Intricate, poetic, profound, thought-provoking and... incredibly boring!

All the time as I was reading more than seven hundred pages of this "classical masterpiece", I couldn't stop thinking: will I finish it or will it finish me? It felt like an arduous task that I had to endure. Only those who can say that I simply don't understand the book because I didn't read all of it. But let me tell you, I have actually finished it, and to be honest, it sucks.

The story, which was supposed to be captivating, turned out to be a tedious journey. The complex language and convoluted plot made it difficult to follow at times. I found myself constantly losing interest and having to force myself to keep reading. Maybe I'm just not the right audience for this kind of book, but in my opinion, it failed to live up to its reputation.

Overall, my experience with this "classical masterpiece" was far from enjoyable. I'm glad it's over, but I can't help but wonder if there are other books out there that are truly worth the time and effort.

06/11/2022 Update - I must give kudos to my literary friends. They convinced me to read this with them, and I'm so glad they did. I wouldn't have been brave enough to start on my own, and I might not have finished if I tried. Our mutual encouragement is truly working. I'm not only making my way through "Ulysses" but actually enjoying it, mostly.

At this point, I'm at our first checkpoint, which is the end of "Episode Six" or about 115 pages. As a fan of Virginia Woolf, I'm not completely unfamiliar with the inventive "stream of consciousness" narrative style. I knew going in that this book was going to be work, so I prepared accordingly. I have a brilliant audio edition that I'm following along with, chapter synopses to refer to, literary criticism at the ready, YouTube lecture series, and this Oxford edition includes a massive 200+ pages of "explanatory notes" to help make sense of it all.

Even still, I'm completely amazed, overwhelmed, inspired, diminished, and experiencing every other oxymoronic feeling imaginable. How can I feel so bored and so enthralled at the same time? How does my lack of understanding make me feel simultaneously smarter and stupid?

Part of the complexity is Joyce's genius, which clearly surpasses my own level of worldly understanding. Without the explanatory notes, I would have likely missed nearly every allusion or cultural reference that wasn't Shakespeare. Then, of course, there is Joyce's complete disregard for literary convention. Plot and syntax are thrown out the window. Instead, there is a bizarre, yet surprisingly effective, experiment with mind-reading. Character thoughts flitter about like pollen in the wind, changing direction and focus without warning. Sometimes in the middle of a sentence, without any punctuation to signify the shift.

Despite how often the text is incomprehensible, it's also SO GOOD! Internal thoughts are my favorite part of any novel, and it's clear to see how Joyce's inventive technique here has been manipulated and repurposed by other authors to great effect. I actually see a lot of Stephen King in Joyce. Particularly old school King, where a line of dialogue might follow with several pages of internal turmoil before we receive the response. Whether King was influenced by Joyce directly or from other authors who were, it's possible to see how "Ulysses" completely reinvented what a novel is capable of.

I do fear that I'm still in the honeymoon phase, however. As much as I'm enamored and wowed by Joyce's innovation, I can't help but notice I have about 600 pages left to read. Considering how much mental energy went into these first 100 pages, I'm definitely feeling nervous. Stay with me, friends! Keep me afloat!

7/25/2022 Update - I made it to our group's second checkpoint! I won't lie, the struggle is real. At first, "Ulysses" felt sexy, like having an affair. My long-term relationship with the English language was in a rut, and this was the filthy side-piece that made me feel young again. No rules. Anything goes. Take me, I'm yours!

Mystique has settled into reality, however. Maybe there's a reason novels aren't written this way. Maybe stability is sexy after all, and I didn't realize what a great thing I had all along. Don't leave me, English Language, I promise it'll never happen again!

But, like any cheater, I'm not quite done. We're still sneaking around, and it's exhausting to keep up the lie, but eventually it has to end, right? Neither of us can go on like this forever?

The last few episodes included, as I vaguely understand, chit-chat in a newspaper office, a lively discussion about biographical elements in Shakespeare's "Hamlet", and various fragments of persons walking around Ireland. Of the three, only the Shakespeare episode kept my interest because it was the one topic I'm familiar enough with to understand.

