Founded On a Mondegreen (Sort of)

OK, so the Cream song running through my head when I write this blog is not
"Tales of Great Ulysses", but
"Tales of Brave Ulysses" .

With tales of brave Ulysses;
how his naked ears were tortured
By the sirens sweetly singing.

Not quite a Mondegreen, but still a misheard lyric. It's all a sham now. However shall I go on?

This blog is beastly dead.

Fergus Rules the Brazen Cars (9 of 783)

And we're back. Might as well face it, writing about Ulysses every day is even more challenging than reading it every day. Heck, picking out the post title alone can consume 5 minutes or more. Tonight's was a no brainer. Though Sassenach do garner a few votes, there was something about Fergus that screamed "Page 9".

How's this for a seminal work. This book still has buzz, 80+ years after it came to be. Turns out I'm not the only idiot blogger reading this thing page-by-page. I can't find the link at the moment, but there is someone else out there.

For those of you reading vicariously through this blog (though bog might be the more appropriate term -- you silly gits), Kinch was offended by Buck's off hand remarks regarding his mother's demise. Buck has had enough of the conversation and retreats downstairs to cook breakfast, booming out a verse (poetry or song?) ....

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery
For Fergus rules the brazen cars.

Turns out Kinch was singing this song while his mother was dying, and she was crying for the words "love's bitter mystery".

There's some more color play between white and green on the sea, the "bowl of bitter waters." But what's the deal with this verse? Ah, it is a snatch from a Yeats' poem. Yeats is, I understand, an Irish author of some repute, but again my education, reading list and/or memory fail me and I cannot call to mind a single work.

The poem contains the line "White breast of the dim sea", which Kinch broods over, but he seems to brood over just about everything. As his mother is only recently beastly dead, we'll let him brood. As to the analysis of the poem -- that's outside the scope this blog for the moment.

This Page Intentionally Blank

I read my page, but I do not have time to post in full.

Beastly Dead (8 of 783)

I so enjoy a good story that I get caught up in the tale and often take the author's words literally, missing even the obvious symbolism. This sucked some 0f the joy out of literature classes, either the stories were such horrid reads that they existed only for their symbolism (think Hawthorne), or I was so busy looking for the "deeper" meaning I missed the story.

I'm going to miss a lot of symbolism in Ulysses, even with close reading. Joyce has layered it to the margins. Of course, one man's symbol is another's straightforward sentence. Words can be holographic, with multiple meanings intertwined along different wavelengths. The meaning can depend on the reader's phase, which can change depending on mood, circumstance, memory, and sanity. Some wavelengths are easily tuned, and others defy easy acquisition and are rarely revealed.

And sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

The previous page had Kinch on the edge of revealing why he was upset with Buck. The mystery is revealed here. He is upset with Buck because is not showing the proper reverence for his state of mourning, in particular because Buck had introduced Kinch to his own mother with "O, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead." Buck flushes and takes the offensive to defend this comment, trivializing Kinch's sole experience with death by comparing it to his own daily encounters and trivializing death itself as "a beastly thing and nothing else." He attacks Kinch for not honoring his dying mother's last wish to pray for her, and finally less than quarter-heartedly apologizes "I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother."

Kinch even more incensed states "I am not thinking of the offence to my mother."

Conflict: the basis of all interesting literature. Buck comes across as shallow and cynical at best, even if emotional detachment and the denial of death are necessary tools for a medicine man. Kinch is more sympathetic because his mother has recently died, but is refusal to pray for her tempers this feeling.

Now, is Kinch's dead mother a symbol with a deeper meaning? a way to make the reader feel for Kinch? or is it simply a source of conflict bewteen our two characters?

If it is a symbol, what is it a symbol of? the Catholic church? Ireland? the world? The last makes some sense. The feminine is more closely associated with the earth than the masculine, with its more heavenly aspirations. Does this mean the world is dead?

Does any of this tie into the "Greekness" of Kinch? Too early to tell, but the way Joyce has carried on about it, I'm sure we'll be discussing this again, and again, and again...

Giddy Ox (7 of 783)

One peculiarity of the blog is that it is inverted compared to traditional forms of written expression. The first page the reader sees is the last that the author has written. It stresses the current at the expense of the past, which is wonderful for news and people who like to read the end of the story first, but is hell on narrative structure. This becomes very apparent when one is using a blog to write a novel or, in this case, write about a novel. New readers (chuckle, chuckle) are treated to inadvertant in medias res. One must peruse the archives to find the start of the narrative thread.

