What does one take from synchronistic events? In life, I take little; in literature, I assume that it is a devise used by the author in order to create parallels between certain characters or events, which points to the reader to read-into these parallels, and take significance from this process. However, Joyce is more playful then the average author, and to use the word synchronicity to describe this episode might be an overstatement. We see what is happening in relation to most of the characters of the book, around the same time of day.
The throwaway recurs. Elijah is mentioned. Both Bloom and Stephen reject the idea of a messiah, nothing new. We see Stephen and Bloom’s roles reversed. Haines and Buck agree that Stephen is not an artist, and that his mind is imbalanced. He will never produce a work of literature. Bloom, however, is described as having “a touch of the artist about (him).” Bloom is also mentioned for putting down a mentionable sum for Dignam family, and is actually shown respect. In addition, a story is retold, about a time Molly, Bloom, Lenehan, and another man went to a play, and on the way back, Molly was stealthily being felt up by Lenehan, while Bloom was focused on the starts, which evokes the idea that Bloom is more forces on the ideal, which is normally Stephen’s realm.
The Dedalus family is pitiful in this episode, and one of the most touching scenes happens between Stephen and his poor, hungry little sister. “She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. Lank coils of seaweed hair around me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death. / We. / Agenbite of inwit. Inwit’s agenbite. / Misery! Misery!” Stephen’s impotence to save his family is comparable to Bloom’s impotence. He is unable or unwilling to provide for his family; his father does a poor job of it, callously reprimanding Dilly for slouching, when she barely has the strength to stand up straight; he drinks their money away. “Our father who not in heaven,” could relate to the throwaway.
Blazes Bolyan is mentioned among ripe fruits, with a red carnation in his mouth. As he prepares a basket for Molly, Bloom searches for a saucy book for her, and decides upon one, which tells a tale of adultery. We see, again, that Bloom will do anything to please Molly.
This episode seems a little more distant to me, and little less meaningful then the others, perhaps because it tends to be focused around the clergymen, and the cavalcade of the officials. This one event brings most of the townspeople to one central focus, and gives us a glimpse of all of the characters, from maybe, a more objective view.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Scylla and Charybdis
This is a difficult episode to talk about; it is not known what of Stephen’s words are meaningful, and what is mere sophistry, like the pomp let out of the windbag in a previous chapter.
Nonetheless, it seems that the thematic dichotomy of the ideal and form seem at play, especially during the discourses that reference Plato and Aristotle. This might tie in with the theme of consubstantiality, which seems to be the most important of the chapter, but already, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Through the narration, we become aware of many of the character’s physicality, the fact that they have a body; this lays in contrast to architecture of thought that this episode inhabits. “A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch” (191). Here it seems as if the shadow represents the essence, or being, of the person being described, and that his body is what clothes the shadow. Also, someone else is described as “sitting in his form” (191) and the librarian was found “blushing his mask” (193). This might presuppose what I believe to be the platonic idea that essence comes before form. Stephen seems to reject this. Instead of dissecting art like Russell, who believes art is the guise humans use to convey ‘formless spiritual essences (185),’ Stephen insists on theorizing Shakespeare’s work through biography, a more tangible reality; still, this seems strange, since Stephen, in a previous chapter with Deasy, surmises that the past is mutable; however, Stephen is indecisive on his view points, and seems to hold intellectual debates within himself, never really believing anything. This is apparent in this episode. He goes off on a long diatribe about Shakespeare, using polemical, sophistic, arguments against men he should be sucking up to, and in the end we find that Stephen doesn’t even believe in his own argument. It would be quite a task to find, at this point, anything that Stephen empirically believes.
There is also a tension between the art or the life of the commoner, and that of the intellectuals that speaks in this chapter. The common man/ woman seems to be able to Live life; to put things into action, where the intellectual sits around theorizing about it with out action. (Maybe the physical impotence of both Bloom and Stephen is noteworthy.) Russell notes, “People do not know how dangerous loves songs can be. The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant’s heart on the hillside (186).” Also, this seems to bring Russell’s viewpoint out even more, thought before form. Later, Russell says, “As for the living, our servants can do that for us (189).” Although Stephen opposes Russell’s beliefs on the argument of the chicken and the egg, Stephen, he is within this group of intellectuals, and as stated in proteus, he seems to be at odds with the fact that he has a body. Therefore, I think the slave comment is applicable to Stephen in some ways.