To be fair, however, the book does routinely awe me with witty phrases and innovative use of minimalism. It's all so pompous, but it also pokes fun at academic self-importance. One minute we're discussing Ph.D.-level Shakespeare and Greek mythology, the next there's a fart joke, banana peel slip, or Bloom peeking under a museum statue to see if there's genitalia.

No wonder academics love this book so much--it demoralizes at the same time it entices. Just like the manipulative lover who sends you to your knees in despair, knowing you secretly derive utmost pleasure from that position.

01/31/2023 Update - Big news...I FINISHED! Holy smokes. It only took eight months, a lot of SparkNotes, and three audiobook narrators to get there, but it's done. I experienced the entirety of James Joyce's "Ulysses". I feel like "experience" is the right word because I understood probably 10% of it at best.

That said, I understood 100% of Molly Bloom's monologue at the end and loved every word of it! This is thanks largely to the brilliant performance by Marcella Riordan who nailed every word of the grammarless erotic musing. I do think this massive block of text required such interpretive performance to really sell it, but WOW does it work. And, again thanks to Marcella, it's possible to see how Joyce uses word choice to satisfy the function of punctuation. It's absolutely brilliant. Would I ever read "Ulysses" again? Absolutely not. But I could read that final chapter once a month and never get bored. It's so hot, so provocative, so brilliant--I'll even say it's worth the 800 pages of mind-melting experimental prose to get there.

OVERALL... challenging as it was, this was a bucket list moment that I'm excited to check off the list. Even better that I got to go through the experience with good friends. Part of me never wants to touch anything by Joyce again, but another part, the part who just read the Molly monologue, is eager to jump in to more of his work right away. Maybe one of the more "normal" novels, though.

I will also say whoever wrote the SparkNotes summaries of the book deserves a prize. They are extremely well-written and far more entertaining than the novel itself. I was amazed by what Joyce accomplished purely from a language perspective, even if the entertainment value suffered drastically. And I'm sure even the genius at SparkNotes only understood a portion of what the novel was trying to do. It's certainly a puzzlebox that, if nothing else, will provide an endless supply of mental stimulus for academics. Kudos to all the scholars who have devoted their academic life to books like this. Better them than me!

El Ulises es sin duda una de las grandes aventuras que la literatura nos presenta.

Es una novela de gran longitud, con una prosa elíptica y complicada que desafía al lector. Leerlo es como sumergirse en varios libros a la vez, ya que cada capítulo tiene un estilo único, casi como si hubiera sido escrito por diferentes autores.

¿Vale la pena hacer el esfuerzo de leerlo? Eso depende de cada individuo. El Ulises exige mucho y puede resultar cansado. Está lleno de citas literarias, monólogos, referencias históricas, palabras inventadas, palabras cortadas y frases inconclusas. En definitiva, es una prosa experimental que abarca una amplia gama de técnicas y estilos.

Además, Joyce hizo numerosas referencias a personas y hechos de su época, guiños personales que a menudo pasamos por alto sin darnos cuenta. La grandeza del libro radica tanto en lo que cuenta como en el cómo lo cuenta Joyce. Esta es la dificultad que presenta el Ulises, ya que puede deslumbrar y desconcertar al mismo tiempo.

Para terminar, es importante destacar que el título del libro se debe al nombre latín del héroe protagonista de La odisea, el poema épico de Homero. Joyce establece una serie de paralelismos entre los protagonistas de su novela (Bloom, Molly y Stephen Dedalus) y los del poema griego (Odiseo, Penélope y Telémaco). Sin embargo, encontrar estos paralelismos en cada capítulo requiere un estudio profundo y es una tarea que se reserva principalmente para los estudiosos.

Finalmente, merece una mención especial la traducción al español rioplatense realizada por Marcelo Zabaloy, que es un deleite para los ojos y un logro notable considerando la complejidad del texto original.

Creo que la mejor definición del Ulises se encuentra en una frase que aparece en el libro: "Una zigzagueante todincluyente crónica sumamente farragosa". Esta frase captura la esencia del libro, que es una obra maestra que abarca una amplia gama de temas y estilos, y que desafía al lector a sumergirse en su mundo complejo y fascinante.

