Ulysses: Book I, Episodes 1-3

A Recap of Book I:

Where exactly does one begin when discussing a novel as ripe for examination and discussion as James Joyce’s Ulysses? After all, entire books have been written devoted to analyzing Joyce’s allusions, his religious references and personal beliefs on the subject, his use of symbolism, and the ways in which the novel corresponds to Homer’s The Odyssey. As Joyce himself once said, Ulysses is filled with “so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries.” But this is not a critical, scholarly sort of blog. It is merely intended to be a record of my observations on and my reactions to these novels, a chronicle of my life as a serious reader. However, in the interest of keeping us all on the same page–no pun intended–I will begin with a brief summary of Book I. (NOTE: If anyone wishes to get right to my observations, feel free to skip the following three paragraphs.)

In these first few episodes we are introduced to Buck Mulligan and Stephen Dedalus, co-inhabitants of a seaside tower which they rent from the “secretary of state for war” for “twelve quid,” though it seems it is Dedalus who pays most or all of the rent. (As a side note, we will see Dedalus a little later on, and in more depth, as the protagonist of Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, novel number three on our distinguished reading list.) The two young men make an odd pair as they seem diametrically opposed in nearly every way. Mulligan is a boisterous medical student whose verbosity often gets the better of him. For example, he repeatedly makes an ass of himself by making crass asides regarding the death of Dedalus’ mother. Dedalus, on the other hand, appears quiet and introspective. He is a teacher and aspiring poet who considers himself an intellectual. He believes the “cracked lookingglass of a servant” is the symbol of Irish art and he has proven “by algebra that Shakespeare’s ghost is Hamlet’s grandfather,” notions he hopes will somehow earn him money one day.

After a breakfast of bread and tea, Dedalus, Mulligan, and Haines, a friend of Mulligan’s who has been invited to stay at the tower indefinitely, leave home to go on about their affairs. Mulligan and Haines are off to pursue a day of leisure (at Dedalus’ expense, of course), while Dedalus, who we soon learn is a man of many debts, is headed directly to his teaching job. After giving a rather dull lecture on the victories of Pyrrhus of Epirus, Dedalus then meets with the school’s headmaster, the anti-Semitic Mr. Deasy. Deasy gives Dedalus his pay, hands him two letters he wishes to be published in the local newspaper, and rails vehemently against the Jews.

Finally, Book I concludes with an episode featuring Joyce’s characteristic stream of consciousness narrative technique. In this episode Dedalus makes his way to a local beach and, by way of a lengthy internal monologue, ruminates upon many things including poetry, his family, his studies in Paris, and the death of his mother, all while watching a dog playfully romp about the beach with its masters in tow.

Notes and Observations:

If one is to equate the great novels of the world with children on a playground, Ulysses might be seen as the school bully, a physically superior hulk of a boy capable of beating down any challenger. However, the novel does have its redeeming qualities–most notably its language.

Written by a novelist with the heart of a poet, Joyce’s words are at once experimental and evocative. With an extensive vocabulary at his disposal, Joyce peppers his masterpiece with fanciful words such as “couchant,” “ineluctable,” “hyperborean,” and “postprandial.” Oftentimes, Joyce is unafraid to challenge the conventions of English by creating blended words like “muskperfumed,” “scrotumtightening,” “loudlatinlaughing,” and “milkoozing.” He also gives birth to unorthodox action words such as “vulturing” and “almosting.”

That is not to say Ulysses is merely one big laboratory in which Joyce, the mad scientist of the literary realm, cobbles together his abominations. Among the mutated adjectives and gerunds one finds examples of poetry woven into the fabric of the prose. Consider the lyrical sentence, “His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets.” Or the alliterative phrases “wavewhite wedded words” and “the twining stresses, two by two.” But Joyce is careful to balance his artistry with a sense of playfulness, utilizing phrases such as “jejune Jesuit,” “poxy bowsy,” and “druidy druids.” Examples such as these highlight Joyce’s command of the English language, making him truly one of the greatest writers in all of literature.

So far, I do not understand, or even recognize, the allusions and references Joyce is throwing at me, but I am certainly struck by the novel’s inventive language and playful nature. I am learning that appreciating Joyce’s words is the first step toward understanding them. Perhaps the secret to reading Ulysses for the first time is simply that–to read it. Don’t try to make sense of it, just read it. If I am patient and studious, Ulysses will reveal its secrets to me, and discovering something new with each reading is what makes great literature great.