Tag Archives: Leopold Bloom

Episode 15, Circe, i.e., A Dream Play!

For those drama lovers among you, fear not. You thought Ulysses was just a novel? In the great tradition of something for everyone literature, or, the smorgasborg that is Ulysses, we have, (two-thirds of the way through the novel, just as you thought you were through with the tricky bit, ie. Oxen of the Sun), a play!

And not just any play, a DREAM PLAY. For those, like me, who needed to refresh your university knowledge of Dream Plays, think Strindberg. Any Joyce fan worth their salt knows that Joyce had a hero-worship going for Ibsen. But less commonly know is the influence of Strindberg.

Really, Strindberg is less commonly known altogether. I discovered this on a recent visit to Stockholm when I spent an hour at the Strindberg Museum, where I startled a very polite and helpful young staff-member/volunteer (who can say if the place makes enough to pay someone, though one would suspect the impressive State of Sweden might just support the museum regardless of whether they get any visitors, ever), by coming to visit the museum.

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Strindberg’s Desk

I can understand how the ABBA Museum would be more popular, but still I’m betting the Ibsen Museum over in Oslo is getting more attention. Everyone knows A Doll’s House, but name one Strindberg play?

That’s just it. After Miss Julie, there’s A Dream Play. While I’m not a Nordic drama scholar, or any kind of scholar, I can say from the enthusiastic lay-person’s point of view that A Dream Play dramatizes the unconscious and also paved the way for expressionist and surrealist playwrights to come.

This seems exactly what Joyce is attempting in his play-within-a-novel. In my text this play takes up 134 pages. So, quick synopsis:

We find our two heroes in Night Town, the red light district. Bloom is separated from Stephen and finds a snack in a pork shop, after which, let the hallucinations begin! Bloom goes on public trial accused, among other things, of being a cuckold. This is the nightmare portion of the play. He then eventually finds Stephen at Bella Cohen’s brothel. Many hallucinations later, including images of Bloom briefly becoming a woman and the appearance of both Stephen’s dead mother and a lucky potato, the episode ends with Stephen being punched in the face by a British Army officer. The father-son relationship becomes complete as Bloom, caring for Stephen, sees him as an apparition of his dead son Rudy. How’s that for a six-sentence synopsis!

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The sanitized James Joyce Street, formerly Mabbot Street of the Monto District — the largest Red Light district of its time in Europe.

If it wasn’t clear before I’ll say it now — I did not enjoy Circe. I’m sure in many ways it is the most ambitious and experimental portion of Ulysses, and if we aren’t here for experimentation than what are we doing here? Still, perhaps it came too late in the novel for me to have patience with it. Maybe the whole exploration of Bloom’s virility was lost on me when he “became” a woman and this was a degradation. (I understand it was avant-garde for the male character to morph into a woman, but in the post-trump era we are living in I’m not so keen on indulging passages on the humiliations of “becoming” female. if we were reading the same passages of a character “becoming” black … well point taken and not trying to be PC-cop but just, Trump.)

All that said, I can see the importance in a book focused on the inner monologue delving beneath the surface of thought into the subconscious. Also, as I dove into the whole thing further myself, I learned that this chapter was written following the censorship of earlier episodes — namely Nausicaa — and allowed Joyce a reaction to this as well as the current war for independence. As the ever-trusty Declan Kiberd explains: “Because the episode was completed during the final phase of the Anglo-Irish war, he also offers an attack on the Anglicisation of the Irish life, via the brothels, the soldiers who patronised them, and the English songs which they made current. Joyce joked that ‘Circe’ was the most realistic episode of Ulysses, but he was stretching realism to the limit, as one way of responding to charges of obscenity.

Putting aside readability, there are other interesting aspects of the episode. The ability the dream-state allows for time to stand still in a novel organized around the clock is pretty facinating and also just practically why it is fun to read novels. In addition to Ibsen and Strindberg, Joyce was also obsessed (apparently) by Einstein’s newish theory of Relativity (1905), which is all explored in this episode.

So time is a perception which itself can slow down depending on the relation to the person observing it? Such was my experience with Circe.

 

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Episode 11, Sirens, or “Ulysses, The Musical”

Nations of the earth. No-one behind. She’s passed. Then and not till then. Tram. Kran, kran, kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I’m sure it’s the burgund. Yes. One, two. Let my epitaph be. Karaaaaaaa. Written. I have.

Pprrpffrrppfff.

Done.

This is just one example of why Ulysses can barely be read without some sort of guidance, save those who want to read it while on hallucinogens.

Honestly.

ormond

For those still interested in event concerning this book: Episode 11 takes place inside the Ormond Bar, (recently saved from demolition, above). The overlying theme of the chapter is “music”, picking up from the Odyssey in which Odysseus instructs his crew to tie him up aboard his ship, while passing the Sirens so that he will not veer off course. His shipmates have their ears plugged, but Odysseus chooses to be put in constraints so as to hear the lovely siren song.