Da. I know I will shock the purists, but I read Ulysses in translation... and I thought it was an experience that was worth it.

Yes. I had difficulties. About 4 chapters (the most experimental ones) I found unbearable, but I insisted and, in the end, I thought I did well.

It is a book that shows us that the routine of life can be transformed by the intellect into a true Odyssey.

The anniversary edition from Humanitas gave me the necessary stimulation to take this step. I must say that I had a very pleasant feeling to see Ulysses in the window of a bookstore.

Some impressions (some during the reading):

1. I know it sounds like a cliché, but Ulysses forces you to be a certain type of reader. You can't skip through the lines. The footnotes cannot be ignored. You have to read patiently. You have to be an active reader. It is a book that asks a lot from the reader. It is an Odyssey. You will discover in the end if it was worth it. :)) My availability exists. For now...

2. I recommend an annotated edition, like this new edition from Humanitas. You can read as many books as you want as preparation for Ulysses. There are too many references and many are cryptic. I don't think there are many people who could notice them without prior guidance.

3. By the way, the only book that I think directly helps my reading is A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. I better understood the emotional state of Stephen Dedalus, especially since the first big difficulty in Ulysses for me was chapter 3, in which you are in his mind. It is a very dense chapter, but even if I couldn't follow all the references, I understood him as a character.

4. Ulysses can be amusing. I laughed to find after such a difficult chapter as the third the following passage: "Put the dry bit he had taken out of his nose on a ledge of rock, carefully. After all, it's only a matter of looking if anyone wants to." :))

5. Did Joyce deliberately put one of the most difficult chapters before introducing us to Bloom in the next chapter? It worked. Chapters 4 - 6 were quite easy to follow.

6. It is interesting how certain scenes come to represent a book for the general public who will never touch the respective book. I think I knew about the scene of going to the toilet in chapter 4 before being a reader. I don't think there is anything shocking in it. :))

7. Chapter 7 was the first one that gave me problems. I understand the idea with the titles, but it was annoying.

8. After chapter 9, it is hard for me to consider titles like Hamnet, Anonymous or The Portrait of Mr. W. H. I find them too simplistic for what Shakespeare has become in the meantime. It is too dishonest to stop at only one interpretation of his life and work.

9. Chapter 10 was very pleasant. I wonder what follows? :)) I told you that I only read a few stories from "Dubliners"?

10. Chapters 11 and 14 - horror. I read chapter 14 aloud so as not to get more lost in it than was necessary. I noted a quote: "Take note of what I will say. In the womb of the woman the word became flesh but in the spirit of the creator all the flesh that passes becomes the word that will never pass. That is postcreation."

11. I really liked chapters 12 and 13 because they somehow bring Bloom back to life.

12. I also liked the play. I understood that it was staged? Why? :)) It was written precisely so that it could only come to life in the mind of the reader.

13. The great meeting between Bloom and Stephen took place in a much more banal way than I expected and, again, I liked it and appreciated the moment. I felt it much more palpable and I believed in it much more easily. I felt that those steps were so realistic that I believed in the future of this relationship.

14. In the end, the chapter with questions and answers I didn't like, because of its length. By the way, the 4 very experimental chapters (chapters 7, 11, 14 and 17) that I didn't like, could have worked for me if they were shorter.

15. The first time I flipped through Ulysses and came across the unpunctuated passages at the end, I was scared. I think I laughed nervously. Surprisingly, the last chapter I liked and it was also accessible compared to other chapters. The journey gives perspective to the end.

As a conclusion, after Ulysses, I'm not afraid of anything anymore. :))

This text appears to be a rather chaotic and complex exploration of various elements. It begins by listing a plethora of characters, from Poldy the horny goof to the Wandering Jew and many others in between.

It then delves into a detailed account of a day's events, including a shaving, remembrances of a dead mother, a history class, walks along the shore, various meals, visits to different places such as the museum and a disorderly house, and much more.

The locations where these events take place are also numerous, ranging from the Martello Tower and Sandycove to Dublin and Gibraltar.

The writing style is a unique blend of no style and all styles at once, incorporating elements of narrative, catechism, monologue, and a wide variety of literary pastiches from different eras and authors.

