Classics and the Western Canon discussion

This episode parallels Odysseus's encounter with Polyphemous, the one-eyed Cyclops, in Book 9 of the Odyssey. The Cyclopes are unsocial giants who live separate from others of their kind. They have no laws and do not respect the traditional custom of hospitality to strangers. When Odysseus and his men arrive on the island of the Cyclops they are impressed by the fertility of the land and decide to stop for supplies. They see that Polyphemous the Cyclops is away, grazing his sheep, so they take advantage of the opportunity to feast on the provisions in his cave. When Polyphemous suddenly returns, they are trapped. When asked for his name, Odysseus replies, "Nobody." Polyphemous gobbles up two of Odysseus's crew and plans to continue this way until one evening he falls into a drunken sleep and Odysseus blinds him with an olive stake sharpened in the fire. Polyphemous cries out for help to his neighboring Cyclopes, "Nobody is trying to kill me!" The men manage to escape from the now blind Cyclops by clinging to the bellies of the sheep as they are let out of the cave to graze. As they are sailing away, Odysseus taunts Polyphemous, who in his rage breaks off the crest of a cliff and flings it in the direction of the ship, almost striking the ship and washing it back to shore. After pushing off again, and against the protests of his crew, Odysseus taunts the Cyclops once more, and again the ship is almost destroyed when Polyphemous throws a boulder even larger than the first.

The narration of this episode is fairly straightforward, but it is periodically interrupted by passages of pronounced exaggeration that parody various writing styles. The first example of this, a parody of legal writing, occurs after the narrator describes how he tried to collect a debt from a plumber named Geraghty. The exaggerations that follow include parodies of Irish epic style, medieval and romance language, theosophy, scientific writing, parliamentary reports, and various types of newspaper writing.

The unnamed narrator begins by telling Joe Hynes how he was nearly blinded by the gear of a passing chimney sweep, raising the primary image of the chapter. He and Hynes decide to visit Barney Kiernan's pub for a drink, where Hynes is to report on a meeting of the cattle traders' association to a man known here only as "The Citizen." Along with the Citizen in the pub are his dog, Garryowen, and Bob Doran, drunk as usual. Alf Bergan (recently named by Bloom as the perpetrator of the "U.P.:up" postcard sent to Denis Breen) arrives. In response to a comment about an upcoming hanging at Mountjoy prison, Bergan produces a bundle of "hangman's letters,” which appear to be the resumes of executioners in search of work. Alf mentions that he has just seen Paddy Dignam, and he is astonished to hear that Dignam is dead.

Bloom arrives to meet Martin Cunningham to work out the details of the late Dignam’s life insurance policy, but Cunningham hasn’t yet arrived. Bloom refuses a drink, but accepts a "knockmedown cigar." He joins in the discussion of hangings by criticizing capital punishment. The conversation drifts to the politics of Irish revolution, among other things, during which Bloom takes a position of balance and temperance as the Citizen continues to drink and becomes more stridently nationalistic and one-eyed.

Until the very end of the episode, Bloom defends non-violence, though he is forthright in expressing his opinions. The narrator and the others present in the pub take swipes at Bloom personally, at his wife, and at his heritage. When Bloom leaves to search for Cunningham at the courthouse, they assume he has gone to collect his winnings on "Throwaway", the winner of the Ascot Cup, but of course Bloom has no knowledge of Bantam Lyons’ earlier misunderstanding and has not even placed a bet.

Cunningham finally arrives with Jack Power, and the abuse of the absent Bloom continues. When Bloom returns to the pub the narrator as well as the Citizen are enraged that he won't stand them drinks with his presumed winnings. Cunningham and Power sense the acrimony towards Bloom and usher him out of the pub. Hynes and Bergan try to stop the Citizen, but he follows Bloom out the door and shouts, "Three cheers for Israel!" Bloom responds, " Mendelsohn was a Jew, and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. And the Saviour was a jew.... Your God was a jew. Christ was a jew like me." For this, the Citizen says he will "crucify him" and retrieves a biscuit box, which he hurls at Bloom's moving carriage, but the sun is in his eyes and he misses. He sends Garryowen after Bloom as Bloom, in a final parody of biblical style (KJV), ascends to heaven as Elijah.