In Joyce fashion, the beautiful but deadly siren calls are converted into a cacophony of noise and melody taking place in and around the Ormond Bar. If Ulysses as a whole is in many respects an homage to the oral story-telling traditions of Ireland, then “Sirens” takes this a step further with its attempt to directly interpret/replicate the experience of listening to music through the written word. Try reading a few passages out loud to yourself and you will, perhaps, find your admiration and wonder at Joyce renewed.

Clock whirred. Miss Kennedy passed their way (flower, wonder who gave), bearing away teatray. Clock Clacked.

Bloom heard a jing, a little sound. He’s off. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the silent bluehued flowers. Jingling. He’s gone. Jingle. Hear. 

 

There is also the return of various passages from earlier in Ulysses – a re-telling of words and phrases and sounds. The whole novel is becoming more experimental (so get ready, or run for your lives and find another book!) with the style largely dictating the narrative, highlighting the restrictions of form upon narrative as well as narrator/author upon narrative.

There is some action to be told, namely the dramatic narrative of the Boylan/Molly rendezvous, close upon us at 4 p.m. Bloom sees Boylan enter the Ormond and, upon running into his friend Richie Goulding outside, agrees to enter to have dinner and keep an eye on Boylan. He can’t help himself. And yet, he also cannot confront or otherwise stop Molly’s betrayal.

Boylan soon exits however, and Bloom is left, quite sad, to distract himself with music. First, a love song, then an operatic aria (similar to the potentially dramatic nature of this Episode, and yet our expectations for a confrontation are cut short, of course), and later, a nationalist tune, “The Croppy Boy”. The gathered men take over the singing, departing from the original Odysseus where the Sirens song is the allure. Here the Sirens are clearly the two barmaids, Miss Kennedy and Miss Douce. (more on these ladies in the next post), though maybe in fact they are the singing men?

Bloom spends this time contemplating all things, the melody of the music drawing him from his son Rudy, once more, to the mathematics of music, to the mimicking relationship of music to every-day noise. As usual, Bloom possesses both wisdom and insight, if not the straightforward ability to join in and be part of the social settings he is flirting with. He sees the sentimentality of singing these old nationalist tunes and rejects this outright as a sort of quick sand that is keeping his country and countrymen submerged in inaction through their romanticizing of the past.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Episode 9, Scylla and Charybdis — A Missed Encounter

Congratulations! At this stage of the book, you have passed the half-way mark and are solidly within the SECOND half of this monster.

If you are still with us, you will recall that at the very end of Episode 8, as part of the actual, existing “story” of Ulysses, Bloom ducked into the National Library in order to avoid running into the cursed Blazes Boylan and coming face-to-face with the reality, or soon to be reality, that he is a cuckold.

In Episode 9, the reader may find themselves surprised by the existence of continuity in the text as we return to the National Library, wherein we find Stephen, demonstrating his will to become a Young Artist. The careful reader may remark that the term Artist is a bit loose and/or one can assume a varying definition within the early part of the 20th Century as Stephen goes on to demonstrate his more or less loose ability at being an academic.  The entirety of this section is largely devoted to Stephens’ presentation of a theory related to his reading of Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

Now, the actual theory has some relevance on our own story (Ulysses/reading Ulysses) in two ways:

1. According to Stephen’s theory, Shakespeare envisions himself as the ghost of Hamlet’s father, rather than as the hero of the play, young Hamlet. In general, Stephen is at this stage, (and perhaps throughout the book given the recurring appearance of his own father) obsessed with the father-son relationship:

A father, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is a necessary evil. …The corpse of John Shakespeare does not walk the night. From hour to hour it rots and rots. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate upon his son. …Fatherhood, in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten. On that mystery and not on the madonna which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world, macro- and microcosm, upon the void. … Paternity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should love him or he any son?

What the hell are you driving at?

I know. Shut up. Blast you! I have reasons.

This is all of interest to me due to my leanings toward Central Character # 2, Leopold Bloom, who is mostly absent in this section but who fulfills the role of father to Stephen, as we learn he has lost his own son many years earlier. Bloom is therefore haunted by the ghost of his own son, as Stephen is haunted by the ghost of his own father, both coming together in a tidy analogous theory here focused on William Shakespeare, the man.

2. In presenting his theory, this is the first and perhaps only formal time within Ulysses where we see Stephen striving toward his goal of becoming an intellectual.  We have to give him props for this, but at the same time, his theory is refuted at every turn by the collection of assembled scholars. Holes are poked through his theory left and right until Stephen himself admits he does not believe his own theory. He is further trampled upon as one Buck Mulligan enters into the scene to heap additional humiliation upon him, and at the same time remarks disparagingly upon Leopold Bloom (future substitute father), a stranger to Buck and Stephen at this stage, who he saw ogling (observing) the bottom of a statue out in the corridor.  In this way, the repeating themes of Stephen and Bloom sharing in the “outsider” status is brought forth once more (for the 98th time and we’re only half-way through the book!) and the connection between them is reinforced outside of the view of the pure reader.