I find Stephen’s opposition to Plato well stated on page 193: “Coffined thoughts around me, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words.” Thought is language, language is form, form before content. From is essence. But, the words are coffined. This express the fact that we are in a wasteland, and God is dead, therefore meaning is dead. I’m not saying that Stephen does not believe in God. I think he’s undecided, and at this moment, is leaning towards a dead god.
Which brings me to the talk of consubstantiality and incest. Lets start on page 194:
So through the ghost of the unquiet father the image of the unloving son looks forth. In the intense instant of imagination, when the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal, that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may come to be. So in the future, the sister of the past, I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I shall be.”
Here, Joyce skillfully blends two thematic concerns of the book, consubstantiality and the dichotomy of the ideal/ corporeal. Really, they seem to be the same theme. The mind, a fading coal, which “with some invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness; this power arises from within, like the color of a flower which fades and changes as it is developed, and the conscious portions of our natures are unprophetic either of its approach or its departure”(A defense of Poetry, Shelly). This harkens back to in ineluctable modality of the audio- visual, which can also be explained, as on page 194, “weave and unweave our bodies.” So, we are stuck in time, caught up in the modality, which is inescapable, and physical reality leaves impressions upon our minds, which hold on to them and then casually, unconsciously or consciously, let go. Stephen’s quip with Plato seems futile, more of a chicken and the egg question, when really; maybe we are swimming in ideas and forms. They play with each other. This is what poetry is made of.
And really, God is an idea who came into form through his son Jesus Christ, representing the corporeal, and the Holy Spirit is the medium in which the ideal and corporeal communicate. Still, this dialectic is all apart of the same whole. “Formless spiritual. Father, word and holy breath. Allfather, the heavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the beautiful, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment (185).” Therefore, Shakespeare’s son is Shakespeare, “the son of his soul, the prince, young Hamlet and to the son of his body, Hamnet…”(188).
Additionally, this talk of the father son relationship seems to hearken back to Bloom as a father figure for Stephen, as we have mentioned before in class. Stephen is the world of the ideal. Perhaps Bloom in the corporeal. “Where there is a reconciliation, there must have been first a sundering” (193). These characters are tied in an interesting, significant way, which I would bet will be brought out even more as the story continues.
Nonetheless, it seems that the thematic dichotomy of the ideal and form seem at play, especially during the discourses that reference Plato and Aristotle. This might tie in with the theme of consubstantiality, which seems to be the most important of the chapter, but already, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Through the narration, we become aware of many of the character’s physicality, the fact that they have a body; this lays in contrast to architecture of thought that this episode inhabits. “A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from shadow and unveiled its cooperative watch” (191). Here it seems as if the shadow represents the essence, or being, of the person being described, and that his body is what clothes the shadow. Also, someone else is described as “sitting in his form” (191) and the librarian was found “blushing his mask” (193). This might presuppose what I believe to be the platonic idea that essence comes before form. Stephen seems to reject this. Instead of dissecting art like Russell, who believes art is the guise humans use to convey ‘formless spiritual essences (185),’ Stephen insists on theorizing Shakespeare’s work through biography, a more tangible reality; still, this seems strange, since Stephen, in a previous chapter with Deasy, surmises that the past is mutable; however, Stephen is indecisive on his view points, and seems to hold intellectual debates within himself, never really believing anything. This is apparent in this episode. He goes off on a long diatribe about Shakespeare, using polemical, sophistic, arguments against men he should be sucking up to, and in the end we find that Stephen doesn’t even believe in his own argument. It would be quite a task to find, at this point, anything that Stephen empirically believes.
There is also a tension between the art or the life of the commoner, and that of the intellectuals that speaks in this chapter. The common man/ woman seems to be able to Live life; to put things into action, where the intellectual sits around theorizing about it with out action. (Maybe the physical impotence of both Bloom and Stephen is noteworthy.) Russell notes, “People do not know how dangerous loves songs can be. The movements which work revolutions in the world are born out of the dreams and visions in a peasant’s heart on the hillside (186).” Also, this seems to bring Russell’s viewpoint out even more, thought before form. Later, Russell says, “As for the living, our servants can do that for us (189).” Although Stephen opposes Russell’s beliefs on the argument of the chicken and the egg, Stephen, he is within this group of intellectuals, and as stated in proteus, he seems to be at odds with the fact that he has a body. Therefore, I think the slave comment is applicable to Stephen in some ways.
I find Stephen’s opposition to Plato well stated on page 193: “Coffined thoughts around me, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words.” Thought is language, language is form, form before content. From is essence. But, the words are coffined. This express the fact that we are in a wasteland, and God is dead, therefore meaning is dead. I’m not saying that Stephen does not believe in God. I think he’s undecided, and at this moment, is leaning towards a dead god.
