was coming to an end.

Molly's thoughts then turn to God, church, soul - and Bloom's scoffing at the idea of the existence of the soul and saying, "... you have no soul inside only grey matter." She now thinks he doesn't know what it is to have one, when thinking of the 'one', her thoughts turn to Boylan again. What follows is a detailed description of the 'anatomy' of Boylan, and the time she spent with him in the afternoon, ending with the thought, "... nice invention they made for women for him to get all the pleasure but if someone gave them a touch of it...". This 'it' refers to the pains of child birth, and leads automatically to Mina Purefoy (who had given birth a few hours ago), her useless husband and their many children. 

Tuesday, 18 October 2016, Pages 871 - 872, PART B, Episode 18, Penelope

(Note that there are two parts to today's posting.)

Today, we started, Penelope, the final episode of Ulysses, and stopped in the middle of a sentence at "... with  his beard a bit grown in the bed...." (Penguin 872.22), (Gabler 18.28)

Stopping in the middle of a sentence will be the norm for the coming weeks as this episode that is about 62 pages long is composed of mere 8 sentences. The printer of Ulysses did not end the previous chapter with a fat full stop, contrary to Joyce's wishes, and Joyce uses just one full stop in this episode, that too at the very end. The style Joyce uses in this episode is how Nora Barnacle used in her letters, with no punctuation marks, no capital letters, nothing even to indicate end/beginning of paragraphs..

Penelope is the most often publicly read, rather performed, episode of Ulysses. As Fritz Senn says, it is the purest form of interior monologue. While Bloom falls asleep, Molly is awake, and is thinking about him, about herself, and myriad other things. Words such as 'yes', 'still' or 'because' signal change in the direction of thoughts.

There is no real equivalent for this chapter in Homer's Odyssey. But with Penelope, we get an alternative weaving of text (similar to the Penelope, the weaver and un-weaver in Homer) - what she thinks sometimes overlap with, sometimes contradicts what we have read before (e.g. what Bloom thought, what Stephen said), i.e. we have a different sort of text, a parallax view of the text as a whole (an alternative view, a re-writing)

Molly's monologue is fluid, pre-articulation, pre-punctuation; her "because" often explains nothing, her "yes" does not seem to refer to or answer much (pointedly so: the opening - we don't know what she is talking about, we start in the middle of her trains of thought); her syntax is double-faced (e.g.: ... I suppose he was glad to get shut of her and her dog smelling my fur ... Should we read 'get shut of her and her dog' or 'her dog smelling my fur'?). Her pronouns are sometimes ambiguous (e.g. shes beaming love because he has an idea about him and me hes not such a fool.)

Molly also has a lot of "but", "still" etc., i.e. she veers left and right, e.g. from being ruthless in her judgements to taking a more lenient view of the same person, as she does with Mrs Riordan (the famous Dante of A Portrait of the artist as a young man) at the opening of the chapter. 

The chapter starts with Molly's monologue on Bloom. She dissects his behavior, the acts he comes up with in order to attract female attention, such as that of Mrs. Riordan (who was pious because no man would look at her twice), of the servant Mary they had in Ontario terrace (about whom Bloom had proposed that she could eat at our table on Christmas if you please O no thank you not in my house), the letter she caught him writing when she came into the front room to show him Dignams death in the paper, ... She wonders where he actually was that night, not believing a wee bit his telling her that he had supper at Wynn's Hotel in Lower Abbey Street (Gifford, 18.36-37).

Read here what Joyce wrote to his friend Frank Budgen about this episode.

Tuesday, 18 October 2016, Pages 868 - 871, PART A, End of Episode 17, Ithaca

Today's reading brought us to the end of the seventeenth episode with

"Where?"

(Well, the final fat full stop is missing from many editions of the novel contrary to the instructions of Joyce.)

