Thursday 18 August 2011
Book Two Episode Twelve: Cyclops
It's a man's world
Violence, heroism, machismo, nationalism, anti-Semitism, misogyny, homophobia, everything you love to hate about the male of the species is here, and all wrapped up in a big box o' funny. "Cyclops" is where Joyce compacts all of what he sees as wrong with his country and his people into an aesthetic thesis statement of sorts. It is also where we get to see Joyce's humor in full throttle, from the virtuoso use of local language and color, to the outlandish parodies which tussle with the unnamed narrator for the reader's attention. It is one of my absolute favorite episodes. The parodies in particular are killer.
Taking place in Barney Kiernan's public house this is clearly a mens only affair. Not that the rest of Ulysses isn't. If one took Ulysses at face value as an indicator of Dublin city life, they'd be left to conclude that there were five men for every woman. Yes, Ulysses is a sausagefest (as the kids like to say nowadays), but then I suppose that at the turn of the century Dublin public life was the domain of men. And because it was primarily the men who determined the course and fate of the city and the nation, it is the men of Ireland who bear the brunt of Joyce's satirical scorn.
I imagine the only thing which might cause you some difficulty in reading this episode is the narrative arm wrestling match that takes place between the unidentified narrator of the happenings in Barney Kiernan's -- the "I" of "Cyclops" (pun intended?) -- and the apparent myriad of voices that intervene out of the blue. Undoubtedly, if you have not had prior warning before starting the episode, your first encounter with this sudden style shift would be confusing. But I suppose (hope) you'd eventually figure out Joyce's little game and just continue on as if nothing was amiss. What purpose these narrative intrusions serve, I cannot say for sure, but they should not be skipped, ignored, or blown through without regard. If only for their sheer humor you should read them in full. They are hilarious. And of course, they provide necessary content and give us valuable pieces to our puzzle as we try to put together broader meanings of the story.
For instance, the final parody which begins "When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness..." is both a description of Bloom's narrow escape from being brained by a biscuit tin -- a modern reenactment of Odysseus' escape from the leader of the Cyclops's, Polyphemus in Homer's Odyssey -- and a direct correlation of Bloom as both Christ (ascending to heaven) and Elijah the heralding prophet. Note also Joyce's virtuoso and economy at work in this passage as he compacts a number of symbols into one tight paragraph while simultaneously doing justice to Homer's original. We see the Citizen (Polyphemus) blinded by fire, "Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes...," hurling his stone at the fleeing ship (tin and coach respectively), while Odysseus-Bloom baits him with insults. And remember, all of the Bloomian associations (Odysseus, Christ, Elijah) have been pre-established before this point. That's craftsmanship people!
The episode's narrator himself, the unidentified "I", is a bit of a mystery. Some random Dubliner, a collector of bad debts and a barfly (what male Dubliner isn't a barfly in Ulysses?), he has been empowered by Joyce to take the reins and continue the tale of Bloom's wanderings. This is a departure from the other episodes where the story (when it's not presented in interior monologue) is given to us via a third-person omniscient narrator. If I haven't mentioned it before, this third person narrator is often referred to as the "Arranger" by many scholars. I only mention it now because some of those same scholars believe the voice(s) jostling with the nameless I is this same Arranger. I am not convinced this is the case, and I suppose for our purposes it doesn't matter one way or the other. Just thought I'd put it out there as some extra information.
In any event, the nameless I's narration is very easy to follow, which should be a relief to you as it makes the episode proceed with relative ease. On top of this he's a hoot (to quote the state of Minnesota). This episode should provide you with some much needed entertainment as we slowly make our way toward the homestretch of Ulysses.
Raw Notes
Violence, heroism, machismo, nationalism, anti-Semitism, misogyny, homophobia.
"Jesus, I had to laugh at the little jewy getting his shirt out."
"You saw his ghost then, says Joe, God between us and harm."
"...I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs..."
"The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley."
"Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a half and half."
"A dishonoured wife, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes."
"The strangers, says the citizen. Our own fault. We let them come in."
"Boylan plunged two quid on my tip Sceptre for himself and a lady friend."
"But, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. I mean wouldn't it be the same here if you put force against force?"
Wednesday 17 August 2011
The Ongoing Trials of Ulysses
Refuting Slate Magazine's Anti-Ulysses Column: "Is Ulysses Overrated? All but one chapter—and not the one you think.". By Ron Rosenbaum for Slate Magazine - Posted Thursday, April 7, 2011
Dear Reader,
Let me take a moment away from our investigation of James Joyce’s Ulysses to address something that has been stuck in my craw for a while.
