A review by david_rhee
Ulysses by James Joyce
5.0
30 April 2019 to 8 June 2019. This seems to be a year of reading failures...or just failures in general. After bungling through Gravity's Rainbow the absolute wrong way, I thought I'd go huddle in the arms of a book I've read three times before only to realize that I'm doing it totally wrong once again. I wish I could consider myself somewhat familiar with Ulysses but I couldn't help wondering at how much I forgot about the book. I forgot how funny it is, how blasphemous it is, how challenging it is. It is just as bewildering to me as it was before for long stretches. This is partially a reflection of my choice of approach for tour number four. I partnered my read with The Bloomsday Book for an almost exclusively macro-view of the book. I kept the Gifford on the shelf even though I retained virtually none of it. What resulted was a lot of head scratches but an overall better grasp of the general direction of the novel. And hey, maybe this is what a failing dwindling brain should be looking for anyway.
This is difficult to explain but I discovered during the course of my undisciplined read that a considerable share of Ulysses' merit resides in the fact that it is not totally literary. That is, it is not merely a tale decorated with a flourish, but it is so near to life itself. The imperfect is almost what reigns in that June 16th, 1904 in Dublin. A misunderstanding of Bloom regarding a horserace follows the cast throughout the day. A typo in a letter lingers in the mind of its recipient. Tragic pasts toy with the future through refracted time. Yet, though it all, the oddities and the silliness, we witness the bumbling tread of the unlikely conqueror. What I learned (besides the need to get serious about my next approach) is that Ulysses is still amazing if and especially when you yourself are far from it.
Oh, and it's only a week away so.. Happy Bloomsday, everyone!
5 May 2018 to 26 May 2018. The first two times I went on this voyage I hired guides and packed plenty of luggage. This time I went alone and brought nothing with me. Just Ulysses and I. You wouldn't believe how much good this can do. To resist snapping photos and thumbing through handbooks but to just walk along and take it all in or let it whiz right over your head at times...it was refreshing even though it was tempting to look something up here and there. That can wait, and besides, we already did all that.
Discarding the painstaking approach of needling through every obscure reference and craning my poor neck to find the right footnote in the Gifford, I took in an encompassing look at a day in the life of Dublin. Amazing things began to happen. "Proteus," an episode I dreaded before, became a beautiful rhythmic stroll of thoughts tumbling over each other like rippling waves. "Lotus Eaters" became more fragrant and hypnotic. "Circe" became even more bizarre but more throttling at its conclusion. "Eumaeus" and "Ithaca" more sobering. "Sirens" more rowdy and snappy. "Scylla and Chabybdis" was like, well, still Scylla and Charybdis. I made my best effort to look beyond the parts to grope at the elusive sum, and it is exhilarating to see the tributaries (the Blooms' marriage, Leopold's quest after Stephen) flow from a core of tragedy (Rudy's death).
My third tour took 3 weeks instead of a couple months as it did before. I'm thoroughly glad I've progressed to the point where I can enjoy this favorite at much more ease thereby growing the hope that I can get to know this masterpiece at a swifter pace. Examining and combing through Bloomsday, though this serves an important purpose, can take a back seat to the unrivalled experience of living through and feeling Bloomsday.
19 July 2016 to 24 Sept 2016. Less than a year after a thorough beating, there I was back for more, bright-eyed and eager. After getting mangled and humbled like I've never, what makes me ask for round two, smiling? Do I hate myself? Or do I love my tormentor? Probably both. There are certainly present the suspiciously self-loathing qualities in myself, but Ulysses can captivate like no other. As difficult as my first read was, I became obsessed with the book, with the language used in it, with its cast, and with 1904 Dublin.
The differences between the second read and the first were shocking and immediately evident. Second reads usually are this way, but with this unique novel the gap of separation widens and the advantages of the repeat reader are greatly augmented. I spent my first read as a monkish copyist would. Immodestly hunched over (my back and neck will never be the same), I was glued to footnotes and overrun by all of the contextual minutiae to be learned. While I am in no way ready to say goodbye to Gifford's notes, I was able to take a step back and take in the novel with a broader scope. First of all, let me tell you, the much-mentioned stream of consciousness technique is not reserved for describing the character of isolated passages. The work as a whole resembles a singular stream of consciousness where seemingly insignificant remarks and scenes reemerge later in the day much like our day's experiences pop up in our dreams, or in the case of Ulysses, hallucinations and visions. I was shocked at the unity of a work so diverse in nature.
While I do love Ulysses, there are parts that bring out the worst in me, e.g. anytime Stephen Dedalus opens his mouth. Stephen can't seem to say five words without spawning a dozen footnotes. For details, see "Proteus" and "Scylla and Charybdis." I find myself identifying more and more with Leopold Bloom. I don't know if that's a good thing. Maybe even with my deep love for classical literary pursuits, I am at heart a sublunary fellow.