As for whether one should read this, it is left up to the individual, with some rather cryptic phrases added for good measure.

There are no further recommended readings aside from rereading the text itself or "riverrun".

Finally, there is a bonus track in the form of a YouTube link.

Overall, this text is a challenging and perhaps somewhat baffling piece that requires a great deal of attention and effort to fully understand.

JJ said that after a century, people would still be there trying to understand. It is somewhere, with that blindfold on its eye, looking at us and smiling.

It is extremely difficult. It requires dedication, patience, and re-readings. Where are the difficulties? In the continuous change of style, including a theatrical play (Episode 15 Circe, in the phantasmagorical and surreal brothel), an episode in the form of questions and answers (17 Ithaca), and an entire episode (14 The Oxen of the Sun) played on style changes, from archaic to modern. In the references, scattered everywhere and more or less hidden, to all human knowledge, especially to Homer's Odyssey and Shakespeare. In the internal references to characters, situations, things, and then parallels and interpolations (among others, the entire Episode 10 The Wandering Rocks) and allusions. In the continuous change of the narrative voice, in the difficulty of understanding who is the subject or the object, in the sometimes seamless transition between reality and dream, in the labyrinthine and disordered flows of thought (especially that of Stephen Dedalus in 3 Proteo, and the clamorous one of Molly Bloom in 18 Penelope). In the mean or obscure sentences. In the neologisms, alliterations, onomatopoeias (mrkgnao!, the cat), and in the musical inserts.

Can this be enough?

It is extremely beautiful. Firstly, the form, which I have just tried to describe, generates a truly unique reading experience, with that rhythm that you must make your own and that directly takes you onto the scene or the set or to the opera or into a comic book, in symbiosis with the characters. And then there is all of life (and death) inside. An entire city, Dublin, and its citizens, captured on any given day (June 16, 1904). In the tower of Sandycove, on the beach, at school, in church, at a funeral, in various pubs, in the hospital, in a brothel, on the streets of Dublin, in the library, in the editorial office of a newspaper, at Bloom's house.

The three main characters remain engraved there, in our personal literary pantheon. The young Stephen Dedalus, his turmoil, his desire to stand out, to go against the current in search of his own way to affirm himself as a man and an artist. Leo Bloom, his insecurities and fragilities, his failures, his common sense, his kindness, his political ideas. Molly Bloom, Leo's very adulterous wife, a simple, frank, and truthful mind, Mediterranean and passionately wild, perhaps simply in search of love. Leo&Molly, marked like all of us by the vicissitudes of life and each lost in their own idiosyncrasies, are ultimately in search of each other, Ulysses returning to his Penelope, Penelope waiting for her Ulysses.

We are moved, we have fun, we are disturbed by the sensuality and erotism, sometimes subtle and sometimes pornographic&kinky. We are interested in problems such as nationalism, the homeland and identity (Ireland and Israel), the relationship with religion, family themes (husband-wife, father-son), environmental and social issues.

Can this be enough?

My ranking, the 5 (out of 18) most beautiful episodes:
1. Penelope
2. Ithaca
3. Proteo
4. Circe
5. Calipso

My reading: The first reading must be supported by notes and a guide, not so much to understand everything (you won't succeed anyway) but to fully enjoy it; it is essential to read on a tablet to consult the notes, the guide, the online resources, other versions; reading the same passage in the original and in multiple versions makes you appreciate the different translation choices and, for the more difficult ones, helps understanding; I mainly read the version of Terrinoni-Newton, with sufficient notes and a critical guide for each episode; I also liked the version of Biondi-NavediTeseo, very fresh and lively, with an excellent apparatus of notes; the Celati-Einaudi version is without notes and 'customized' by the writer; the classic De Angelis-Mondadori version I found a bit cumbersome and dated, but it has a notable apparatus of notes and a guide. I helped myself with various online resources, there are plenty and free (in English, less in Italian): Linati and Gilbert schemes on Wikipedia, Ulyssesguide and Shmoop guides step by step in English, Columbia.edu version in English with numbered lines, notes and colorations to identify the narrator.