How does Joyce's use of parody affect the tone of the chapter?

Previously Bloom has appeared to be a passive observer of the events around him. Does this episode change that at all? Is Bloom himself changing?

Patrice wrote: "Just wondering why Bloom has anything to do with insurance?
He seems to have such an odd day, meandering around, going to funerals, etc. He doesn't seem to have much time pressure."

Apparently Bloom was in the insurance business at some point. Davey Byrne asks about this in Lestrygonians after Bloom leaves to use the restroom:

When the sound of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne said from his book:
--What is this he is? Isn't he in the insurance line?
--He's out of that long ago, Nosey Flynn said. He does canvassing for the FREEMAN.

Both Stephen and Bloom seem to have an awful lot of free time on this day. But I wouldn't call either of them an economic powerhouse exactly.

Patrice wrote: "I'm a bit taken aback by JJ contempt for his own people. The citizen and the people in the bar...if they are being compared to the Cyclops...are blind savages.

As shocking as it is, I can see w..."

I don't think it was contempt exactly. I think if it were contempt he would not have chosen to focus on Dublin and Dubliners in an almost singular fashion for forty years.

Joyce's English friend Frank Budgen spent time with Joyce in Zurich while the Irish War of Independence was brewing in 1919 and 1920. Budgen reports having this conversation:

"All this fighting with Ireland is absorbing too much English energy," Budgen said. "History is leading up the garden. We are being ruined by politics. Let us give economics a chance. The Irish want political autonomy. Why not give them what they want, give them at any rate what will satisfy them? Then, perhaps, when history is satisfied, the two islands will be able to realize their unity on an economic basis."

"Ireland is what she is," said Joyce, "and therefore I am what I am because of the relations that have existed between England and Ireland. Tell me why you think I ought to wish to change the conditions that gave Ireland and me a shape and a destiny?"

"But what about us?" I said with indication. "Do you think that we English exist to further the spiritual development of the Irish people?"

Joyce's eyes flickered laughter behind their powerful lenses. He made no answer, and I took his silence to mean that he did think that that was one of our useful functions.

Thomas wrote: "Patrice wrote: "I'm a bit taken aback by JJ contempt for his own people. The citizen and the people in the bar...if they are being compared to the Cyclops...are blind savages.

As shocking as it..."

Maybe Joyce's "eyes flickered with laughter" because the English, as portrayed in this conversation by Budgen, DO think of themselves as capable of, obligated to "further the spiritual development of the Irish". How patronizing! Joyce knows that England does not exist for the spiritaul development of Ireland, but the it's the English who cannot give up that role. And of course, Budgen projects the concept that the English are useful to the Irish on JOyce's silence.

Susan wrote: "Joyce knows that England does not exist for the spiritaul development of Ireland, but the it's the English who cannot give up that role. And of course, Budgen projects the concept that the English are useful to the Irish on JOyce's silence. "

I think Joyce is simply expressing the reality of the situation. Ireland and the character of the Irish was for him a product of oppression, and the result was in some respects, and for some people, a kind of paralysis; in others it was rage and rebellion. It's like what Bloom says to the Citizen about love in this chapter -- what sort of effect does it have on the Citizen? What does the narrator think?

--Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? says the citizen.
--I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.
--Right, says John Wyse. Stand up to it then with force like men.
That's an almanac picture for you. Mark for a softnosed bullet. Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun. Gob, he'd adorn a
sweepingbrush, so he would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag.
--But it's no use, says he. Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life.
--What? says Alf.
--Love, says Bloom. I mean the opposite of hatred.

I think that in addition to the religious/nationalist differences in this chapter, we are seeing more subtle demographic differences (which have also been under the surface in previous chapters). The first person narrator, Hynes, and the Citizen are all clearly on the lower end of the pay scale. Nor are they very well educated (or at least no more so than average). They are regular dudes.

Bloom and JJ both have more formal schooling and it is at least implied that they have more money. The source of Bloom's money is not clear (and we know that he is by no means rich) but we know he has a big house and does not feel constrained about posting some pocket change to Martha or donating "5 quid" to the Dignam fund.