I briefly considered inverting my order of review and beginning with the last page, so that when this sojourn is complete the blog would start with "Stately, plump Buck" and end where ever it ends. But my insanity did not reach that far. So, if you, dear reader, have stumbled here, my apologies. There is a link to the archives about if you really must know what bee is in my bonnet, or more sensibly hit the back button and forget your visit down this rabbit hole.

OK, this page makes it clear, Buck is not a priest --mea stupida -- he is a medicine man of some sort, as the lancet is his tool. This explains his ready access to cadavers and their clothes.

Buck is trying to get Kinch out of his blahs, grabs him by the arm , walks him around the tower and suggests that he tell Haines his remark about "the cracked lookingglass of the servant" and hit him up for some money. He flatters Kinch, entreats him to be more open and says together they could "do something for the island. Hellenise it." and tells him that if Haines is bothering him that he'll give (with Seymour's help) Haines a ragging worse than Clive Kempthorpe received.

There is then a long recounting of a party in Clive Kempthorpe's room, where young Clive was depantsed and was being chased by someone wielding scissors and did not want to be "debagged". All this activity was accompanied by shouts of "To ourselves...new paganism...omphalos."

When all the cajoling does not work, Buck asks Kinch "what have you against me now?" They stopped walking and Stephen freed his arm quietly.

Wow, a cliffhanger for a page ending. Almost makes me want to cheat...But I'll resist.

More Greek references. Buck wants to Hellenise Ireland. Not sure what he means: its art, its politics, its mood.

Then we have a party with "moneyed" voices, a party of people freed from morals, celebrating a new paganism, able to focus on the themselves and their own navels. Who else would be interesting. Is this something Buck aspires to and and cannot achieve?

It is also becomming clear that Kinch is a writer of some sort. He wields a "steelpen" and Buck has referred to him repeatedly as a "bard". Of course, he also has referred to him as a Jesuit, which caused me a wee confusion.

Dogsbody (6 of 783)

I had a dream last night that I was actually in the novel, watching Buck shave. It all happened in slow motion and the colors were very bright as in a video game. This is the first time I have ever dreamed about being in a book. Maybe there is something magical about Ulysses afterall.

That being said, I realize that a page-by-page blog about a novel, if not the world's most trvial pursuit, is definitely in the Top 10. Blogging is the not the world's weightest endeavor to begin with, and lit crit even in its most serious form is little more then mental masturbation -- and this is far from serious lit crit. The combination of the two cannot have heft without invoking alchemy or some other magick [sic].

So, it is more than fair to ask, why? Why spend the time and further bloat the Internet with something no one is ever going to read? Why, why, why?

Because I need a little mental masturbation. Masturbation, of any variety is not inherently evil (those who quote the story of Onan in response can sod themselves). It is a form of exercise and both the mind and body need exercise on a daily basis. This is my little work out. If all goes well it is simply preparation for crafting my own hefty tome about an obscure writer who found fame and fortune by blogging about Ulysses, and I too will join the ranks of DWM authors and be cursed by college students for decades hence.

And I perform this act on the Internet, because every act in 2006 is performed on the Internet. It also somehow feels slightly subversive to discuss Ulysses in any public forum.

Back to our daily jolt of Joyce's masturbatory? act...

If it isn't clear after reading this page that Kinch is broke, then it's time to put down the book and find a "Dick and Jane" primer. Kinch is wearing hand-me-downs Buck lifted from a body. Buck is offering him more, while kidding Kinch about his general appearance and his refusal to wear grey even though he "killed" his mother, because "Ettiquette is ettiquette".

Buck holds up his shaving mirror to Kinch's face to get him to acknowledge his appearance. Kinch is wallowing and wonders who chose this face for him. Buck says he swiped the mirror from his cleaning woman and Kinch declares it "a symbol of Irish Art. The cracked lookingglass of the servant."

A great vocabulary expanding page: dogsbody, skivvy, breeks, and bowsy.

I am having severe doubts that Kinch is a priest, unless priests were in the habit of swiping clothes from dead bodies or mirrors from servants, or being tempted by cleaning women. Perhaps he had been in seminary or was just dragged to mass on a daily basis by a devout grandmother.