Citations:
- "Statuario, il pingue Buck Mulligan spuntò in cima alle scale, con in mano una ciotola di schiuma su cui giacevano in croce uno specchio e un rasoio. La vestaglia gialla, slacciata, era lievemente sostenuta alle sue spalle dall’aria delicata del mattino. Alzò la ciotola al cielo e intonò: – Introibo ad altare Dei." (Buck Mulling opens the great mass; the incipit that remains in your head; Episode 1, Telemachus)
- "Ineluttabile modalità del visibile: almeno questo se non altro ancora, il pensiero attraverso i miei occhi. Le impronte di tutte le cose sono qui a leggere, uova di molluschi e alghe marine, la marea che s’avvicina, lo scarpone arrugginito. Verdemocciolo, bluargento, ruggine: segni colorati. Limiti del diafano. Ma lui aggiunge: nei corpi. Quindi era consapevole del loro esser corpi prima che dell’esser colorati." (Stephen Dedalus in a mystical-philosophical version walking on the beach of Sandymount, Episode 3, Proteo)
- "Nascosti sotto felci selvagge a Howth. Sotto di noi la baia il cielo che dormiva. Nessun suono. Il cielo. La baia porpora presso Lion’s head. Verde a Drumleck. Gialloverde verso Sutton. Campi di mare sottostante, linee marrone pallido nell’erba, città sepolte. Il mio cappotto era un cuscino per i capelli di lei, forficole nell’edera mi solleticano la mano sotto il collo, mi agiti tutta. Che meraviglia! Freddasoffice di unguenti la sua mano mi toccava, accarezzava: i suoi occhi su di me non si voltavano. Giacevo rapito sopra di lei, le labbra piene tutte aperte, a baciare la sua bocca. Mmm. Dolcemente mi fece passare in bocca un pezzetto di torta ai semi di cumino calda e masticata. Polpa nauseante dalla sua bocca impastata agrodolce con la saliva. Gioia: l’ho mangiato: gioia. Giovane vita, le sue labbra mi porse imbronciate. Soffici, calde, appiccicose labbra gelatinose. Fiori erano i suoi occhi, prendimi, occhi desiderosi. Caddero sassolini. Lei rimase immobile. Una capra. Nessuno. In alto sui rododendri di Ben Howth una capretta che camminava a passo sicuro, rilasciando uvette. Protetta sotto le felci rise tutta calda e avviluppata. Mi misi con impeto su di lei, la baciai; occhi, le sue labbra, il suo collo teso, il battito, seni pieni di donna nella maglia di stoffa fine, capezzoli grandi dritti. Ardente la linguavo. Lei mi baciava. Ero baciato. Concedendosi completamente mi scompigliava i capelli. Baciata, baciava me. Me. E me ora." (Leopold and Molly at Howth Head; Episode 8, The Lestrygonians; the same scene in Molly's version we find in Episode 18)
- "Quali speciali affinità gli parevano esistere tra la luna e la donna? L’antichità nel precedere successive generazioni telluriche e nel sopravvivervi; il predominio notturno; la dipendenza di satellite; il riflesso luminescente; la costanza in tutte le sue fasi, il sorgere e il tramontare secondo tempi da lei stabiliti, il crescere e il calare; l’invariabilità forzata del suo aspetto; la risposta indeterminata a interrogazione anaffermativa; il suo potere sulle acque defluenti e rifluenti; il potere di far innamorare, mortificare, rivestire di bellezza, render folle, incitare alla delinquenza e sostenerla; la tranquilla inscrutabilità del suo volto; la terribilità della sua isolata e dominante propinquità, implacabile e risplendente; i suoi auspici di tempesta e bonaccia; lo stimolo della propria luce, il suo muoversi e la presenza; l’ammonizione dei propri crateri, dei mari aridi, del suo silenzio; il suo splendore, se visibile; la sua attrazione, se invisibile." (Episode 17, Ithaca)
- "sì e tutte quelle stradine strane e le case rosa e blu e gialle e i giardini delle rose e il gelsomino e i gerani e i cactus e Gibilterra da ragazza dove ero un Fiore di montagna sì quando mi sono messa la rosa nei capelli come facevano le ragazze andaluse o dovrei portarla rossa sì e come mà baciato sotto le mura moresche e ò pensato bè lui o un altro che cambia e poi gliò chiesto con gli occhi di chiederlo ancora sì e poi me là chiesto se volevo sì dire sì mio fiore di montagna e prima lò abbracciato sì e lò fatto stendere su di me per fargli sentire i miei seni tutti profumati sì e il suo cuore che impazziva e sì ò detto sì lo voglio Sì" (Molly's great yes, Episode 18 Penelope)