Which brings me to the talk of consubstantiality and incest. Lets start on page 194:
So through the ghost of the unquiet father the image of the unloving son looks forth. In the intense instant of imagination, when the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal, that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may come to be. So in the future, the sister of the past, I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I shall be.”
Here, Joyce skillfully blends two thematic concerns of the book, consubstantiality and the dichotomy of the ideal/ corporeal. Really, they seem to be the same theme. The mind, a fading coal, which “with some invisible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness; this power arises from within, like the color of a flower which fades and changes as it is developed, and the conscious portions of our natures are unprophetic either of its approach or its departure”(A defense of Poetry, Shelly). This harkens back to in ineluctable modality of the audio- visual, which can also be explained, as on page 194, “weave and unweave our bodies.” So, we are stuck in time, caught up in the modality, which is inescapable, and physical reality leaves impressions upon our minds, which hold on to them and then casually, unconsciously or consciously, let go. Stephen’s quip with Plato seems futile, more of a chicken and the egg question, when really; maybe we are swimming in ideas and forms. They play with each other. This is what poetry is made of.
And really, God is an idea who came into form through his son Jesus Christ, representing the corporeal, and the Holy Spirit is the medium in which the ideal and corporeal communicate. Still, this dialectic is all apart of the same whole. “Formless spiritual. Father, word and holy breath. Allfather, the heavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the beautiful, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment (185).” Therefore, Shakespeare’s son is Shakespeare, “the son of his soul, the prince, young Hamlet and to the son of his body, Hamnet…”(188).
Additionally, this talk of the father son relationship seems to hearken back to Bloom as a father figure for Stephen, as we have mentioned before in class. Stephen is the world of the ideal. Perhaps Bloom in the corporeal. “Where there is a reconciliation, there must have been first a sundering” (193). These characters are tied in an interesting, significant way, which I would bet will be brought out even more as the story continues.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Lestrygonians
The theme of insatiety and impotence recurs. There is butter and sugar everywhere, but nothing nourishing. The church serves as candy here just as it served as lotus or poppies, in the lotus-eaters. The priests are well fed on butter, but the Dedalus girl is starving. The people of the wasteland are still awaiting a messiah, Bloom, unmistakably. “Bloo…Me? No. / Blood of the Lamb,” (151).
Bloom is in a state of arrest, a fly in the bar window, and retreats from his role as messiah. The messiah will not be birthed. A woman has labored for days, and it will not come, just as the body is yet to be found in the water, and Bloom’s son was born dead. Jesus is on the wall, hanging, and has yet to rise (151). “Hamlet, I am thy father’s spirit / Doomed for a certain time to walk the earth,” (152). The resurrection has not occurred.
The people of Dublin are more ready to accept a false prophet then the seagulls are, who reject the crumbled throwaway that Bloom tries to pass as bread, or manna from heaven. He purchases them real bread, and they gobble it up. At least the gulls are fed. Throughout this chapter there are numerous references to consuming poisonous, inedible, or junk food, or things that are just not meant to be eaten, such as the rats in the porter, or swans.
Bloom wanders the streets, letting his mind meander as he slowly searches for a suitable eatery. Just as in the lotus-eaters, Bloom’s mind works hard to try to elude thoughts of Molly, which lead to thoughts of Boylan, who Bloom also tries to physically avoid. Women, again, are tempestuous, cruel creatures. Molly’s pins are all over the house, and he thinks to purchase her a pincushion for her birthday. She has pricked him relentlessly. He runs into an old love interest, Mrs. Breen, who is covered in pastry flakes and sugar. Once a sharp dresser, and a beauty, Breen is now unappealing and old, only a year older then Molly, reminding Bloom of the inescapable plight of time. Breen takes a pin out of her purse, but puts it back. Like Martha, her flower has no scent. He pin will not prick Bloom.
No women are appealing in this episode. Their breasts are tired and overworked, dried up grapes, insufficient for reproduction. The baby will not be birthed. The only appealing woman, as always, is Molly. It is apparent that Bloom’s hunger reaches far beyond that of the tummy. Memories of Molly’s satiable love finally reach Bloom’s mind in a beautifully written scene on page 176.
Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweet and sour with spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy.”