Last week we had left Bloom getting into bed next to Molly. Molly who woke up after Bloom kissed the plump mellow smell melons of her rump, asked him, drowsily, about his day. Bloom answers leaving out somethings (such as the letter from Martha Clifford, the erotic moment watching Gerty on the Sandymount Strand) and modifying some other happenings of the day (example: being invited for supper at Wynn's Hotel where as in reality he had had his dinner at the Ormond hotel.) In Homer's Odyssey, Penelope too questions the stranger, who is Odysseus in disguise. "He spoke, and made the many falsehoods of his tale seem like the truth." (Book 19). Bloom also tells Molly about Stephen, introducing him as  Stephen Dedalus, professor and author. It is noteworthy that Bloom does not ask Molly about how she spent her day.

As Bloom is talking and drifting off into sleep, both Molly and Bloom are aware of their sexual relationship. Joyce tells us here Molly's date of birth, the date on which they were married, the dates on which Milly and Rudy were born, the date on which Rudy died, and the date on which Milly attained puberty. That Joyce fixes 8th October as the date on which Bloom and Molly married is significant as he eloped with Nora on 8th October 1904. That Bloom and Molly had no sexual intercourse for a period of 10 years, 5 months and 18 days is also significant as 10 is the number of years during which Odysseus had to wander. Joyce describes here in some detail the physical act of sex using a tone that is so dry that it reminds one of the ruling in the case, United States vs. One Book Called Ulysses, in which Judge John M. Woolsey ruled that Ulysses was not pornographic—that nowhere in it was the "leer of the sensualist". 

Slowly though it is time for Bloom, lying in the direction of N.W. by W., to rest. (Molly is lying S.E. by E., reclining like Gaea - Tellus, goddess of earth, of fertility.) He has walked a lot that (nay, previous) day and night. As he drifts off into sleep, his thought about his having travelled a lot reminds him of another famous traveler, the incomparable Sindbad the Sailor. Names - distortions of Sindbad the Sailor (for example, Sinbad the Sailor, Tinbad the Tailor, Jinbad the Jailor, ...Xinbad the Phthailer) - float in and out of his mind lending a touch of Orient to Joyce's version of Odyssey. He even thinks of the Arabian mythical bird roc's egg that Sindbad once used to escape.  The last thought he has is of  "Darkinbad the Brightdayler" (dark in bed, the day is bright or not far away), which is a foreshadow of the language of Finnegans Wake. 

With this we have come to the end of Ithaca, the 17th episode. Bloom has come home. Finally. Finally he falls asleep. 

Tuesday, 11 October 2016, Pages 860 - 868, Episode 17, Ithaca

The reading stopped at '... catechetical interrogation.' (Penguin 868. 3), (Gabler 17.2249)

(As I was not present at the reading, the post below is based on earlier reading.)

Bloom mulls about the imperfections of the day, which were many indeed: not being able to obtain the renewal of an advertisement, not being able to obtain a certain quantity of tea from Thomas Kernan, not being able to make sure whether or not the Hellenic female divinities in the National Museum had posterior rectal orifices, not being able to obtain admission to the Gaiety Theater, ...

Bloom has entered his bedroom, unknown to us. We had seen the previous morning how Molly carelessly discards her clothes (Penguin, 75.1). It is so even now. Bloom notices a number of her clothes lying haphazardly on top of a rectangular trunk. (The trunk bearing the letters B. C. T. (Brian Cooper Tweedy) makes him think of his father-in-law.) Bloom's eyes also catch sight of many other objects - some a bit damaged - dispersed in the room. Bloom sheds his clothes, deposits them on a chair, gets into a nightshirt by inserting his head and arms into the proper apertures, prepares the bedlinen, and finally gets into the bed.

What catches his attention immediately? New bedlinen, presence of a human form, female, hers, the imprint of a human form, male, not his, AND  crumbs of potted meat. 

What is home without

Plumtree's potted meat?

Incomplete

With it an abode of bliss.

