Stately, Plump Buck Mulligan (never really makes another appearance)

Today at 7:14 pm, I became a person who has read Ulysses. Yes, the entire Ulysses.

The following conversation has happened on more than a few occasions:
Person: Hey, whatchya readin' there?
Me: Ulysses!
Person: for...a class? Or for fun?
Me: For fun!
Person: oh...

In case any of you have been wondering where I've been, my nose has either been buried in the novel, or at my new job (which is pretty great).

I have some thoughts:

When we last left off, I was in the middle of the book. Since then, I've read through a hilarious chapter where, written in the style of a play, things like soap, buttons, and a fan are personified and given lines, becoming minor characters with credible thoughts. Bloom (a man), gives birth, becomes a donkey, goes to trial, and becomes a mayor. WTF. It's hilarious and strange, the plot happening simultaneously in both reality and in a dream-like state, and the entire 200 plus page chapter all takes place in one hour.

 

The chapter that comes next is...dull...BUT it's the beginning of Part 3! The narrative is laborious, and rambling. The identities of the main characters become confused, which could have been interesting but with the writing hard enough to hack through, it's difficult to be impressed.

Throughout the reading, it is hard to keep the perspective that the entire book takes place in one day. This is usually forgotten multiple times due to the fact that in no way can this book be read in one day. In the penultimate chapter, our drunk and perverted protagonist finally returns home, with his new buddy Stephen Dedalus. Written in a Q&A catechism style, Joyce gives us way, way, way, way, way too much information. We understand that Bloom fills a cup with water. What we don't need to know is how the water gets from the reservoir to the pipes, which then fills the very cup that Bloom is holding. And then there's great merriment when the narrative describes the two characters while they are taking a piss outside, with Joyce comparing the longevity and vigor of their streams (I mean seriously, if there's going to be a four page poop joke earlier in the book, you can almost see this one coming). In a way this chapter is the reward because of the extremely extensive explanations, but it is also an anti-climax because we realize that although Stephen and Bloom have much in common, they obviously will not become best friends. Which is kind of a bummer because after 700 pages you want a happy ending.  Bloom does, however, resign himself to his wife's affair by putting the actual act in perspective to the entire world it seems, and in the end forgives her, which I guess is as happy as the ending can get. In some way, I think this chapter reflects a concept that is bigger than Bloom, bigger than Stephen, and bigger than mankind...but I can't quite grasp the words I am looking for.

And so now we talk about the last chapter. Comprised of eight massive sentences, in a steam of consciousness narrative from the point of view of Bloom's wife Molly in the middle of the night, it is surprisingly easy to read (despite the complete lack of punctuation including apostrophes). It's important to note that the final chapter is written from the perspective of a woman, but written by a man (I think Joyce is honestly trying to open up to the female perspective, but fails, simply because he is not a woman). It goes a great deal into explicit thoughts about her sex life, not quite a Fifty Shades of Grey moment, but one hundred years ago in a very Christian Dublin, probably would have been treated as such.

I'm glad I read it, I'm glad I finished it, but I'm a little sad to be done with it. I dedicated a part of my life to reading it, and now it's like saying good bye to a friend. I've had a lot of fun reading articles about the book itself, about the author, uncovering some of the puns and jokes, and learning about different interpretations. But sadly it is time to move on. The giant of Infinite Jest and I have been eyeing each other for quite some time now. I also have recently acquired two books by Martin Amis (whose writing style "can rise to Joycean brilliance" - Newsweek), a very thoughtful Christmas gift.

I am so sick of talking about Ulysses now, but it's more than a book. I'm not sure what to call it, but it's not just a book. A concept maybe? I'm at a loss for words.

And so it is up to you. Will you be the next to read Ulysses? The Joyce is yours.



(see what I did there?...heh)