This thought ends with “Me. And me now.” Bloom ponders over rather common philosophical issues: the me in the past is different then the me of now. Also, previously in this episode, Bloom’s faithful cloud momentarily covers the sunlight, and he has a momentary bout of depression: just as people die they are supplanted by numerous other births. The world keeps spinning. Everything is meaningless. Its all gas and dust. Language is just a bunch of sounds. ‘No one is anything.’
He also, in his philosophical meanderings, considers the word, parallax, much like Molly’s metempsychosis. His mind cannot penetrate the word, but he is intrigued. The word seems fitting. Life is a stream that stretches along the curbstone, therefore, linear. Life is time. If we are physically above this line, we can see the past as well as the present and the future. Parallax is “the apparent displacement or the difference in apparent direction of an object as seen from two different points of view.” This could hearken back to Blooms view his different selves, and also the self of the future. The messiah has been crucified, but will he rise again?
After considering Molly, Bloom’s mind reverts to a beauty beyond the ‘ineluctable modality’, or the grasp of time. He seeks ambrosial feasts and the beauty of statues. Bloom has been reminded numerous times in this episode of his impotence, concerning Molly. He suitors are everywhere in this chapter, and Bloom compares himself to them. When the blind man refers to Bloom as a man, Bloom thinks, it must be my voice, which reminds us of Molly’s suitor, the ‘barreltone’ baritone. Bloom is starving, but someone at the restaurant mentions that Molly is well fed. Bloom cannot avoid Boylan, and, in fact, sees him from a slight distance, and tries to evade his glance. His heart beats like a bird's as he retreats, like Ulysses, fumbling for his soap.
Bloom is in a state of arrest, a fly in the bar window, and retreats from his role as messiah. The messiah will not be birthed. A woman has labored for days, and it will not come, just as the body is yet to be found in the water, and Bloom’s son was born dead. Jesus is on the wall, hanging, and has yet to rise (151). “Hamlet, I am thy father’s spirit / Doomed for a certain time to walk the earth,” (152). The resurrection has not occurred.
The people of Dublin are more ready to accept a false prophet then the seagulls are, who reject the crumbled throwaway that Bloom tries to pass as bread, or manna from heaven. He purchases them real bread, and they gobble it up. At least the gulls are fed. Throughout this chapter there are numerous references to consuming poisonous, inedible, or junk food, or things that are just not meant to be eaten, such as the rats in the porter, or swans.
Bloom wanders the streets, letting his mind meander as he slowly searches for a suitable eatery. Just as in the lotus-eaters, Bloom’s mind works hard to try to elude thoughts of Molly, which lead to thoughts of Boylan, who Bloom also tries to physically avoid. Women, again, are tempestuous, cruel creatures. Molly’s pins are all over the house, and he thinks to purchase her a pincushion for her birthday. She has pricked him relentlessly. He runs into an old love interest, Mrs. Breen, who is covered in pastry flakes and sugar. Once a sharp dresser, and a beauty, Breen is now unappealing and old, only a year older then Molly, reminding Bloom of the inescapable plight of time. Breen takes a pin out of her purse, but puts it back. Like Martha, her flower has no scent. He pin will not prick Bloom.
No women are appealing in this episode. Their breasts are tired and overworked, dried up grapes, insufficient for reproduction. The baby will not be birthed. The only appealing woman, as always, is Molly. It is apparent that Bloom’s hunger reaches far beyond that of the tummy. Memories of Molly’s satiable love finally reach Bloom’s mind in a beautifully written scene on page 176.
Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweet and sour with spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy.”
This thought ends with “Me. And me now.” Bloom ponders over rather common philosophical issues: the me in the past is different then the me of now. Also, previously in this episode, Bloom’s faithful cloud momentarily covers the sunlight, and he has a momentary bout of depression: just as people die they are supplanted by numerous other births. The world keeps spinning. Everything is meaningless. Its all gas and dust. Language is just a bunch of sounds. ‘No one is anything.’
He also, in his philosophical meanderings, considers the word, parallax, much like Molly’s metempsychosis. His mind cannot penetrate the word, but he is intrigued. The word seems fitting. Life is a stream that stretches along the curbstone, therefore, linear. Life is time. If we are physically above this line, we can see the past as well as the present and the future. Parallax is “the apparent displacement or the difference in apparent direction of an object as seen from two different points of view.” This could hearken back to Blooms view his different selves, and also the self of the future. The messiah has been crucified, but will he rise again?