In publishing the Thursday, April 7, 2011 article "Is Ulysses Overrated? All but one chapter—and not the one you think." By Ron Rosenbaum, Slate magazine committed the sin of taking an axe to one of literature’s sacred cows. In Homer's Odyssey, when the sacred cattle of the sun god Helios are slaughtered, death is the sentence levied on the perpetrators. But we live in less unsparing times, and this is of course a sacrilege of words, not carnage, so I suppose a polite textual rebuff is appropriate in this instance. In that spirit I would like to take this opportunity to address some of Mr. Rosenbaum's claims and to make a case for why James Joyce's Ulysses is worth reading... in its entirety.
Mr. Rosenbaum's general claim is that save for one episode, "Ithaca", one need not bother reading Ulysses. This suggestion is unacceptable for a couple of reasons. First off, the proposition that reading any single excerpt from any great book is a sufficient alternative to reading the entire text strikes me as irresponsible coming from someone who has devoted his life to literature. Secondly, while I am fully onboard with Mr. Rosenbaum's appreciation of the "Ithaca" episode, I must confess it took me three tries to get there. "Ithaca" is a dry read out of context, and it only comes alive within the broader context of the story. If a reader can appreciate "Ithaca" on the strength of its creativity and the style of its prose alone, I am confident that that same reader will appreciate the entire book with all of it's quirks and difficulties.
One of Mr. Rosenbaum's particular criticisms seems to be that Ulysses isn't Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, another of Joyce's masterpieces. In his words, "Portrait of the Artist... didn't need [to be] blown up to Death-Star size and overinfused with deadly portentousness." With all due respect to Mr. Rosenbaum, yes it did. What has apparently escaped Mr. Rosenbaum is the fact that Portrait and Ulysses are of a piece, the latter text written as the fulfillment of the former. The two books are best understood in relation to one another. (For a more thorough explication of this connection he might consult Charles Peake's James Joyce, the Citizen and the Artist.)
The continuation of Stephen Dedalus' story from the end of Portrait transitioning into Ulysses isn't simply a neat literary device, nor is it a vehicle of convenience, it is an absolute necessity. Stephen's is the voice which Joyce chooses to advance his own real life ambitions, dreams and aesthetic agendas. Joyce's objective was to author Ireland's national epic in order, not to recapture the past glories of Erin, but to forge its future. Ulysses is both the story of how that national epic was shaped, and the national epic itself. It is the book that authors its own existence.
The presumption made by many readers (and wannabe readers) of Ulysses is that it's a book full of literary parlor tricks, arcane allusions and complicated symbolism to no end. The belief is that Joyce was engaged in literary snobbery and smartypantism for the sake of showing everyone how superior he was to the rest of us. This is certainly what Rosenbaum would have us believe when he decries Ulysses as:
...an overwrought, overwritten epic of gratingly obvious, self-congratulatory, show-off erudition that, with its overstuffed symbolism and leaden attempts at humor... bearable only by terminal graduate students who demand we validate the time they've wasted reading it.
Well, I was not an English major, nor did my graduate studies require me to read Ulysses, yet I managed the book just fine. And so have many other readers of Ulysses. I can also tell you with certainty that the validation I received from reading Ulysses has come entirely from the revelations of the text itself, and not through the acknowledgment of others. Of course, I suppose that Mr. Rosenbaum and others of his ilk would probably say that people just pretend to enjoy the book in order to seem intelligent or well read. It is this attitude that galls me. It's quite fair to read Ulysses and hate it. I know people who have done just that. But it is arrogant to presume that just because he didn't understand the book or enjoy the reading that no else could possibly understand or enjoy it either.
But I am not here to bury Mr. Rosenbaum, but to praise Ulysses. So I should get on with the business of offering my defense and explaining why the book is actually worth reading.
Contrary to the views of Mr. Rosenbaum, there are many things about about Ulysses that makes it worthy of the effort. If you like beautifully written prose look no further. Even Mr. Rosenbaum must acknowledge that Joyce was a fantastic craftsman of the written word and he himself attests to the virtuosity to be found in Ulysses. But for me this is the least valuable aspect ofUlysses.