Richard Hamilton, The Transmogrification of Bloom (Moma, Tate)
Richard Hamilton, Bronze by Gold (British Museum)
Richard Hamilton, in Horne's House (British Museum)

We all know that the English had conquered the Irish at certain periods in history.

But this remarkable Irishman, James Joyce, had achieved something truly extraordinary. He had conquered their language for eternity.

Possibly the first book I've read where the scenes of the storyline and their accompanying settings are more elusive to follow than perhaps grasping the allegory or themes of the story.

Ulysses (1922), a Latinized version of the name Odysseus, is a prime example of a modernist novel. It unfolds within a single day in Dublin, Ireland.

Throughout the book, Joyce showcases his remarkable versatility with the English language. He deftly makes use of various styles from the different eras of English literature and the evolution of the language itself.

A few of the underlying themes include antisemitism, human sexuality, the quest for paternity, and the multilayered oppression of Irish nationalism and sovereignty by the Imperial British State and the Roman Catholic Church.

However, this stream of consciousness narration style felt like trying to solve a complex riddle. While attempting to decipher it, it became challenging to establish a connection and sympathize with the characters. Perhaps, this is not a book that will appeal to everyone.

Nevertheless, it remains a significant and influential work that demands our attention and study.

Silly little Kalliope, the spirally-kalliope, had long thought about entering the Labyrinth but for years, she only stood outside, looking at its entrance. Fortunately, the real Kalliope, the Grand, the Muse, who had been dwelling in GR recently, took pity on her. After visiting the gods of literature and seeking their acceptance, she decided to assist the spirally and guide her through the imposing Labyrinth.
The Grand Kalliope-the-Muse knew that Spirally would need more help once she entered the treacherous mesh. So, she awarded her three magic weapons: an edition with footnotes, a textual companion, and an audio version.
After religiously looking up every footnote, Spirally soon decided to forget about them. The glow-worms on the floor, which seemed to be illuminating the way, could also cause her to knock into a wall. Paying too much attention to Mr Irish1, Mr Irish37, Mr Irish142, and so many others could make her miss the right corner and enter the wrong alley, never to survive the Labyrinth.
The textual companion was her safety jacket. It gave meaning and kept her afloat, like a compass. Otherwise, Spirally could have found herself going in circles, like in an Escher puzzle. And Spirally did not like such enclosing puzzles; they were anathema to her always advancing inner spirally being.
The Audio was a blessing of the gods. The Labyrinth was part of the spheres of sound and music, and its harmonies lived in the vocal tradition. But Spirally's ears were not tuned to its language. English was not phonetic, and her complete ignorance of Gaelic names meant that she could not trust her own interior voice to unlock the right sounds and rhymes. The Labyrinth had shifting walls, and to find the right way, one needed to listen to its inner reverberations and echoes. Listen to the Voice and you will Know.
So, the Muse advised Spirally that the full passage would take one day, which really meant seven weeks – seven, the magic number for the Creation – but seven times slower. But at least it did not take her ten years like Ulysses.
The Muse also gave Spirally the clue that she would have to find the way through eighteen chambers, which had already been marked by the'resourceful hero' of classical antiquity. The chambers were grouped in complexes, with an Antechamber, the maze proper, and a welcoming Home.
Her protecting Muse also foretold her that there would be a son, and where there was a son, there must be a father – somewhere.
After doing her preparatory calisthenics with Homer, Spirally finally entered the Labyrinth. But she was immediately baffled since she saw no Greek ruins. Optimistic, she hoped her training would bring its benefits later. There was a Tower, which must be the son that the Muse foretold. From the non-classical belfry, she could vaguely envision the forthcoming intricate maze through which she would have to survive.
At first, there were no difficulties in her progress. But while still in the Antechamber, Spirally had her first taste of the dizziness that the maze could induce in her. And yet, she enjoyed this protean ambiguity. It was relaxing. She could let the flow take her along. It was not difficult. The walls seemed to become wind or water, and the lack of definition did not prevent her from advancing. On the contrary, there was an indeterminate flow that pushed her along, mesmerizing her.