After considering Molly, Bloom’s mind reverts to a beauty beyond the ‘ineluctable modality’, or the grasp of time. He seeks ambrosial feasts and the beauty of statues. Bloom has been reminded numerous times in this episode of his impotence, concerning Molly. He suitors are everywhere in this chapter, and Bloom compares himself to them. When the blind man refers to Bloom as a man, Bloom thinks, it must be my voice, which reminds us of Molly’s suitor, the ‘barreltone’ baritone. Bloom is starving, but someone at the restaurant mentions that Molly is well fed. Bloom cannot avoid Boylan, and, in fact, sees him from a slight distance, and tries to evade his glance. His heart beats like a bird's as he retreats, like Ulysses, fumbling for his soap.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Aeolus
I have about two minutes to write so this will be quick... I found this episode the most frustrating out of all of Ulysses. My reading experience truly mimicked the emotive tone of the chapter. I found it extremely difficult to follow. It is written outside of a character's perspective, and seems to be told from the noise of the newsroom. "Almost human the way it sllt to call attention. Doing its level best to speak," (121).
This chapter is riddled with noise. It's as if no one is listening to each other. No one can hear each other or remain focused on the conversation or the task at hand. Bloom is clumsy, and given many obstacles, ultimately rejected by his peers as he is by Molly. There is so much more going on that I don't have time to delve into. I also have a very loose understanding of this chapter, and hope that class today helps tighten up the wheels in my brain. More on Aeolus later...
This chapter is riddled with noise. It's as if no one is listening to each other. No one can hear each other or remain focused on the conversation or the task at hand. Bloom is clumsy, and given many obstacles, ultimately rejected by his peers as he is by Molly. There is so much more going on that I don't have time to delve into. I also have a very loose understanding of this chapter, and hope that class today helps tighten up the wheels in my brain. More on Aeolus later...
Monday, March 10, 2008
Hades
Hades
This episode reminds me of Yeats’ poem, Sailing to Byzantium. Stone monuments and the mechanical bird do a poor job supplanting life with feigned immortality. There is reference to a bird in this episode, perched on a poplar, the sort of tree associated with the ghostly, white forms who floated among them, welcoming us into the graveyard. Bloom observes that the bird seems stuffed, and recalls the time Milly buried a dead bird in the kitchen matchbox. This reality of death is juxtaposed when Bloom alludes to the rumor about a painter who depicted fruit, so real, that the birds tried to eat it. Also, “rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of gronzefoil” directly precedes this. On the way to the church the men pass numerous stone monuments, depicting men who have died, and later Simon tells the joke about the drunks, in search of their friends grave, who upon seeing a sepulcher depicting an angel, remarks, this isn’t Mulcahy, the deceased man they searched for.
People do a lot to avoid the reality of mortality. Euphemisms for death, and the avoidance of it, seems to wane as Bloom gets deeper and deeper into the Hades of this episode, drawing near the grave yard. In the beginning, Bloom thinks of the progression of age with out considering death, when he considers Milly’s maturation. He also, counts his blessings when he is reminded of how she avoided the whooping cough; these avoidances of immanent death recede with the progression of the chapter.
Also, his mind jumps to Milly directly after he is silently mourning his son’s death. Consubstantiality and father/ son and mother/ daughter relationships are mentioned numerous times. This paragraph, on the top of page 89 reminded me of Stephen’s musings on page 38, when he considers consubstantiality but also that he is the product of a simple fuck. (They clasped and sundered. Did the coupler’s will.) Bloom recalls the point of his son’s conception. Molly, painfully aroused upon the sight of two animals copulating, begged Bloom to satisfy her desire, thus their son came into being.
Bloom’s muted suffering is an undercurrent of this entire chapter. His agony is likened with Christ’s during the crucifixion. Blazes Boylan enters the picture (in a straw hat), and Bloom is so distressed that he cannot fully observe what is happening. “Mr. Bloom reviewed the nails of his left hand, then those of his right hand. The nails, yes,” (92). It goes on. He is reminded of his dead son not only when Simon sees Stephen, but also when they come upon a child’s funeral procession. His father’s suicide is thrown in his face, and the men mock him behind his back. He is an outsider. He tries to get a hold of himself by reverting to practical matters, the amount of money spent of coffins and memorials, questions of insurance, and so on.
Hats recur over and over again. The men Bloom are with sport silk hats. Blazes Boylan sports a straw hat, which makes him seem mockable. Still, he flashes his head to the men, which seems somewhat of an irreverent gesture. When in the graveyard, the men cover their heads, for protection. Simon asks Ned about a mutual friend, Dick. Ned tells him, “nothing between himself and heaven,” (102), which apparently means that he is bald. The word skull is dropped shortly after. Bloom also notices a dent in Menton’s hat, and Menton snubs his observation, possibly because he shows an interest in Molly.