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Episode 7, Aeolus – the Dubliners, the Sequel

Gah! Just as as this monster of a book was beginning to make sense, we switch genre’s to this, Episode 7, rife with distracting newspaper headlines and a host of characters I can’t keep track of. For my own part, I don’t really see much connection between the headlines and the text that follows. The affect of the headlines does however (grudgingly I admit) serve the purpose of perhaps making us feel like we are following along with the events of the day as would be reported in the news. Similarly, reading this section relates to modern day reading of news via the internet as our attention is grabbed away by various headlines and then the content of whatever it is we are reading is somewhat lost.

As readers we also get a bit of insight into “work” Bloom, curiously populated by many of the same characters we have already met – Simon Dedalas, Deasy, etc. This episode serves as a real slice of life with this cast of characters dominating more than any one individual. Though we learn more about Bloom’s work as a les glam, precursor to Don Draper, Stephen also re-enters the scene to deliver the letter as promised from Deasy (of Episode 2, if you can remember that far back).

We get a bit more of everything here: Bloom’s “outsider-ness” as he’s ridiculed by kids on the street and the men in the newspaper office; Molly’s reputation as a tart is reinforced as the newspaper men remark upon her in a less than gentlemanly fashion; Stephen’s snobbery as he turns down a job of writing for the paper; and more of the exploration of Ireland as a soon-to-be new nation.

There’s also the near crossing of paths between Stephen and Bloom, which occurs repeatedly. There’s a bit of a theme going on in this Episode that also has to do with the trams and various vehicles moving about Dublin, and this sense of motion sets the theme for this episode which is primarily concerned with showing the activity of a group of Dubliners, I wonder if it’s also alluding slightly to the movement of our two hero’s as they go about their various endeavors and activities on this June 16th.

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Part II: The Odyssey — A slight relief sets in as I realize I am not going to be stuck with sulky Stephen for the whole 700-something pages.

Episode 4, CalypsoIn which we get a break from Stephen, and are introduced to the much more engaging Leopold Bloom, and his wife Molly. 

Oh Leopold, Leopold, where have you been for the past 47 pages? Episode 4 heralds in a brand new protagonist, Leopold Bloom, who I am immediately enamored of.  Call me a romantic, but the way he dotes on his cheating wife Molly is downright sweet.

The episode opens with Bloom going on his first of many errands of this interminably long day, to obtain some breakfast.  Right away he is distinguished from Stephen in his lust for life and embracing of it, and yet as we will find out over the subsequent 635 pages, there are also some parallels between the two.

We get our first glimpse of Dublin through Bloom’s eyes as he steps outside of his door, and yet curiously he is preoccupied with sensations of foreign places that he has never been to:

Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off at dawn, travel round in front of the sun, steal a day’s march on him. Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically. Walk along a strand, strange land, come to a city gate, sentry there, old ranker too, old Tweedy’s big moustaches leaning on a long kind of a spear. Wander through awned streets. Turbaned faces going by. Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated cross-legged smoking a coiled pipe. Cries of sellers in the streets. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. Wander along all day. Might meet a robber or two. Well, meet him. Getting on to sundown. The shadows of the mosques along the pillars: priest with a scroll rolled up. A shiver of the trees, signal, the evening wind. I pass on. Fading gold sky. A mother watches from her doorway. She calls her children home in their dark language. High wall: beyond strings twanged. Night sky moon, violet, colour of Molly’s new garters. Strings. Listen. A girl playing one of these instruments what do you call them: dulcimers. I pass.

Probably not a bit like it really. Kind of stuff you read: in the track of the sun. Sunburst on the titlepage. He smiled, pleasing himself.

And a short while later, Bloom’s mind wanders again to a far off locale as he considers and re-considers the prospect of a land purchase in Turkey, advertised in a flyer, “Nothing doing. Still an idea behind it.”

I’m not sure if this sort of reverie is meant to mark Bloom as the foreign — a Jew with immigrant origins, dressed in black no less — but very much connected to the soon to be newly independent Ireland, or serves some other purpose. For as much as Bloom is rooted in the current, complete with saucy wife, a profession, a child, a grilled Kidney for breakfast …  he is also shown to be a bit dreamy in these passages. He is of the same vein as Stephen. Despite being grounded, or rather immersed in, the messy to-do of life he is also caught up with his own regret and sadness.  These passages remind me of the gentle fantasy-making of far off places and romance of exploration that most of us have at some stage or another, whether it be to replace the current doldrums or to take our mind on an adventure.

Joyce himself was writing his masterpiece amid the turmoil of the 19-teens, at a time of world war and revolution, yet set placidly 14-years earlier as the momentum for what was to happen in his own country was taking up steam.    In a book that is so specific upon every comma and made-up word choice, I have to think this return to the past had some significance.

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