Upon entering the intricate web, there he was, the father. The fatherly non-father. She noticed the passages and their names. She followed the broad one, Ecclesia, as welcoming as a church. There were many flowers along the way. How could they bloom with so little light? Could they serve as a way to find the way, like in Tom Thumb? As she proceeded, together with the flowers, she encountered mushrooms with very wide and flat caps that made her think of the magic “nénuphars” in Boris Vian. Those mushrooms affected consciousness, and it was no longer clear who was there and who was here.
Could she get dizzy if she ate the mushrooms? Was that what was making her see that the pathway had become a canal and that there was not only water, on which one could navigate, but also that it fell over the walls, forming aerial cataracts? Luckily, there was a boat, and she could continue until she reached a new shore and continued walking. On the floor, she saw a slab with the letters Inferno (had Dante been here?). She should not fall in there. She had already followed Dante and managed to get out at the other side of the Earth, propelled upwards (downwards to the antipodes). No need to try that again.
Suddenly, a very strong waft of air blew her over, making her lose her balance. Had she not held strongly onto her weapons, it would have pushed her back to start all over again. It was so easy to miss a reference in this intricate web. Once recovered, she felt hungry and saw that on the sides there were shelves with food. But it was all disgusting food, all bloody and fleshy, human flesh? If she survived, she might become a vegetarian. She also saw a man peeing in Latin. Did this labyrinth have the shape of guts? What if she was in the guts of a large cetacean? Would that explain the water and the winds?
She heard an inner voice. Keep talking to yourself and you will not dissolve. Language is your being. It will guide you in putting order in a timely fashion: Nebeneinander and Nacheinander. Remember your texts, all the literature in your life will give you food for thought and energy. It is all bound in Mnemosyne. Hamlet knew his Shakespeare. This was the advice from the GreatMuse, and she should know. She was poetry. She also warned her: But don't drink, or that liquid will liquefy your mind.
OMG, OhMyMuse, there was another labyrinth within the labyrinth. And now what? At least she must be in the middle. She was entering an area in which Ulysses' companions waxed their ears, but Kalliope-the-Muse had given her no wax. She would have to fugue it then and grab onto the voices as they mixed and interlaced, straight and inverted, with false entries. But luckily, her Audio would mark her way and allow her to advance and do so fast. Just as the Sirens of the cars opened their way in emergencies.
But she was still far from safe. In danger, she would have to pretend she was not here, in case she encountered a Monster. But MyMuse said that there would not be any monsters, at least not those of Nationalisms and bigoted Creeds. Nonetheless, she must try to stick to the wall and make anyone think that there was NoBody here. Her spirally self must flatten and become linear as much as possible.
The alleys from chamber to chamber were getting longer now. One needed more stamina before reaching another break, and the end could not be envisioned yet. But she got a respite because the walls were now getting smoother and of a lighter tint. Fit for a princess or a nymph? And she could also see better now. And she was glad the quality of her vision was somewhat restored, for there were texts written on the walls. From the script, she guessed they had been written long long ago. They were in a language that she could decipher, but which stayed foreign. The Audio contraption she carried helped bring these texts to life, and she could hear their different harmonies even if she did not recognize the tunes.
But although she thought she was advancing, there came a point in which she despaired at the difficulty in finding her way and invoked Kalliope-the-Muse to come and help her. There was a new mist, and it was thick, and discerning forms became more difficult. Was she given something to drink that had bewitched her? She remembered the story in Apuleius, with his Julius who turned into an ass, or was it a pig? This made her wonder, could she be bewitched and not know? How could she find out? There were no mirroring surfaces on these shadowy walls. Maybe she was experiencing the very process of metempsychosis.
But suddenly, she saw some light and wondered whether she had traversed through the worst and since she had memory and there was an Antechamber, maybe she was reaching the Postchamber and would not be too far from the exit and from Home. Sweet home.
And it must be so, because she felt her legs firmer on the ground. So was her vision. Clear. As clear as a catechism in which precise questions elicited precise answers and there was no way around it. Her soul felt a great deal lighter. It could touch truth.
Oh.
Yes, here was the exit. Just as she stopped hearing the male utterances, a new one rose over the previous echoes. This sweet, mellifluous voice sang her feelings when Morpheus had silenced the past ones. Candied tone, but she did not like her song. They were the words from a myth, the female that men fear. It certainly was a female voice, but did she detect a male mind behind?
-------
Yes.