(Penguin, 91. 10)

This unmistakable proof in the bed (that certainly makes one question the assertion in the above advertisement of a home with Plumtree's potted meat being an abode of bliss) of the happenings of the afternoon starts off in his mind a list, a series, of possible suitors of Molly, starting with Mulvey, her first boy friend, and ending with Boylan. (This long list must naturally be taken with a big pinch of salt!) Bloom, who considers Boylan to be a bounder, a bill-sticker (Penguin, 711.19), a bester and a boaster, feels envy, jealousy, abnegation, and equanimity at the thought of his having been the last occupant of the bed.

The paragraph (Penguin, 865.7) that describes why/how Bloom feels equanimity is for me one of the most wonderful paragraphs of the novel. These reflections /descriptions elevate Bloom (the eternal outsider, the naive person, the one to whom hardly people listen to, the one who truly cares not only for Stephen but also for a Mrs. Purefoy in labour, the one who cares more for science than for nationalism,...) to a special level, differentiating him from ordinary mortals! The adultery Molly commits with Boylan is for him an act that is very natural, that is more than inevitable. He reflects on various kinds of crimes that one could commit, that are more heinous than adultery in the world. Bloom reminds himself of the apathy of the stars, i.e., he knows that it matters little to the world if Molly commits adultery. He would have smiled, if he indeed would have smiled, thinking of the inanity of extolled virtue, of the silliness of enthusiastically praising virtue. 

Bloom's kissing (as an act of quiet acceptance of what had happened?) the plump mellow yellow smellow melons of her rump, wakes up the sleeping Molly, who asks him ....?. It is time for yet more catechetical interrogation!

Tuesday, 4 October 2016, Pages 850 - 860, Episode 17, Ithaca

We stopped at "... (atonement)." (Penguin 860.9), (Gabler 17.2058)

(As I have been away since 4th October, I have decided to repost below what I had earlier written about these pages. With some additions/modifications of course!)

Bloom finds the three (now four) letters by Martha Clifford which that he has stored in the first drawer. Why would he store them in an apparently unlocked drawer? Would they not be seen by Molly? Does he in fact intend for Molly to discover these letters? Is it because she has seen them that she has little qualms about singing Love's Old Sweet Song with Boylan, wearing long yellow gloves? 

The second drawer contains many important documents including the birth certificate of Leopold Paula Bloom and an envelope addressed by his father To My Dear Son Leopold. That, like Rilke, Bloom also has a feminine middle name is worthy of notice. That Bloom's middle name is Paula explains in a way his transformation into a female character in the chapter Circe. Who wouldn't with such a (middle) name!

Seeing the envelope sent to him by his father makes Bloom think of his father, an old man, a widower and of Athos, his infirm dog. He also feels a bit of remorse because in his young days he (Bloom) had viewed certain beliefs and practices (of his father) with disrespect. (The dog of Odysseus was Argos. It was so infirm by the time Odysseus finally reached home that all it could do as it saw the master was to wag its tail before dropping dead.) Bloom reminiscences about his father, about the letter from his father which was stored in the second drawer, about his father's suffering from progressive melancholia that finally had led him to commit suicide. Now Bloom thinks of a conversation he had had with his father regarding the various stations he (the father) had passed through before settling down in Dublin. He fondly remembers a couple of idiosyncrasies of his father - such as drinking voraciously the juice of gooseberry fool from an inclined plate. Bloom also remembers the money he had inherited, consoling himself that things could have been far worse than they currently are. For example, he could sink in poverty, descending slowly but definitely from being an outdoor hawker to an inmate of Old Man's House Kilmainham. One of the indignities he would certainly suffer from - if he does end up as a pauper - would be the unsympathetic indifference of previously amiable females!  

Bloom's thoughts catapult him into thinking that going away would be one way to escape from such a fate. But then there are pros and cons of such a departure. What follows is a description of places  in Ireland and abroad that would be attractive destinations. True to the nature of this chapter, Ithaca, thinking of each place leads Bloom to other associated thoughts. For example, when he thinks of Ceylon, he cannot avoid thinking of supplying tea to Thomas Kernan; straits of Gibraltar are special, being the unique birthplace of Marion Tweedy. It is while thinking of the possible modes of travel that Bloom transforms (in his thoughts) into a heavenly body so that he would wander, selfcompelled, to the extreme limit of his cometary orbit.... and somehow reappear reborn...