Ulysses is also a book that makes learners of its readers. If you take an interest in trying to make sense of Joyce's thicket of references, symbols, and allusions you will naturally progress from becoming a passive recipient of information to an active seeker of knowledge. From personal experience I can say that my knowledge of Shakespeare has improved immensely after reading Ulysses. As a Shakespearean scholar Mr. Rosenbaum should appreciate that. Plus, owing to Ulysses, I have delved into readings on the occult to unravel the Eastern philosophical mysteries that populate the text and shape the story, discovered the poetry and art of William Blake, become better versed in Homer's Odyssey and Iliad (and thereby Greek mythology in general), revisited Dante's Inferno, and discovered the intricate historical evolution of the Christian Trinitarian doctrine adding the names Arius, Sabellieus, and Photius to my lexicon of random knowledge.
These are only a few of the intellectual gains I have received by reading Ulysses. As a graduate of an advanced degree program in Liberal Studies, the multidisciplinary approach of Joyce's Ulysses embodies everything in learning that I hold dear. If I had my way, every Liberal Studies program would be required to teach a course on Ulysses.
But as much as I value the learning aspect of Ulysses, there is another aspect of the book which holds even higher value for the reader, and it is on this basis above all others that I endorse Ulysses.
Ulysses is not just a learner's book but also a thinker's book. It is reading for diligent, curious people who want more than mere entertainment for their reading experience. One needn't be a "terminal graduate student", literary scholar, or bonafide genius to enjoy Ulysses. What you absolutely must be is an advanced reader (in the John Mortimer sense of the word). Ulysses isn't simply about reading, it is about using your brain. To understand Ulysses is to conjecture, ask questions, and hypothesize. In short it is an exercise in critical thinking, and this is the supreme value of the book.
Ulysses is Modern Art in the truest sense. Concerned about the relationship between art and society, it is the story of the redemptive powers of aesthetics, and the belief that art can change the world for the better. "To forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated consciousness of my race" is not just a sweet literary catchphrase, it is a mission statement. When Joyce wrote Ulysses he was on a mission to fix a broken country and to give it voice and legitimacy in the world. He believed that his means were much more efficacious (and humane) than the political bluster or military might chosen by his peers and elders. When Stephen Dedalus chooses "silence, exile, and cunning" as his only weapons, he is speaking on behalf of Joyce himself. These are the means which Joyce employed to realize his goals, and Ulysses is the tangible fulfillment of his lifelong objective of employing art as savior. With Ulysses Joyce became Ireland's national voice, and gave the world a work of art that is, nearly a century later, still considered to sit among the greatest writing ever produced.
For us as readers the value of this modernist masterpiece is in the work that it requires of us. What makes Ulysses worth reading is that we learn a great deal through the process of trying to come to terms with what the text might mean. I have spent time and effort to cobble together my own ideas and theories about what this book is about. I have done this with Ulysses as opposed to other texts because few other texts have demanded this of me. This is not to say that other books cannot be probed for deeper meaning. There are any number of great works of literature from Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment to Morrison's Beloved that can provide the hungry reader with a bounty of literary nutrition. But the style of the writing of these texts don't demand it. You can just as easily read them once, enjoy them sufficiently, understand them on a superficial level, and move on satisfied with your yield. Ulysses does not afford this luxury, because you're either in or you’re out with Ulysses. Joyce gives the reader nothing for free, save for beautiful prose. Everything else must be earned.
The fact that Ulysses is not an effortless read, the fact that it is obscure, the fact that it's erudite are all of the things that make it so incredibly worthwhile. This book isn't for everyone. There are even those who might go so far as to argue that it is only for the very few. But, just because Ulysses isn't for everyone doesn't mean that it isn't for anyone. And it doesn't mean it isn't worth reading.
At this point you might be wondering if I have come to bury Ulysses or praise it? Time? Effort? Work!? This doesn't sound like a picnic in the park. I assure you that I consider these requirements selling points, with a caveat: Ulysses may not be for you. My goal here is not to convince you that Ulysses is a 'must read before you die' book. It's not. And I don't want to give the impression it is a good book for everyone to read. It isn't. I am simply making the case that Ulysses is worth reading, and that despite the cheap shots that it sometimes takes from its detractors, there is plenty to redeem this masterpiece. You don't have to agree that it is the greatest novel of the twentieth-century, but it's hard to imagine a reasonable person categorically dismissing Ulysses as not worthy of being read.
The bottom line: if you like challenges, if you like mysteries, if you like great prose writing, if you don't mind learning something, and if your ego can handle the idea that you don't know everything, then Ulysses is definitely worth your time and effort. If the above criteria do not apply to you and you simply want entertainment and excitement in your reading, then grab a copy of The Da Vinci Code and godspeed.