But for every "Proteus," there is a "Nausicaa." Beauty abounds in all of its red-faced honesty which is the best part of it all. This beauty is only a refracted image of the true form for one who has read it only once or twice, I believe. The rewards of layers yet to be unearthed still tease from afar. Yes, that is high-flown language, but this is absolutely one of those few books which deserve that level of praise.
18 Aug 2015 to 6 Nov 2015. I needed 80 days for my first tour through the "world without end." Part of me is relieved by the illusory belief that it's over. The other part of me knew very well that I only just began. Many reviewers, I see, refer to Ulysses as some kind of literary Mount Everest. I didn't feel any sense of personal achievement for it was too much of a humbling experience. Ulysses is no Everest; it is much more like Jacob's Peniel. You will not conquer and subdue it. You will struggle and be broken. This was especially true in my case for I'm not a gifted reader when it comes to comprehension. My first time through was devoted mostly to learning context and understanding Joyce's many confounding references by poring over Gifford's annotations. The whole time, however, I can honestly say I genuinely enjoyed it no matter how little outside observers believed me when I told them that.
But think about it...if one would read a novel as long as Ulysses in such an exhausting manner willingly and knowing all the while that this first time through the book is merely groundwork for future readings, that right there indicates this is a rare book. I don't remember being in the middle of reading a book while planning out my approach for the second and the third time I will read the same book (the only exception for me being the Bible). The thoughts are whirring along in my head and I'm actually getting excited about it...second read with the Gifford nearby parallel with the Stuart Gilbert study...third time with the Gifford nearby and alongside Blamires' Bloomsday Book...the fourth time, finally unarmed and alone.
Impressions? Opinions? Mouth agape. No, let's not. Be my teacher and my guide. Eighteen episodes unfurl, EACH with a different style...didn't expect that, so I just watched as Joyce made the English language his [female dog] and had his way with it. There are episodes which require copious amounts of exertion on the reader's part. Exhibit A: "Proteus." You are trapped in Stephen Dedalus' brain. "Let me out of here!" you will beg. One might understandably grow worried because it's not exactly ideal progress to have already tapped one's reserve tank in the third chapter. Enter Leopold Bloom. And you are well on your way once again!
Other notables..."Sirens" plays like a symphony complete with instruments tuning at the opening, quite a treat. I would guess most readers' favorite is the hallucinatory romp through the redlight district in "Circe" (what gives? I guess booze was stronger in those days...well, there was some absinthe involved, I think) which is then beautifully contrasted against the self-reflective Q & A of Ithaca which closely follows.
But look, I know these are highly general observations which just as expected are to come from a guy who read Ulysses the way I read it, painstakingly collecting precious minute particles of context and history thereby erecting a sure barrier to true reading enjoyment and limiting myself to largely superficial impressions. I feel like, and rightfully so, I don't know squat about this book. What I do know is that I love Ulysses and that it will become a part of my life again and again...and this includes filling up on Guinness on Bloomsday. I'll pass on the pork kidney.
This is difficult to explain but I discovered during the course of my undisciplined read that a considerable share of Ulysses' merit resides in the fact that it is not totally literary. That is, it is not merely a tale decorated with a flourish, but it is so near to life itself. The imperfect is almost what reigns in that June 16th, 1904 in Dublin. A misunderstanding of Bloom regarding a horserace follows the cast throughout the day. A typo in a letter lingers in the mind of its recipient. Tragic pasts toy with the future through refracted time. Yet, though it all, the oddities and the silliness, we witness the bumbling tread of the unlikely conqueror. What I learned (besides the need to get serious about my next approach) is that Ulysses is still amazing if and especially when you yourself are far from it.
Oh, and it's only a week away so.. Happy Bloomsday, everyone!
5 May 2018 to 26 May 2018. The first two times I went on this voyage I hired guides and packed plenty of luggage. This time I went alone and brought nothing with me. Just Ulysses and I. You wouldn't believe how much good this can do. To resist snapping photos and thumbing through handbooks but to just walk along and take it all in or let it whiz right over your head at times...it was refreshing even though it was tempting to look something up here and there. That can wait, and besides, we already did all that.
Discarding the painstaking approach of needling through every obscure reference and craning my poor neck to find the right footnote in the Gifford, I took in an encompassing look at a day in the life of Dublin. Amazing things began to happen. "Proteus," an episode I dreaded before, became a beautiful rhythmic stroll of thoughts tumbling over each other like rippling waves. "Lotus Eaters" became more fragrant and hypnotic. "Circe" became even more bizarre but more throttling at its conclusion. "Eumaeus" and "Ithaca" more sobering. "Sirens" more rowdy and snappy. "Scylla and Chabybdis" was like, well, still Scylla and Charybdis. I made my best effort to look beyond the parts to grope at the elusive sum, and it is exhilarating to see the tributaries (the Blooms' marriage, Leopold's quest after Stephen) flow from a core of tragedy (Rudy's death).