The belief in immortality does not exist for Bloom. Every day the priest sprinkles holy water over slumped corpses, and blesses them into paradise. Parnell is not coming back. We pray for the dead souls, but they are indifferent, (much like the dead in Anne Sexton’s poem, The Truth the Dead Know. “They are more like stone then the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed. Throat, eye, and knucklebone.”) Our first impulse is to burry them, protect them from decay as long as possible. Seal them up. Pray for their souls. But we forget them. Their names on the newspaper fade. Out of sight, out of mind. Finality.
This episode reminds me of Yeats’ poem, Sailing to Byzantium. Stone monuments and the mechanical bird do a poor job supplanting life with feigned immortality. There is reference to a bird in this episode, perched on a poplar, the sort of tree associated with the ghostly, white forms who floated among them, welcoming us into the graveyard. Bloom observes that the bird seems stuffed, and recalls the time Milly buried a dead bird in the kitchen matchbox. This reality of death is juxtaposed when Bloom alludes to the rumor about a painter who depicted fruit, so real, that the birds tried to eat it. Also, “rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of gronzefoil” directly precedes this. On the way to the church the men pass numerous stone monuments, depicting men who have died, and later Simon tells the joke about the drunks, in search of their friends grave, who upon seeing a sepulcher depicting an angel, remarks, this isn’t Mulcahy, the deceased man they searched for.
People do a lot to avoid the reality of mortality. Euphemisms for death, and the avoidance of it, seems to wane as Bloom gets deeper and deeper into the Hades of this episode, drawing near the grave yard. In the beginning, Bloom thinks of the progression of age with out considering death, when he considers Milly’s maturation. He also, counts his blessings when he is reminded of how she avoided the whooping cough; these avoidances of immanent death recede with the progression of the chapter.
Also, his mind jumps to Milly directly after he is silently mourning his son’s death. Consubstantiality and father/ son and mother/ daughter relationships are mentioned numerous times. This paragraph, on the top of page 89 reminded me of Stephen’s musings on page 38, when he considers consubstantiality but also that he is the product of a simple fuck. (They clasped and sundered. Did the coupler’s will.) Bloom recalls the point of his son’s conception. Molly, painfully aroused upon the sight of two animals copulating, begged Bloom to satisfy her desire, thus their son came into being.
Bloom’s muted suffering is an undercurrent of this entire chapter. His agony is likened with Christ’s during the crucifixion. Blazes Boylan enters the picture (in a straw hat), and Bloom is so distressed that he cannot fully observe what is happening. “Mr. Bloom reviewed the nails of his left hand, then those of his right hand. The nails, yes,” (92). It goes on. He is reminded of his dead son not only when Simon sees Stephen, but also when they come upon a child’s funeral procession. His father’s suicide is thrown in his face, and the men mock him behind his back. He is an outsider. He tries to get a hold of himself by reverting to practical matters, the amount of money spent of coffins and memorials, questions of insurance, and so on.
Hats recur over and over again. The men Bloom are with sport silk hats. Blazes Boylan sports a straw hat, which makes him seem mockable. Still, he flashes his head to the men, which seems somewhat of an irreverent gesture. When in the graveyard, the men cover their heads, for protection. Simon asks Ned about a mutual friend, Dick. Ned tells him, “nothing between himself and heaven,” (102), which apparently means that he is bald. The word skull is dropped shortly after. Bloom also notices a dent in Menton’s hat, and Menton snubs his observation, possibly because he shows an interest in Molly.
The belief in immortality does not exist for Bloom. Every day the priest sprinkles holy water over slumped corpses, and blesses them into paradise. Parnell is not coming back. We pray for the dead souls, but they are indifferent, (much like the dead in Anne Sexton’s poem, The Truth the Dead Know. “They are more like stone then the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed. Throat, eye, and knucklebone.”) Our first impulse is to burry them, protect them from decay as long as possible. Seal them up. Pray for their souls. But we forget them. Their names on the newspaper fade. Out of sight, out of mind. Finality.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Lotus Eaters
There are obvious similarities between the episode in the Odyssey and this episode. Bloom is clearly idle and somewhat impotent. His vivacity from the previous episode has diminished. Sentences drop off without being finished. He lacks his usual state of curiosity and lets his mind slump when considering the salinity of the Dead Sea. Also, he doesn’t purse sexual fantasy to the length that I would expect of him. The letter from Martha set him up perfectly for him to pursue the thought of being punished by her. Instead, he only glides over the prospect of sleeping with her, considering the game of cat and mouse she will put up, keeping up the appearance of a good catholic girl. It is clear he has no interest in bringing this relationship into physicality. He tosses her pin aside; her flower won’t prick him. In fact, her flower has lost its scent, it’s intoxicating language. Molly’s scent, however, pervades, as he purchases her eau de toilette. Still, as in the Odyssey, Bloom is distracted from thoughts of home, perhaps intentionally by himself, for he knows of his wife’s infidelity.