Dear Reader,
Let me take a moment away from our investigation of James Joyce’s Ulysses to address something that has been stuck in my craw for a while.
In publishing the Thursday, April 7, 2011 article "Is Ulysses Overrated? All but one chapter—and not the one you think." By Ron Rosenbaum, Slate magazine committed the sin of taking an axe to one of literature’s sacred cows. In Homer's Odyssey, when the sacred cattle of the sun god Helios are slaughtered, death is the sentence levied on the perpetrators. But we live in less unsparing times, and this is of course a sacrilege of words, not carnage, so I suppose a polite textual rebuff is appropriate in this instance. In that spirit I would like to take this opportunity to address some of Mr. Rosenbaum's claims and to make a case for why James Joyce's Ulysses is worth reading... in its entirety.
Mr. Rosenbaum's general claim is that save for one episode, "Ithaca", one need not bother reading Ulysses. This suggestion is unacceptable for a couple of reasons. First off, the proposition that reading any single excerpt from any great book is a sufficient alternative to reading the entire text strikes me as irresponsible coming from someone who has devoted his life to literature. Secondly, while I am fully onboard with Mr. Rosenbaum's appreciation of the "Ithaca" episode, I must confess it took me three tries to get there. "Ithaca" is a dry read out of context, and it only comes alive within the broader context of the story. If a reader can appreciate "Ithaca" on the strength of its creativity and the style of its prose alone, I am confident that that same reader will appreciate the entire book with all of it's quirks and difficulties.
One of Mr. Rosenbaum's particular criticisms seems to be that Ulysses isn't Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, another of Joyce's masterpieces. In his words, "Portrait of the Artist... didn't need [to be] blown up to Death-Star size and overinfused with deadly portentousness." With all due respect to Mr. Rosenbaum, yes it did. What has apparently escaped Mr. Rosenbaum is the fact that Portrait and Ulysses are of a piece, the latter text written as the fulfillment of the former. The two books are best understood in relation to one another. (For a more thorough explication of this connection he might consult Charles Peake's James Joyce, the Citizen and the Artist.)
The continuation of Stephen Dedalus' story from the end of Portrait transitioning into Ulysses isn't simply a neat literary device, nor is it a vehicle of convenience, it is an absolute necessity. Stephen's is the voice which Joyce chooses to advance his own real life ambitions, dreams and aesthetic agendas. Joyce's objective was to author Ireland's national epic in order, not to recapture the past glories of Erin, but to forge its future. Ulysses is both the story of how that national epic was shaped, and the national epic itself. It is the book that authors its own existence.
The presumption made by many readers (and wannabe readers) of Ulysses is that it's a book full of literary parlor tricks, arcane allusions and complicated symbolism to no end. The belief is that Joyce was engaged in literary snobbery and smartypantism for the sake of showing everyone how superior he was to the rest of us. This is certainly what Rosenbaum would have us believe when he decries Ulysses as:
...an overwrought, overwritten epic of gratingly obvious, self-congratulatory, show-off erudition that, with its overstuffed symbolism and leaden attempts at humor... bearable only by terminal graduate students who demand we validate the time they've wasted reading it.
Well, I was not an English major, nor did my graduate studies require me to read Ulysses, yet I managed the book just fine. And so have many other readers of Ulysses. I can also tell you with certainty that the validation I received from reading Ulysses has come entirely from the revelations of the text itself, and not through the acknowledgment of others. Of course, I suppose that Mr. Rosenbaum and others of his ilk would probably say that people just pretend to enjoy the book in order to seem intelligent or well read. It is this attitude that galls me. It's quite fair to read Ulysses and hate it. I know people who have done just that. But it is arrogant to presume that just because he didn't understand the book or enjoy the reading that no else could possibly understand or enjoy it either.
But I am not here to bury Mr. Rosenbaum, but to praise Ulysses. So I should get on with the business of offering my defense and explaining why the book is actually worth reading.
Contrary to the views of Mr. Rosenbaum, there are many things about about Ulysses that makes it worthy of the effort. If you like beautifully written prose look no further. Even Mr. Rosenbaum must acknowledge that Joyce was a fantastic craftsman of the written word and he himself attests to the virtuosity to be found in Ulysses. But for me this is the least valuable aspect ofUlysses.
Ulysses is also a book that makes learners of its readers. If you take an interest in trying to make sense of Joyce's thicket of references, symbols, and allusions you will naturally progress from becoming a passive recipient of information to an active seeker of knowledge. From personal experience I can say that my knowledge of Shakespeare has improved immensely after reading Ulysses. As a Shakespearean scholar Mr. Rosenbaum should appreciate that. Plus, owing to Ulysses, I have delved into readings on the occult to unravel the Eastern philosophical mysteries that populate the text and shape the story, discovered the poetry and art of William Blake, become better versed in Homer's Odyssey and Iliad (and thereby Greek mythology in general), revisited Dante's Inferno, and discovered the intricate historical evolution of the Christian Trinitarian doctrine adding the names Arius, Sabellieus, and Photius to my lexicon of random knowledge.
These are only a few of the intellectual gains I have received by reading Ulysses. As a graduate of an advanced degree program in Liberal Studies, the multidisciplinary approach of Joyce's Ulysses embodies everything in learning that I hold dear. If I had my way, every Liberal Studies program would be required to teach a course on Ulysses.
But as much as I value the learning aspect of Ulysses, there is another aspect of the book which holds even higher value for the reader, and it is on this basis above all others that I endorse Ulysses.
Ulysses is not just a learner's book but also a thinker's book. It is reading for diligent, curious people who want more than mere entertainment for their reading experience. One needn't be a "terminal graduate student", literary scholar, or bonafide genius to enjoy Ulysses. What you absolutely must be is an advanced reader (in the John Mortimer sense of the word). Ulysses isn't simply about reading, it is about using your brain. To understand Ulysses is to conjecture, ask questions, and hypothesize. In short it is an exercise in critical thinking, and this is the supreme value of the book.
Ulysses is Modern Art in the truest sense. Concerned about the relationship between art and society, it is the story of the redemptive powers of aesthetics, and the belief that art can change the world for the better. "To forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated consciousness of my race" is not just a sweet literary catchphrase, it is a mission statement. When Joyce wrote Ulysses he was on a mission to fix a broken country and to give it voice and legitimacy in the world. He believed that his means were much more efficacious (and humane) than the political bluster or military might chosen by his peers and elders. When Stephen Dedalus chooses "silence, exile, and cunning" as his only weapons, he is speaking on behalf of Joyce himself. These are the means which Joyce employed to realize his goals, and Ulysses is the tangible fulfillment of his lifelong objective of employing art as savior. With Ulysses Joyce became Ireland's national voice, and gave the world a work of art that is, nearly a century later, still considered to sit among the greatest writing ever produced.
For us as readers the value of this modernist masterpiece is in the work that it requires of us. What makes Ulysses worth reading is that we learn a great deal through the process of trying to come to terms with what the text might mean. I have spent time and effort to cobble together my own ideas and theories about what this book is about. I have done this with Ulysses as opposed to other texts because few other texts have demanded this of me. This is not to say that other books cannot be probed for deeper meaning. There are any number of great works of literature from Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment to Morrison's Beloved that can provide the hungry reader with a bounty of literary nutrition. But the style of the writing of these texts don't demand it. You can just as easily read them once, enjoy them sufficiently, understand them on a superficial level, and move on satisfied with your yield. Ulysses does not afford this luxury, because you're either in or you’re out with Ulysses. Joyce gives the reader nothing for free, save for beautiful prose. Everything else must be earned.
The fact that Ulysses is not an effortless read, the fact that it is obscure, the fact that it's erudite are all of the things that make it so incredibly worthwhile. This book isn't for everyone. There are even those who might go so far as to argue that it is only for the very few. But, just because Ulysses isn't for everyone doesn't mean that it isn't for anyone. And it doesn't mean it isn't worth reading.
At this point you might be wondering if I have come to bury Ulysses or praise it? Time? Effort? Work!? This doesn't sound like a picnic in the park. I assure you that I consider these requirements selling points, with a caveat: Ulysses may not be for you. My goal here is not to convince you that Ulysses is a 'must read before you die' book. It's not. And I don't want to give the impression it is a good book for everyone to read. It isn't. I am simply making the case that Ulysses is worth reading, and that despite the cheap shots that it sometimes takes from its detractors, there is plenty to redeem this masterpiece. You don't have to agree that it is the greatest novel of the twentieth-century, but it's hard to imagine a reasonable person categorically dismissing Ulysses as not worthy of being read.
The bottom line: if you like challenges, if you like mysteries, if you like great prose writing, if you don't mind learning something, and if your ego can handle the idea that you don't know everything, then Ulysses is definitely worth your time and effort. If the above criteria do not apply to you and you simply want entertainment and excitement in your reading, then grab a copy of The Da Vinci Code and godspeed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)