What intrigued me most in this list is the mention of the forbidden country of Thibet (from which no traveller returns) / Penguin p.857. Where is this Thibet? Why don't travellers not return from there? Gifford explains in his Ulysses Annotated (17.1989) that this could refer to (a) the Tibetan policy of exclusion that closed the country to most Western traveller from 1792 onwards, (b) Hamlet's soliloquy, 'To be, or not to be, that is the question', in which 'death' is said to be the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveller returns.

But, I immediately thought of the novel, Lost Horizon, by the British author, James Hilton. Both Thibet (= Tibet?) and James Hilton's Shangri-La are in the Himalayas. Today Shangri-La has come to symbolize earthly paradise. In the novel, it is a lamasery, where one leads a spiritual life. Once people have reached the place, they age extremely slowly. But once they leave Shangri-La, they age very rapidly and die quickly. Thus this is a place, for me, from which no traveller returns. Unfortunately, James' Hilton's novel was published ten years after James Joyce's Ulysses was published! So Joyce could not have known it. But I might not have imagined too much. James Hilton is said to have based his Shangri-La on Shambhala, a mythical kingdom mentioned in ancient Hindu and Buddhist tests. It is quite possible that Joyce had heard of it. Perhaps this is how one reads Ulysses, with one's own associations and interpretations!


Because it is late, very late, in the night, and because of the proximity of an occupied bed, with the anticipation of warmth (human)... Bloom starts to rise in order to prepare to go bed. Before rising, he recapitulates - once more - the happenings of that eventful day. 

The paragraph (6th on p. 859, Penguin) devoted to this recapitulation is a very special one. It lists, in order, all that happened to Bloom that day. But Ulysses would not have been Ulysses if Joyce had resisted the temptation of adding a rich layer to these seemingly banal events. Adding words in parentheses to the events of the day, (which he apparently did very late, while proof reading the work just before print, probably driving his publishers mad with yet more last-minute additions) Joyce transforms the day into a quasi-schematic Jewish liturgical calendar, as he had reviewed the day previously in the form of a Roman Catholic litany in the chapter Circe (Penguin, p. 618). (Words in italics are by Don Gifford.  See comment 17.2044, page 60 in Gifford's Ulysses Annotated.) Two among these references intrigue me: (1) The word holocaust used in association with the event: the altercation with a truculent troglodyte in Bernard Kiernan's premises. (2) The word atonement associated with the event: nocturnal perambulation to and from the cabman's shelter, Butt Bridge.

The event in Bernard Kiernan's premises refers to the chapter Cyclops where there is altercation between Bloom (Penguin, p. 380) and the Citizen. Holocaust is said to mean literally, a burnt offering, total sacrifice, and figuratively to the ceremony that commemorates the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 A.D.  (Gifford, comment 17.2051). It would be interesting to explore further these associations and to draw parallels between the altercation Bloom has with the Citizen and (a) the concept of total sacrifice, and (b) the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. 

Similarly, the word atonement means righting the wrong, to make amends. What is being atoned for here? Did Bloom take it upon himself that night to atone for the 'wrongs' that had happened in Stephen's life when he brought him home via the cabman's shelter, made him a hot cup of cocoa and offered him a bed to sleep?     

Tuesday, 27 September 2016, Pages 840 - 850, Ithaca, Episode 17

We stopped at "Dear Madam." (Penguin 350.26), (Gabler (17.1823)

Bloom is still building his colossal castle in the air, thinking of what improvements he might slowly introduce to his grounds (rabbitry, fowlrun, dovecote, sundial, Japanese tinkle gatebell,...). In the guise of Bloom's ambitious musings Joyce builds up this part of the episode to chuckle - good-naturedly of course -  at the English language, at the English society (e.g. at the names of societies by introducing names such as the Industrious Foreign Acclimatized Nationalized Friendly Stateaided Building Society), and at the tendency of human beings to categorize everything they know/come across. The style still follows that of catechism but the answers take off and get a life of their own often forgetting the question that was posed in the first place, the longer they become! As we read on, we also learn to chuckle along with Joyce! It is all quite comical indeed.