Joyce's swipe at Irish art sounds like current complaints about what constitutes art. Was he ahead of his time, or are these complaints timeless? Is Joyce making fun of his own art? Find out tommorow (or sometime in the next two years) on "As Ulysses Turns".

Snotgreen (5 of 783)

A taste of things to come? This page opens with Buck proclaiming a new colour (love the English-English spelling) for Irish poets, based on the contents of Kinch's noserag -- snotgreen -- which he then uses to describe the sea, obviously visible from the parapet where is he shaving. He then breaks into Greek, epi oinopa ponton, which means "to the sea that looks like wine", and descibes the sea as "our great sweet mother."

He calls Kinch (aka Stephen Dedalus) a cold bastard (hyperborean was the exact word) for refusing to pray with his own mother when she was dying. Under his breath he says Kinch is the loveliest mummer of them all, and continued to shave. Kinch spends the rest of the page remembering a dream about his mother visiting him after her death, she smelled of wax and rosewood, and her breath smelled of wetted ashes. He then compares the green sea to the bowl "green sluggish bile" next to her deathbed, filled by her vomitting.

Yum, from a snotgreen rag to a bowl of vile in a single page. Except for the Greek and 5+ syllable words, this could have been from a pilot script of an MTV grossout show. Reading about bodily functions could have been a bit discomfitting to the "civilized" reader circa 192o.

A lot of conflicting imagery here, in order, from Buck:

sea = grey sweet mother
sea = snotgreen
sea = scrotumtightening
sea = looks like wine
sea = great sweet mother

then Kinch:
bay = dull green mass of liquid
white china bowl full of green sluggish bile

Scrotumtightening doesn't sound positive, yet Buck segues through this appellation from snotgreen to the sea being "our great sweet mother". It sounds like praise, but is it backhanded? or is Buck conflicted about the sea? Or his own mother?

Kinch is clearly less enthused about the sea "hailed as great sweet mother" by Buck. Of course his mother has died painfully, he has been accused of killing her (spiritually anyway), so perhaps he is not enthused about anything, despite his brave face. Any bets on when or if this becomes clear? No fair reading ahead.

Tomorrow on as "Ulysses" turns...
- Will Buck finish shaving?
- Will Kinch blow his nose?
- What does he really think about his mother?
- What other bodily emission will be described in colorful detail?

Two Dactyls (4 of 783)

I had the blindingly obvious realization today that if I actually complete this literary odyssey, that this blog will have as many posts and Ulysses has pages (give/take the occasional blank page, etc.). That is a long slog itself, for anyone foolish enough to follow along. The only advantage to reading the blog is that punctuation is more frequently employed, but really, anyone reading this should pick up a copy of Ulysses and read it instead.

Joyce took 7 years to write Ulysses (you try writing/editing a three+ page sentence in less than a week). It was published in serial form from 1918 to 1920 in the The Little Review, an American literary magazine, so I feel there is some symmetry in reading and reviewing it in serial form.

Of course, the serialization ended when, according to Wikipedia, The Little Review was "shut down when its editors were convicted of publishing obscenity". There hasn't been anything purient, even by early 20th century standards, in the first two pages. But, given that this copy of Ulysses contains the text of a Supreme Court ruling on the subject of obscenity, it is a certainty that the novel twisted somebody's knickers and at least contributed to the conviction. I can only hope/fear that this blog attains the same notoriety.

But let's get back to Buck Mulligan, the plump prelate, and Stephen Dedalus, the jejune jesuit...

Buck starts his shave, and makes fun of his own name for consisting of two dactyls and sounding "Hellenic". Buck mentions taking a trip to Athens if he can get "20 quid" from the aunt. They discuss Haines, the crazy Englishman who is living in the tower as well. Dedalus says he was "raving all night about a black panther" and threatening to shoot it. Dedalus says he will leave if Haines stays on. Buck proclaims the nickname he has for Dedalus -- Kinch -- as Dadelus' "best name" and realizes that he has forgotten a rag to wipe his razor blade. He grabs Kinch's "noserag" from his pocket and wipes it "neatly" on a "dirty crumpled handkerchief".