His anger and frustration towards Molly seems to be geared in the depiction of all women in this episode. Martha is mentioned in the same breath as two whores, both are missing a pin to ‘keep it up’, an obvious sexual pun. Women are fatal, exuding their intoxicating scent and then trapping their men. (“They like it because no-one can hear. Or a poison bouquet to strike him down.) This also harkens back to the previous episode, when the cat is paralleled with Molly. “Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it,” (55). Women have the unspoken power of sexuality to arrest men with their claws, their scent, but so far it seems that Molly is the only one to have this power over Bloom.
Bloom tears up the letter like her might tear up a check. Both have potential value, but the value is not cashed in. In fact nothing seems to take fruition. The potential meaning of everything seems to be squashed.
Religion is absolutely meaningless. One might as well smoke opium; it has the same effect. When the priest administers the holy sacrament, women, young and old, bend down to their knees and seem to submit and receive from the priest as if they were engaged in a sexual act. The drop of the holy water, or wine, in their mouth is meaningless, just as if it was the life force in a sexual act. In fact, he mentions that they are chewing corpses, the sacrament of the dead god, reminiscent of The Waste Land.
It seems everyone is dirty or sick or dead, lacking vivaciousness. In the opening scene, the child collects the garbage; the little girl plays with garbage, scarred with skin disease. Martha’s flower is dried and dead. God is dead. Beer sputters out from the train, intoxicating the land, dumbing all. People try to fight this crawl towards death, the decay of the body, through lotions and creams and chemicals, but Blooms sees that nature has the perfect cure, death.
His anger and frustration towards Molly seems to be geared in the depiction of all women in this episode. Martha is mentioned in the same breath as two whores, both are missing a pin to ‘keep it up’, an obvious sexual pun. Women are fatal, exuding their intoxicating scent and then trapping their men. (“They like it because no-one can hear. Or a poison bouquet to strike him down.) This also harkens back to the previous episode, when the cat is paralleled with Molly. “Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it,” (55). Women have the unspoken power of sexuality to arrest men with their claws, their scent, but so far it seems that Molly is the only one to have this power over Bloom.
Bloom tears up the letter like her might tear up a check. Both have potential value, but the value is not cashed in. In fact nothing seems to take fruition. The potential meaning of everything seems to be squashed.
Religion is absolutely meaningless. One might as well smoke opium; it has the same effect. When the priest administers the holy sacrament, women, young and old, bend down to their knees and seem to submit and receive from the priest as if they were engaged in a sexual act. The drop of the holy water, or wine, in their mouth is meaningless, just as if it was the life force in a sexual act. In fact, he mentions that they are chewing corpses, the sacrament of the dead god, reminiscent of The Waste Land.
It seems everyone is dirty or sick or dead, lacking vivaciousness. In the opening scene, the child collects the garbage; the little girl plays with garbage, scarred with skin disease. Martha’s flower is dried and dead. God is dead. Beer sputters out from the train, intoxicating the land, dumbing all. People try to fight this crawl towards death, the decay of the body, through lotions and creams and chemicals, but Blooms sees that nature has the perfect cure, death.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Calypso
Leopold Bloom seems to be an interesting mixture between brutish and docile; he is also a dreamer, but those dreams are easily taken by darkness. This creates for quite a dynamic character.
He is incredibly animalistic. His consciousness is intertwined with that of the cats, (“scratch my head. Purr.”) He is described as incredibly carnivorous; Leo is in his name. He takes extreme pleasure in the corporeal, and he exudes carnal desire for food and sex. This is demonstrated when he is admiring the young servant of his neighbor. First, he is imagining a farmhouse, and the cattle that occupy the land, but even the description of the cattle have a sexual undertone. He goes from describing the breeders covered in dung slapping the rear of a young white heifer, to fantasizing about the servant whacking the rug, her skirt swinging whack by whack, all in the same breath. He tires to catch up to her to admire her from behind, then imagines her being taken by a policemen: a girl like that needs them sizable. There are more sexual puns in this chapter. The cat is called pussens; Molly, when calling the cat says, “come, come, pussy, come,” Molly also mentions liking the last name of an author, that sounds like cocks.