The two groups are also divided on emotional/cerebral lines - the regular dudes of course being the emotional ones. Bloom continues to be something of a contradictory figure on this - we have seen that his thoughts are often ruled by his viscera (especially regarding food and sex), but his outward speech is clinical. As Thomas mentioned in a previous thread, he seems not to realize that he is out of touch with the emotional content of conversations.

Also, seeing Bloom from the outside through a biased human narrator really highlights all of the divisions we are discussing.

Patrice wrote: "OH! How much I would LOVE to believe Bloom! But this was before the Holocaust..."

This is where Bloom as "Christ-figure" comes in. Certainly Bloom knew of the atrocities committed upon Jews before the Holocaust, as well as events like the Potato Famine which many Irish people saw as a kind of Holocaust perpetrated by the English on the Irish. But here Bloom is set up as "Christ" insisting on love and nonviolence, opposed to the Machiavellian violence of the Citizen -- and the result is that the Citizen threatens to crucify him.

Kyle wrote: "Also, seeing Bloom from the outside through a biased human narrator really highlights all of the divisions we are discussing."

One commentator (I can't think of who at the moment) noted that this is the only episode aside from Penelope in which Bloom is seen entirely from the outside.

Patrice wrote: "Lots of parody in this chapter but it's hard to fully appreciate it when you are not familiar with what is being parodied.

Line 354 talafana, alavaatar, hatakalda wataklasat (water closet!)

Is t..."

This is a parody of theosophy, which does incorporate a lot of Hindu stuff. The spellings here imitate Sanskrit.

Homer is riddled with the sort of "listing" that we see in this episode. Perhaps not so much the Odyssey, but certainly the Iliad (and, when Virgil later adapted the whole thing as a Roman origin myth, the Aeneid as well). Homer describes in minute detail the Greek captains, where they come from, how their armies are outfitted, etc. So this a stylistic riff/send-up of that material. Here is a sample from the Iliad:

"Peneleos, Leitus, Arcesilaus, Prothoenor, and Clonius were captains of the Boeotians. These were they that dwelt in Hyria and rocky Aulis, and who held Schoenus, Scolus, and the highlands of Eteonus, with Thespeia, Graia, and the fair city of Mycalessus. They also held Harma, Eilesium, and Erythrae; and they had Eleon, Hyle, and Peteon; Ocalea and the strong fortress of Medeon; Copae, Eutresis, and Thisbe the haunt of doves; Coronea, and the pastures of Haliartus; Plataea and Glisas; the fortress of Thebes the less; holy Onchestus with its famous grove of Neptune; Arne rich in vineyards; Midea, sacred Nisa, and Anthedon upon the sea. From these there came fifty ships, and in each there were a hundred and twenty young men of the Boeotians. " (book II)

Joyce really has some fun with his lists though... one of my favorites is the Germanic names, finishing with "Nationalgymnasiummuesemsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordiaryprivatdocentgeneralhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. This mocks the German penchant for creating sprawling compound words. We can see the big long portion is a mashup of vaguely academic sounding titles (sort of like Herr Professor Doktor Doktor - a real German title for someone who is a lecturer, holds PhD, and an MD), Kriegfried is a made-up Germanic name (though Krieg means war), and Ueberallgemein roughly translates to "Super Miscellaneous:

So have fun with this episode. It is laced with stuff like this to give you a break from Sirens, which was intellectually very difficult to understand, and emotionally draining. this is your comedic interlude...

Regarding the theosophy part, that was actually among the only parodies I understood! (Just had to say I actually spotted something.) I've read plenty of Blavatsky when I was younger and Ulysses actually made me revisit some of her texts yesterday.

Thank you Kyle for pointing out the significance of the lists. Didn't think of that while reading, and found some of the lists just dull (there were some funny ones too like the one you mentioned.)

This chapter isn't among my favourites, I must say. I think the parodies go on for too long. But there were good things in it, like the execution parody and Bloom's "Love."

Patrice wrote: "Those lists are in the Bible too.

I have vague memories of Americans supporting the IRA. Weren't the Kennedys involved? I seem to remember one of the Kennedy daughters marrying a terrorist. I c..."