My third tour took 3 weeks instead of a couple months as it did before. I'm thoroughly glad I've progressed to the point where I can enjoy this favorite at much more ease thereby growing the hope that I can get to know this masterpiece at a swifter pace. Examining and combing through Bloomsday, though this serves an important purpose, can take a back seat to the unrivalled experience of living through and feeling Bloomsday.
19 July 2016 to 24 Sept 2016. Less than a year after a thorough beating, there I was back for more, bright-eyed and eager. After getting mangled and humbled like I've never, what makes me ask for round two, smiling? Do I hate myself? Or do I love my tormentor? Probably both. There are certainly present the suspiciously self-loathing qualities in myself, but Ulysses can captivate like no other. As difficult as my first read was, I became obsessed with the book, with the language used in it, with its cast, and with 1904 Dublin.
The differences between the second read and the first were shocking and immediately evident. Second reads usually are this way, but with this unique novel the gap of separation widens and the advantages of the repeat reader are greatly augmented. I spent my first read as a monkish copyist would. Immodestly hunched over (my back and neck will never be the same), I was glued to footnotes and overrun by all of the contextual minutiae to be learned. While I am in no way ready to say goodbye to Gifford's notes, I was able to take a step back and take in the novel with a broader scope. First of all, let me tell you, the much-mentioned stream of consciousness technique is not reserved for describing the character of isolated passages. The work as a whole resembles a singular stream of consciousness where seemingly insignificant remarks and scenes reemerge later in the day much like our day's experiences pop up in our dreams, or in the case of Ulysses, hallucinations and visions. I was shocked at the unity of a work so diverse in nature.
While I do love Ulysses, there are parts that bring out the worst in me, e.g. anytime Stephen Dedalus opens his mouth. Stephen can't seem to say five words without spawning a dozen footnotes. For details, see "Proteus" and "Scylla and Charybdis." I find myself identifying more and more with Leopold Bloom. I don't know if that's a good thing. Maybe even with my deep love for classical literary pursuits, I am at heart a sublunary fellow.
But for every "Proteus," there is a "Nausicaa." Beauty abounds in all of its red-faced honesty which is the best part of it all. This beauty is only a refracted image of the true form for one who has read it only once or twice, I believe. The rewards of layers yet to be unearthed still tease from afar. Yes, that is high-flown language, but this is absolutely one of those few books which deserve that level of praise.
18 Aug 2015 to 6 Nov 2015. I needed 80 days for my first tour through the "world without end." Part of me is relieved by the illusory belief that it's over. The other part of me knew very well that I only just began. Many reviewers, I see, refer to Ulysses as some kind of literary Mount Everest. I didn't feel any sense of personal achievement for it was too much of a humbling experience. Ulysses is no Everest; it is much more like Jacob's Peniel. You will not conquer and subdue it. You will struggle and be broken. This was especially true in my case for I'm not a gifted reader when it comes to comprehension. My first time through was devoted mostly to learning context and understanding Joyce's many confounding references by poring over Gifford's annotations. The whole time, however, I can honestly say I genuinely enjoyed it no matter how little outside observers believed me when I told them that.
But think about it...if one would read a novel as long as Ulysses in such an exhausting manner willingly and knowing all the while that this first time through the book is merely groundwork for future readings, that right there indicates this is a rare book. I don't remember being in the middle of reading a book while planning out my approach for the second and the third time I will read the same book (the only exception for me being the Bible). The thoughts are whirring along in my head and I'm actually getting excited about it...second read with the Gifford nearby parallel with the Stuart Gilbert study...third time with the Gifford nearby and alongside Blamires' Bloomsday Book...the fourth time, finally unarmed and alone.
Impressions? Opinions? Mouth agape. No, let's not. Be my teacher and my guide. Eighteen episodes unfurl, EACH with a different style...didn't expect that, so I just watched as Joyce made the English language his [female dog] and had his way with it. There are episodes which require copious amounts of exertion on the reader's part. Exhibit A: "Proteus." You are trapped in Stephen Dedalus' brain. "Let me out of here!" you will beg. One might understandably grow worried because it's not exactly ideal progress to have already tapped one's reserve tank in the third chapter. Enter Leopold Bloom. And you are well on your way once again!
Other notables..."Sirens" plays like a symphony complete with instruments tuning at the opening, quite a treat. I would guess most readers' favorite is the hallucinatory romp through the redlight district in "Circe" (what gives? I guess booze was stronger in those days...well, there was some absinthe involved, I think) which is then beautifully contrasted against the self-reflective Q & A of Ithaca which closely follows.
But look, I know these are highly general observations which just as expected are to come from a guy who read Ulysses the way I read it, painstakingly collecting precious minute particles of context and history thereby erecting a sure barrier to true reading enjoyment and limiting myself to largely superficial impressions. I feel like, and rightfully so, I don't know squat about this book. What I do know is that I love Ulysses and that it will become a part of my life again and again...and this includes filling up on Guinness on Bloomsday. I'll pass on the pork kidney.