I remain perplexed after reading this.

I never really managed to flow into the story and get into the book. It seems as if there is an invisible barrier that prevents me from fully immersing myself in the narrative.

Moreover, I also noted that I had the impression of having lost something with this new translation for specific passages that I knew from the old translation. The new version seems to have missed some of the nuances and subtleties that made the original so engaging.

Suddenly, I am quite unable to say what, in this book, prevented me from adhering to it as the supposed quality of this work. Is it a lack of culture on my part? Or perhaps the new translation is too pompous and loses the original novel's artistry.

Could it be that the overestimation of a job is not so essential in the end? Maybe I had too much expectation on my part, given the dithyrambs that flourish here and there in this novel.

I am at a loss to determine the primordial element of my feelings. Only one thing is sure: this novel disappointed me. It failed to live up to the hype and the expectations that I had built up in my mind.

Perhaps I need to approach future books with a more open and critical mind, not allowing myself to be swayed by the praise and acclaim that surrounds them.

This book not only completely ruined a precious week at the beach but also severely damaged my self-esteem.

For years, I had constantly heard that this was an extremely difficult work to read. However, with great confidence and pride, I picked it up in preparation for a trip to Ireland.

I managed to finish it solely through angry determination, but with each incomprehensible page, I felt my dignity steadily diminishing. I had no clue what any of it truly meant, and I could not find coherence in more than 10 pages at a time.

Did I have the thoroughness to investigate literary criticisms in an attempt to understand what I had read? No. I simply wanted to get the hell away from it and be done with this humiliating event in my reading life.

In Dublin, I made sure to take a picture of myself with the statue of James Joyce. This was to serve as a reminder to myself that I'm not as smart as I initially thought I was. It was a humbling experience that made me realize there are works of literature that are truly beyond my current comprehension.

I did it.

I finally finished it.

And it truly encompassed all the adjectives that everyone had used to describe it: difficult, infuriating, brilliant, insane, genius, painful, and the list goes on.

You surely get the idea.

In fact, I find it impossible to rate this work.

How on earth can one rate a book that left you completely wide-eyed with sheer awe at the author's remarkable brilliance, yet at the same time made you have such a strong urge to bring him back to life just so that you could, in a fit of passion, kill him?

It's a paradoxical experience that defies easy categorization and quantification.

The emotions it evokes are so complex and intense that any attempt at a simple rating seems utterly inadequate.

It's a book that will stay with me forever, leaving an indelible mark on my literary consciousness.

When asked to explain Ulysses, James Joyce humbly replied: “I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of ensuring one’s immortality.”

However, I meekly dare to believe that Ulysses wasn't created simply to intimidate and torture philologists. After all, there is a clever thought or two in the book.

For example, consider the following passage:

The preparation of breakfast (burnt offering): intestinal congestion and premeditative defecation (holy of holies): the bath (rite of John): the funeral (rite of Samuel): the advertisement of Alexander Keyes (Urim and Thummin): the unsubstantial lunch (rite of Melchizedek): the visit to museum and national library (holy place)…

It shows that any quotidian life is a succession of rituals and subconscious worshipping of the deities unknown.

Another profound thought is expressed in the quote:

Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.

In essence, to live a day in life is as long a journey as the odyssey and as long a tale as the bible. It is a complex and multi-faceted exploration of the human experience.