But to only talk about the brutish side of Bloom is to have an extremely limited view of him. He shows incredible tenderness and patience towards Molly. He is careful not to disturb her on his way out; He brings her the tea as he is ordered to. He teaches her in the most gentile way, as to avoid condescendence. He says nothing negative about the letter she hides from him, which is from another man. He loves her dearly, and although there seems to be an underlying jealously, it is not expressed by Bloom himself, but more subtly, but Ponchelli’s dance for example, A lot seems to be swarming under Bloom’s surface.
His mind changes so easily from a sweet mixture of memory and fantasy to nightmarish thoughts of a hellish barren land destroyed by sin becoming the ‘grey sunken cunt of the world.’ These thoughts never linger, however. He avoids this particular thought by focusing on the warm body of his wife.
There is another episode that precedes this one that turns dark, literally, very quickly. In fact, the sudden change from day to night recurs throughout the chapter. He seems to be mourning how quickly he and his wife have aged, and how quickly death sets in. Like the drowned man in the previous episodes, the funeral is rarely directly addressed, but lingers in the backdrop. He fantasizes about avoiding the progression of time by jumping to different places around the world, avoiding the progression of day, but this is impossible. Suddenly, his fantasy of the bustling eastern town blackens to cries on the street, a mother calling her children home, the color of the night. Again, he escapes with visions of Molly, whose garters resemble the color of the night sky.
Age cannot be avoided by anyone. Molly is described as slightly stale. She eats day old bread to make her feel younger, has many lines under her eyes, the incense turns to foul flower water by the next day. Blooms little girl is quickly budding, becoming a sexual being. This breaks his heart, and he is distracted by the call of nature, that brings Leopold back to a place that he seems to enjoy a bit more then his mind.
He is incredibly animalistic. His consciousness is intertwined with that of the cats, (“scratch my head. Purr.”) He is described as incredibly carnivorous; Leo is in his name. He takes extreme pleasure in the corporeal, and he exudes carnal desire for food and sex. This is demonstrated when he is admiring the young servant of his neighbor. First, he is imagining a farmhouse, and the cattle that occupy the land, but even the description of the cattle have a sexual undertone. He goes from describing the breeders covered in dung slapping the rear of a young white heifer, to fantasizing about the servant whacking the rug, her skirt swinging whack by whack, all in the same breath. He tires to catch up to her to admire her from behind, then imagines her being taken by a policemen: a girl like that needs them sizable. There are more sexual puns in this chapter. The cat is called pussens; Molly, when calling the cat says, “come, come, pussy, come,” Molly also mentions liking the last name of an author, that sounds like cocks.
But to only talk about the brutish side of Bloom is to have an extremely limited view of him. He shows incredible tenderness and patience towards Molly. He is careful not to disturb her on his way out; He brings her the tea as he is ordered to. He teaches her in the most gentile way, as to avoid condescendence. He says nothing negative about the letter she hides from him, which is from another man. He loves her dearly, and although there seems to be an underlying jealously, it is not expressed by Bloom himself, but more subtly, but Ponchelli’s dance for example, A lot seems to be swarming under Bloom’s surface.
His mind changes so easily from a sweet mixture of memory and fantasy to nightmarish thoughts of a hellish barren land destroyed by sin becoming the ‘grey sunken cunt of the world.’ These thoughts never linger, however. He avoids this particular thought by focusing on the warm body of his wife.
There is another episode that precedes this one that turns dark, literally, very quickly. In fact, the sudden change from day to night recurs throughout the chapter. He seems to be mourning how quickly he and his wife have aged, and how quickly death sets in. Like the drowned man in the previous episodes, the funeral is rarely directly addressed, but lingers in the backdrop. He fantasizes about avoiding the progression of time by jumping to different places around the world, avoiding the progression of day, but this is impossible. Suddenly, his fantasy of the bustling eastern town blackens to cries on the street, a mother calling her children home, the color of the night. Again, he escapes with visions of Molly, whose garters resemble the color of the night sky.
Age cannot be avoided by anyone. Molly is described as slightly stale. She eats day old bread to make her feel younger, has many lines under her eyes, the incense turns to foul flower water by the next day. Blooms little girl is quickly budding, becoming a sexual being. This breaks his heart, and he is distracted by the call of nature, that brings Leopold back to a place that he seems to enjoy a bit more then his mind.
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