I wanted to commence by delving into the baggage associated with reading this book and the arduous task of arriving at a verdict on its quality in a 5-star format, let alone attempting to pen a coherent response. However, unfortunately, I've already traversed that introductory terrain in another review. But whereas I managed to avoid becoming a fawning fanboy or a prickish contrarian on that occasion, here, to my great surprise, I have failed.

During the initial episodes of the book, I felt as if I was in the 3- or 4-star range. But then came the Shakespearean Scylla and Charybdis sequence, and I began to get excited. A few chapters later, I read the Cyclops episode, which, in my wife's astute assessment, made me 'giddy'. I devoured the remainder of this book in a couple of days, forsaking the completion of The Odyssey itself, which was ostensibly my preparation for Joyce's celebrated novel. My final, overwhelmingly positive response to Ulysses was an unexpected delight, given my prior impression that Joyce's works, while enjoyable, might not be for me in the same way as those of some of his contemporaries. I wasn't entirely bowled over by A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in high school or by Dubliners a few weeks ago. I'd even read the first 100 pages of Ulysses back in 2008 before being sidetracked by War and Peace, the inception of a nearly year-long Russian literary fever that began to wane around the time I became enamored with this website. But that initial setting aside of the book was likely a blessing, as fresh readings of Shakespeare and Homer go a long way in enhancing a layered understanding of and satisfaction from this novel.

I believe the primary reason I relish plodding Realist epics and plotless Modernist fare is that I find human drama and psychology, realistically depicted, to be endlessly fascinating. There is no topic too dull when presented truthfully in a prose that elevates the ordinary to a realm demanding rapt attention through aesthetic alchemy. To successfully embrace and conquer the ordinary requires a special writer, and I remain easily captivated when Proust or Woolf expound at length on table setting rituals or when Tolstoy lingers on a hirsute upper lip. Joyce takes a step further with the whole'make the quotidian interesting' approach, and for me, it works because it seems - to every part of my mind and experience - true. Bloom and Stephen are real people with thoughts and actions that range from the tedious to the generous to the despicable, and are often wincingly human. They are presented to us in a way that is wildly imaginative and über-detailed while still considering our desire to follow a well-arced human story. And this, Goodreaders, is why I read.

Τα πέντε αστέρια τα βάζω σε μένα που κατάφερα να το τελειώσω με τη δεύτερη. This shows that I have achieved a certain level of accomplishment. It implies that I was able to complete something successfully, perhaps a task or a project, and I deserve to be recognized for it.

Εντάξει, και ο Τζόις κάτι έκανε. Well, and Jo also did something. This indicates that Jo has also taken some action or made some contribution. It could be that Jo accomplished a different task or played a role in a particular situation.

Overall, both I and Jo have made efforts and achieved something. We should be proud of our achievements and continue to work hard in the future. Maybe there will be more opportunities for us to shine and make a difference.

☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️

“A labyrinth built by Daedalus, an artist
Famous in building, who could set in stone
Confusion and conflict, and deceive the eye
With devious aisles and passages.”

Metamorphoses by Ovid (translated by Rolfe Humphries) - Kindle edition, p186

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“Miss Dunne clicked on the keyboard:
—16 June 1904.”

Today, the 16th June, 1904* to be precise, I embarked on a journey with Leopold Bloom as he roamed around Dublin. He shared his meandering thoughts, but I was hesitant to partake in his offal-laden meals (though I briefly considered Guinness, I opted for Burgundy with him instead). We even attended Paddy Dignam’s funeral. Yes, Paddy Dignam is no more. But back to those thoughts. They wandered everywhere, almost like mine and perhaps yours too. I admit it wasn't always easy to follow his fluttering thoughts. However, I discovered that I should also listen to the sounds around us, the voices of those present and the ditties** being sung. I managed to do this*** by listening to an audio recording while simultaneously reading Bloom's thoughts and those of the people he met that day.

One of those he encountered was Stephen Dedalus, who features prominently and whose path crossed Bloom's frequently. In fact, the day begins with Stephen at the Martello Tower**** where he is staying with his friend Buck Mulligan.

attribution

Stephen is the alter ego of his own author. Most of the people met on this "day" were known to the author, albeit under different names and at different times and places. There were several encounters in pubs, and in one of these, there was a passionate discussion about Shakespeare.

Unlike Homer's hero, our Irish counterpart Bloom takes just a day to complete his epic odyssey. But what a day it is! Satisfied yet exhausted by my own odyssey of reading their meandering thoughts (interior dialogues) that were filled with puns, allusions, and ditties, I felt as if I had been reading for a month (or perhaps six weeks, as you might say). Having explored the inner landscapes of Bloom & Co and the outer physical landscape of Dublin, I now thank you for reading my non-review of my rambling thoughts. Excuse my hubris for even attempting to write about Ulysses; I'm simply sharing my own reading experience.

“Yeats wrote to John Quinn saying, ‘[Joyce’s] new story in the Little Review, looks like becoming the best work he has done. It is an entirely new thing – neither what the eye sees nor the ear hears, but what the rambling mind thinks and imagines from moment to moment. He has certainly passed in intensity any novelist of our time.’” (Letters of W.B. Yeats, as quoted by Gordon Bowker in James Joyce: A Biography, p258**)

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*Which just so happens to be the day that author James Joyce first dated Nora Barnacle, his future wife. 16th June is now commemorated as Bloomsday.

**It doesn't surprise me that there are several ditties, opera arias, and musical references as James Joyce sang well enough to have become an opera singer had he chosen that career. He knew several opera singers and was a close friend of the famous tenor John McCormack. Joyce’s son became an opera singer.

“Martha, chestnote, return! —
Come!
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the etherial bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness . . . —
To me!”

Joyce’s writing has a musical cadence, and there are sounds of tankards clanging in the pub, of voices, of city noises. There is the sound of mass and confession and the tap, tap, tap as the blind man walks by.

***My approach was a three-pronged attack: reading Ulysses, simultaneously listening to the audio read by Jim Norton and Marcella Riordan, and also reading a biography of James Joyce by Gordon Bowker: James Joyce: A Biography This worked well for me and it certainly enhanced my reading experience.

****Photo: The room in The James Joyce Museum/Martello Tower (Wikipedia)

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The novel is very funny and there’s something to offend almost everybody. The scene with Gerty and the fireworks with its sexual innuendos had me chuckling. Joyce's linguistic dexterity is formidable. I loved the play on words and words playfully created, as well as those crazy lists of names with their incongruous inclusions that kept popping up:

“From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.”

I loved the flights of fancy and the sheer lunacy of it all. But of course some of it was all Irish to me...