Kinch, according to Buck, means "the knife blade." Why Buck feels the need to go on about names is not clear, nor is it apparent why Kinch is "the best" name for Dedalus. For people of a certain age and television viewing habits, the name Kinch will at least stir the memory of the character of the same nickname in "Hogan's Heroes". Was the show's creator, Albert S. Ruddy, a Joyce fan? Was the sitcom character, Sgt. James "Kinch" Kinchloe, an homage to Ruddy's favorite literary character? Something to ponder the next time I catch an episode.

Introibo Ad Altare Dei (3 of 783)

There's Latin on the first page. It was one of those times I wish I had had a classical education, and I could translate any Latin I encountered without even thinking about it and read on. Instead I came screeching to a halt. Fortunately, Google came to the rescue, Introibo Ad Altare Dei means "I go to the altar of God".

Dei I knew meant God, the rest was, well, Latin to me. The phrase is the opening to the Latin mass, which is either full of portent or just a means of quickly introducing the character, who uttered it, Buck Mulligan, as clearly a priest. He is described as stately and plump, recalling a "patron of arts in the middle ages". His actions seem a bit odd, though they seem to be those of one very comfortable in his world.

Buck is carrying his shaving implements and rousing various members of the household, while going through priestly machinations. He also greets the sleepy Stephen Dedalus, and makes fun of his name, calling it "your absurd name, an ancient Greek". Dedalus, of course, is probably best known for crafting the wings for his son Icarus, who then flew too close to the sun.

So, one page in, we have Latin, a reference to a mythical Greek, whistling and total lack of quotation marks, which makes it a bit hard to tell where dialog ends and narration begins. Joyce either had a broken typewriter, or is making a conscious effort to blur the lines between the two. The start of each utterance is indicated by a -- at least, and the end is usually clear with careful reading.

One page in and I am enjoying it. We have a potentially interesting character in Buck and the curiously named character, Dedalus. Despite the Latin and the punctutational peculiarlities, I am drawn in and can't wait for page two.

The astute and detail driven will note that the novel actually begins on page 2, with a full page drop capital S starting "Stately, plump". (For the insanely curious, Page 1 contains only the roman numeral I). Counting either of those as pages seemed like a a bit of a cheat, so I continued on.

Words Requiring More Context or Investigation
These are words that I did not understand, or could not comprehend what they referred to. I'll revisit them later.

• "genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns."
• Chrysostomos. (It's a Saint's name, and might refer to a character -we'll find out.)

Every Journey Begins With A Single Page

Some years ago, when I had this thing called free time, I purchased a used copy of Ulysses, by James Joyce. At the time, this book had been on the edge of my imagination, a tome I had heard discussed, usually accompanied by groans. Most people admitted to never having read it -- at least not beyond the first few pages -- yet at the same time it was held as one of the seminal works of western literature. Chancing upon it that night, I took it home and decided to read for myself.

Life being what it is, I read the first few pages, put it down and never picked it up again. Years ensued, children were born, households were moved cross country, the Red Sox won the World Series, and Ulysses sat untouched next to Fear of Flying, until today.

It probably would have remained on the shelf and been sold in bulk with our other books by my heirs, but this weekend past I enjoyed a performance of "All The Great Books (abridged)" by the Reduced Shakepeare Company. Ulysses was prominently featured in a very amusing bit and my interest was rekindled. I vowed to read, or at least attempt to read, this book, for much the same reason that people climb Mt. Everest. But unlike climbing Everest, it only cost me $10, and I will only risk my sanity.

In a way, I've been training for this all my life. As a child I read "The Chronicle of Narnia" at least 3 times through. In high school, I read "The Lord of the Rings" (including the Hobbit) twice, and also read the NIV bible twice including the slog through Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. I've read War & Peace 1 7/8 times (I lost it with a few chapters left the first time through and couldn't remember it when I tried to restart, so I took it from the beginning.) Finally, I also managed to peruse an other weighty classic -- Atlas Shrugged, though I must confess I skimmed over John Galt's 40-page speech. (Note to Ayn: I had the point by then.)

A quick glance through Uylsses confirmed half-remembered comments that it contains sentences that can run on for pages, but I figure if I survived the literary desert of Numbers twice, I can make it through a trackless novel.

Ulysses is 782 1/2 pages long. At a page per day, that's a little over 2 years (2 years 52+ days). That seems like a reasonable and attainable goal. Every day I will read a page, and write about it here. This is mostly to keep me honest and to keep track of the characters and where I am in the story.