The IRA has a complex history. In the early years, they really were an "army" in the sense that they targeted British occupation forces. They actually had a decent amount of international sympathy during this time, especially among Irish émigrés and their descendants living in the US. The films Michael Collins and especially The Foggy Dew are both pretty decent looks at period around the Easter Uprising (1919), when a lot of this stuff came to a head. There was a slow evolution from a pretty focused sort of underground resistance group to the organization most of us think of today - car bombs, killing civilians, etc.

Of course, they are now officially disarmed - I happened to be visiting Dublin in 1997 when Clinton mediated the Easter truce to start the process. I drank a few free pints that week just for being American...

Kyle wrote: "Kriegfried is a made-up Germanic name (though Krieg means war), and Ueberallgemein roughly translates to "Super Miscellaneous: "

That is funny. Thanks, Kyle. I love this interlude, where the F.O.T.E.I. (Friends of the Emerald Isle) engage in a brawl over the correct date of St. Patrick's Day. Some say the 8th, others the 9th. The baby policeman Constable McFadden (who is nine feet tall) restores order by proposing the 17th as the correct date, and this is unanimously accepted.

Totally absurd, but greater wars have been fought over similar things.

Thomas wrote: " F.O.T.E.I. (Friends of the Emerald Isle) engage in a brawl over the correct date of St. Patrick's Day..."

Sort of like the Monty Python gag from the Life of Bryan - the Judean People's Front versus the People's Front of Judea :)

Another oddity that arises in the pub is the allegation that Arthur Griffith, the founder of the Sinn Fein movement, took advice from the Hungarian Irish Jew, Leopold Bloom, of all people. But it is a fact that Griffith was greatly influenced by the independence movement in Hungary. In 1904 he published a series of articles in the United Irishman titled "The Resurrection of Hungary: a Parallel for Ireland."

Kyle wrote: "Sort of like the the Month Python gag from the Life of Bryan - the Judean People's front versus the People's Front of Judea :) "

Splitters!

Thomas wrote: "oth Stephen and Bloom seem to have an awful lot of free time on this day. But I wouldn't call either of them an economic powerhouse exactly. "

That's been striking me, too. Bloom specifically is basically wandering from pub to pub, but not drinking that much. He seems to have almost no purpose to his day -- a little of this, getting the ad approved, a little of that, planning to help with the insurance question, but mostly he just seems to wander without any major commitment to his day.

Kyle wrote: "Also, seeing Bloom from the outside through a biased human narrator really highlights all of the divisions we are discussing."

Yes. There are two points to this. One, why does Joyce suddenly bring in a first person narrator? What is the purpose/point of that? Who is he (or she), what do they have to do with the story?

Second, because there is a first person narrator who clearly can only observe Bloom from the outside, this is the first episode where we get no interior monologue.

And a third point, up to now Joyce's cleverness has mostly been in content -- things he has hidden, references, that sort of thing. But here the cleverness suddenly shifts to style. Joyce slides in parodies of legal writing followed, as Thomas so ably points out, parodies of "Irish epic style, medieval and romance language, theosophy, scientific writing, parliamentary reports, and various types of newspaper writing."

It's almost as though Joyce is writing a different book but with the same characters.

Why, why, why???

Patrice wrote: "l. If he is Odysseus he is lost. He is wandering from place to place trying to get home. Home is the place you belong. Does Bloom even have such a place?"

Good observation. But it's twisted, because his wife is anything BUT a Penelope. Is he trying to go home? And if so, for what?

Everyman wrote: "But it's twisted, because his wife is anything BUT a Penelope. Is he trying to go home? And if so, for what? "
"

I think it depends on what "home" means. Bloom spends most of the day avoiding his home, but it is his center of gravity all the same. The trials of Odysseus are Bloom's as well, but they are psychological trials rather than the stuff of legend.

Joyce's trials are like this as well, but they are the trials of an artist. He wanders through styles and perspectives and is tested by his own experience and imagination. More than one critic has risen up in fury and thrown the biscuit box at Joyce. And understandably so, but that is the path that Joyce chose, a circuitous route not easily understood.

From the next episode (not really a spoiler, but if you haven't gotten to it you might want to wait for it) :

(view spoiler)[ "Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest
way round is the shortest way home. " (hide spoiler)]

An interesting comment that Joyce made to Frank Budgen about the unnamed narrator of this episode:

You see, "I" is really a great admirer of Bloom who, besides being a better man, is also more cunning, a better talker, and more fertile in expedients. If you reread Troilus and Cressida you will see that of all the heroes Thersites respects only Ulysses. Thersites admires Ulysses.

Patrice wrote: "Kyle wrote: "Patrice wrote: "Those lists are in the Bible too.

Nice to think that Americans had something to do with ending the fighting. But hard to understand their support of the fighting in the first place. I still have a lot to learn!..."

My British friends claim that if it weren't for American money supporting the Irish rebels and terrorists, there wouldn't have been much of a fight. They claim that when American money dried up after 911, when American realized what terrorist organizations do, peace began. History depends on your perspective!

Everyman wrote: Yes. There are two points to this. One, why does Joyce suddenly bring in a first person narrator? What is the purpose/point of that? Who is he (or she), what do they have to do with the story?.."

It almost seems like Joyce got tired of being the passive narrator orchestrating the scene with "he said" interjections. He's not satisfied with a minor role of word play and feats of memory. Also, Bloom, the unpretentious, practical, man of bodily functions and belief in love, shines in contrast to the pretentions revealed in each of the parodies. More robust stagecraft is required.

Everyman wrote: "Kyle wrote: "Also, seeing Bloom from the outside through a biased human narrator really highlights all of the divisions we are discussing."

Yes. There are two points to this. One, why does Joyce s..."

I think at least to a certain extent, the reason Joyce does this is because he can. Recall that Ulysses was meant to reimagine the concept of the novel itself, so some of the eccentricities are experimental. But I also think this shift fits into the sweep of the novel in a couple ways.

The first would be the Cyclops theme of the episode (which I think Thomas may have touched on) - the narrative has a certain "one eyed" aspect to it now.

The second would be a broader shift in narration that starts in Wandering Rocks. Up until this point, the third person narrator had been coupled with either Bloom or Stephen. This restraint is removed in Wandering Rocks. The narrator can still get inside our "heroes'" heads, but 'he' is more omniscient now - for example in Sirens, he tells us about Boylan's progress through the city as Bloom is eating his liver at the Ormand.

Another point (that just occurs to me as I write this) would be that the "I" in Cyclops is not really a true narrator, at least not in the way we would typically define the word... He's a guy who is telling our narrator a story about the time he was hanging out with Joe Hynes, overlaid with the our increasingly omniscient narrator's presence at the same event (and his baroque textual embellishments). There are a couple things about this theory I want to check on when I can lay hands on the text...

Also, I actually tend to think that a good part of the reason for the introduction of the "I" character in Cyclops comes back to my original observation - Joyce is trying to highlight the "otherness" of Bloom and uses a literal other to do so...

And I don't want to get ahead of ourselves here, but the trend continues into the next episode (even though it casts bloom in a very different light.)

In the big picture, all of this reminds me of a comment in Judge Woolsey's Opinion lifting the ban on the novel in the US - Joyce is trying to create a kaleidoscopic sort of depth. Woolsey uses the metaphor of a double-exposed photograph, or several overlaid plastic transparencies, shifting on varying pivot points.

Patrice wrote: "If he is Odysseus he is lost. He is wandering from place to place trying to get home. Home is the place you belong. Does Bloom even have such a place? ..."

There have been several references to coming back to find oneself. Maybe the self is the only reliable place of belonging. Other homes are temporary and illusions. Perhaps that's a more existential idea of ships passing in the night and any sense of love, companionship, union is illusion. Maybe that doesn't apply here.

Kyle wrote: "Another point (that just occurs to me as I write this) would be that the "I" in Cyclops is not really a true narrator, at least not in the way we would typically define the word... He's a guy who is telling our narrator a story about the time he was hanging out with Joe Hynes, overlaid with the our increasingly omniscient narrator's presence at the same event (and his baroque textual embellishments). There are a couple things about this theory I want to check on when I can lay hands on the text......"

Do you view the "I" as a distinct second narrator or an expansion and perhaps schizophrenic single narrator? In whose voice are the parodies? They don't seem to have the "I"dentity.

Susan wrote: "Kyle wrote: "Another point (that just occurs to me as I write this) would be that the "I" in Cyclops is not really a true narrator, at least not in the way we would typically define the word... He'..."

I'm actually still thinking this through...it's something that just occured to me as I was writing that post. i'll update my little theory later on when I can skim through the episode again.

I would say that Joyce has been experimenting with style in every chapter thus far. The last episode - fugue - was probably the most extreme case, but this one - gigantism - just continues his show of artistry (see the Gilbert scheme for Joyce’s qualifications of the different techniques used).

Some readers enjoy these feats of verbal strength (and memory), but for others it is rather tiresome, or just 'cleverness'. I fear I belong to this latter group of lazy, dumb or just struggling readers. Even though I have much sympathy for what I think Joyce is trying to tell us in this book.

But it is probably not so simple to oppose style and content. In 'A Portrait' we saw Stephen swear that as an artist he would never compromise. And he (Joyce) writes about the Bloom marriage and Dublin life as he saw it: utter realism. No embellishment of content - but plenty pyrotechnics in form. So, how do form and content relate?

Back to content - always easier to comment on. What strikes me here is how Bloom is forced to identify as a Jew. In fact he is just as much a Jew as a non-Jew, and he seems perfectly happy with that. But the outside world will not accept such ambivalence - one must choose. Or rather, if one bears the stigma of a minority, one will be forced into that minority, no matter what.

For many this is of course no problem at all. There is a strong need to be recognized, to belong. So we dress up and wave flags. But Bloom is different.

PS: Here is an interesting example of a forced identity change - Haaretz

A lot of material here in this discussion. One thing is that Bloom really is working -- his job is to canvas for advertising, which involves walking around, meeting people, networking. He may not be working at it too hard today, but by making himself seen, being helpful, etc. he is laying the groundwork.

Most everything recently said about Jewishness, faith, relationship with the surrounding culture, criticism of Irishness etc have been with us from the beginning, in the discussion of the Catholic Stephen and his problems, and they weren't resolved then, either. Later on we would say, following Sartre and others, that these irresolvable contradictions are the source of existential angst, the sense of absurdity, and a host of contemporary ills. It's not surprising that we should be having difficulty.

I'm from a place which I feel alienated from and yet drawn to, a complex brew similar to Joyce's relationship with aspects of his heritage. Only recently have I found myself able to write about it. It's just another reason why I'm stupefied by the scope of Joyce's achievement.

Wendel wrote: "But it is probably not so simple to oppose style and content. In 'A Portrait' we saw Stephen swear that as an artist he would never compromise. And he (Joyce) writes about the Bloom marriage and Dublin life as he saw it: utter realism. No embellishment of content - but plenty pyrotechnics in form. So, how do form and content relate?..."

The response to your question is likely more complicated than this, but Bloom is focused, self-contained, and his stillness is in stark relief to the embellished, rich, experimental form of the background. I see Dublin life as part of the background, the distraction from which Bloom maintains a distance or at least manages to disentangle himself, just as Odysseus does. To me the obstacles on the journey home are embodied in the form.

Playing catch-up here, just finished this section and read through the comments.

OK, I'm glad I didn't miss something when it seemed that this section was the first written in first person, and that we do not know who the narrator is. And to go along with that, that we do not know who the "citizen" is. I kept trying to figure out those two points.

Kyle wrote: Homer is riddled with the sort of "listing" that we see in this episode.

I liked all the lists, but wondered why they were so numerous in this chapter, so thanks for pointing this out Kyle. I also especially liked the super long word you mentioned and had fun sounding out it. And I also liked the list of women with tree-type names.

As for the parodies, these were over my head so I didn't pick up on these, I was mostly confused just trying to figure out what was going on. Confused by the talk of the execution, trying to figure out the insurance and mortgage talk about Dignam.

I loved when Bloom "stood up" for Love over Hatred. It's when I run into tidbits like this that I am glad to be reading this book, even if I don't understand a lot of the other stuff.

But it's no use, says he. Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life......Love. I mean the opposite of hatred.

With regards the the unknown man at the cemetery - it appears he was just there to visit a grave and not there specifically for Dignam's burial?

The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead.

Linda wrote: "With regards the the unknown man at the cemetery - it appears he was just there to visit a grave and not there specifically for Dignam's burial?

The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. ."

Nice catch. It could be that he wasn't there for the funeral at all.

There are lots of theories about who the man in Macintosh is. The most popular one is that he is Joyce himself, who was indeed a "lanky looking galoot"... but other theories suggest James Duffy (from the Dubliners story "A Painful Case," in which Duffy loves a married woman who later commits suicide); Theoclymenos, a minor character from the Odyssey; Hades (who loves Persephone); the Risen Christ, as the 13th mourner at the funeral; the Irish poet James Clarence Mangan; or the possibility that I like best -- the ghost of Bloom's father.

Joyce used to tease fans of the book with the question of M'Intosh, but to my knowledge he never did answer the question himself.

Susan wrote: "Kyle wrote: "Another point (that just occurs to me as I write this) would be that the "I" in Cyclops is not really a true narrator, at least not in the way we would typically define the word... He'..."

I read this narrator differently, as if he were also the narrator of all of the longer sections of parody, an easily distracted, storytelling kind of a guy, himself a parody of the long-winded kind of storyteller who goes on and on whether anyone is listening or not. I picked up this understanding of him, I think, shortly after the supposed execution, where he says, "So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog seeing the tin was empty..." This seemed to imply that the same narrator who had taken us on a long diversion was now bringing us back to the present.
Still interested in hearing more from Kyle on this...

Kyle wrote: "So have fun with this episode. It is laced with stuff like this to give you a break from Sirens, which was intellectually very difficult to understand, and emotionally draining. this is your comedic interlude..."

I've just sobered up from the Cyclops section.

Just like Cyclops in Odyssey - a welcome respite from the arduousness.

The third-person narrator in this section made me believe I was listening to Joyce himself - that he had added his own character to the pub group. He's sitting behind his pint, taking notes, and isn't able to follow Bloom when Bloom doesn't go to collect his winnings.

Zippy wrote: "The third-person narrator in this section made me believe I was listening to Joyce himself - that he had added his own character to the pub group. He's sitting behind his pint, taking notes, and isn't able to follow Bloom when Bloom doesn't go to collect his winnings. "

Nice.

Indeed! What writer hasn't imagined sitting down for a drink with his or her characters? Well, I suppose for some that would be a dangerous proposition...

Kathy wrote: "Susan wrote: "Kyle wrote: "Another point (that just occurs to me as I write this) would be that the "I" in Cyclops is not really a true narrator, at least not in the way we would typically define t..."

Yeah, that like Stephen, I no longer believe my own theory - at least as far as the "I" telling the story to the third person narrator. That seems too clever by half - a product of too much coffee on a Saturday morning. I probably should have left that out of my very long lost further up the thread because it takes away from the other points.

Anyway, let's just say that there are some weird things going on here. For one thing, we actually do get a little internal monologue out of the "I" - when he goes to relieve himself.

As far as the baroque digressions, I could see how you would think it is a way of showing that the "I" is rambling. I still do tend to think that this is the third person narrator poking his head in - partially because of the internal monologue - but here I go typing long posts without the text in hand again. I'll see if I can find some time to look back at it tomorrow.

So, by the third person narrator, do you mean the same narrator we've been hearing from throughout the book?

Kathy wrote: "So, by the third person narrator, do you mean the same narrator we've been hearing from throughout the book?"

That's right. I think it does sort of fit into the stylistic flourshes we have seen from this narrator in other episodes so far (especially Aeolus), and that we will see in future episodes. I actually don't love the term "third person narrator" to describe this voice, but it's the term that we seem to have been using so I'm just running with it (also, I cant think of a better term).

Patrice wrote:
Somewhere I had heard that JJ was anti-semitic. He seems the exact opposite. