So you finally made it! After all the trials and tribulations, obstacles, false starts, and antagonisms, you finally reached your destination and, like Odysseus before you, can crawl into bed and curl up with your sweet Penelope stay at home. "Penelope" is the last episode of Ulysses, the last stop and final resting place in our odyssey. It is an odd little episode in its own way (what episode of Ulysses is not?). Set apart from the masculine -- or at least the male -- stories of Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom, "Penelope" is Molly Bloom's story. It is her turn to have a say in this "chaffering allincluding most farraginous chronicle." It was Joyce's intention to give Molly Bloom the final word in Ulysses, and as Joyce himself points out the episode begins and ends with the affirmative "yes". Thus we are justified in reading this complex book as an affirmation and not as an indictment of the human condition.
"Penelope" is perhaps the most famous episode of Ulysses, not least of all because of its frankness (read, obscenity to many). Molly tells it like it is and pulls no punches as she freely pours out her feelings, fantasies (obscene and romantic), grudges, and cracked ideas with no regard for the feelings or sensibilities of others. And why should she care? It is we who are invading the privacy of her personal ruminations.
Both the manner and the content of Molly's thoughts have invited the controversy which has followed this episode, some seeing Joyce's rendition as an uncanny duplication of the woman's voice, others patently rejecting his attempt at representing the female thought process as a typical and poorly executed male usurpation of the feminine. Be that as it may, whether you like it, love it, or hate it, "Penelope" has put its stamp on English language literature and, like Ulysses itself, has carved out a place for itself in the pantheon of English prose. Many will argue over the authenticity of the voice, others will chafe at the indecency and indelicacy of the language, and still others will debate where Molly finally lands on the question of Bloom, but none can argue that "Penelope" leaves a lasting impression.
Stylistically, "Penelope" is a handful, a raging river of words that rush with little cessation. Composed of eight very long sentences, this episode is responsible for fostering the grossly exaggerated rumor that Ulysses (as in the entire book) lacks punctuation. Of course, having now read virtually the entire book you know that's not true. Technically, this isn't even true of "Penelope": the are eight full stops after all. Okay, eight randomly placed stones do not a dam make, but you get the point: there is a modest attempt by Joyce to slow the raging river of Molly's mind. Still, "Penelope" can be a bear to follow at first. Thoughts flow on top of and into other thoughts, particular words serving as bridges to sudden segues that leave a sense of brilliant ambivalence. But once you catch on to the general pattern of speech and though, you will find yourself expertly negotiating the twists and turns of speech like a seasoned whitewater kayaker.
As the cap to an 800 page book, "Penelope" serves not only as equal time for Molly, but also as something of an alternative summary of the days events. Much of what Molly re-presents to the reader in her monologue has been related to her by husband Leopold regarding his day, but Molly injects her own interpretations and suspicions. From the view of Homeric correspondences Joyce reproduces the close of Odysseus's adventures as he climbs into bed with Penelope and relates to her the story of his wanderings. It is apparent that Bloom and Molly have engaged in the same manner of verbal intercourse before Bloom drifts off, but Joyce lets Molly become the final interpreter. Molly's voice is privileged in a way that Penelope's is not, as she (Molly) is given reign to interpret events from her perspective and, more importantly, to speak for herself about herself. Molly's reputation has been much maligned by the Dublin males on this June 16th day. One could argue that she has been shaped by the men in this story. "Penelope" provides an occasion for Molly to create herself in her own image.
Vis-a-vis the broader story of Ulysses, what is most important in Molly's rambling monologue are her thoughts on her husband. We have seen Bloom undergo a trial in the court of his own psyche and emerge exonerated, but the final judgement is left to Molly. As she recounts his foibles, assets, liabilities, idiosyncrasies, and their common history as a couple she must make a determination about her own future with or without old Poldy. And while (in typical Joycean fashion) a definitive, indisputable verdict is not given to the reader, an implication is left hanging in the final volley of yeses that close the monologue and book. Ultimately, you will make your own determination as to what Molly decides and, on a broader scale, what Joyce seems to be saying in this labyrinth tome, but it's hard to argue against a positive reading when confronted with Molly's emphatic affirmations.