Back to Bloom Cottage (a blatant misnomer) or Saint Leopold's (Leopold B, a saint? Really?) or Flowerville. Bloom's thinks of what means he should have to travel to the city and back. He imagines how the Bloom of 7 Eccles street will look and do as Bloom of Flowerville. He considers what kind of intellectual pursuits (hobbies) and recreations both in summer and winter he could pursue. He visualizes the role he could play as Bloom, Leopold P., M.P., P. C., K.P., L.L.D. (Honoris cause)* among the county families and landed gentry. In particular, he would act in such a way as to uphold rectitude (moral goodness). The paragraph 'a course that lay .... connubiality' (Penguin p. 842) that highlights this sums up what is known today as Victorian Values. Examples that prove that Bloom loved rectitude from his earliest youth follow.

Bloom not only dreams of possessing such a fine mansion but also about how much he should pay for it. The list of rapid but insecure means he imagines that will make it possible to purchase the Flowerville immediately is to be read to be enjoyed. It contains, for example, making use of the difference of 25 minutes between Dunsink time and Greenwich time, Dunsink time lagging behind Greenwich time OR unexpectedly discovering a valuable postage stamp or a precious stone dropped from the air by an eagle in flight** or  discovered as remnant of a fire or as flotsam or even on the sea bed due to a sunken ship, OR as a contract in which cash is obtained on delivery starting at one farthing (1/4 penny) and growing in geometrical proportion*** for subsequent deliveries.

Bloom also has a number of practical ideas - some big, some small - which could lead to his amassing wealth. Reclamation of waste, sandy land for cultivation, utilization of waste paper, processing of human excrement that incidentally has great potential owing to the large population (almost 5 million) of Ireland, generation of hydraulic power, building of casinos etc, using dogvan and goatvan to deliver early morning milk, cleaning up of Irish waterways to make them suitable for traffic are just some of the possible schemes. If support of some well known financiers - Sir Julius Blum, Rothschild, Guggenheim, ... Rockefeller - could be obtained, then such schemes could easily be realized.

Why on earth would Bloom think of such things at this early morning hour (it must be past 3 am) after a very long day? Because, he knows that meditating on such topics would help him to sleep. He had learnt that a man who would live for 70 years spends 20 of them sleeping!  Normally his thoughts, consisting of how to come up with a unique advertisement that would make passers to stop in wonder, are more down to earth. He is, after all, a simple canvasser for advertisements.

(Milly's drawing of Bloom)

While busy with thoughts of Flowerville, Bloom unlocks a drawer. Now we get to peep into the contents of the drawer. Among an assortment of things, the drawer holds a copybook which belonged to Milly who had made a drawing of her father, a Christmas card from Mr + Mrs M. Comerford, remnants of sealing wax, pennibs, mementoes of his parents, 3 letters from Martha, a pack of a dozen cream laid envelopes and feinruled notepaper (now three are missing from the original pack), two partly uncoiled rubber preservatives as well as two erotic photocards purchased by post from Box 32, P. O., Charing Cross, London, a prospectus of the Wonderworker, the world's greatest remedy for rectal complaints. The prospectus was wrongly addressed to Mrs. L. Bloom, and the enclosed note started with Dear Madam.

* M.P. Member of Parliament / P. C. Privy Councillor / K. P. Knight of the Order of St. Patrick / 
L. L. D. (Honoris cause) Doctor of Law 'for the sake of honor'
** This idea must be taken from the story of the second voyage of Sindbad, the Sailor in what is popularly known as The Arabian Nights
*** This idea is borrowed from the classical example of geometrical proportions, rather exponential growth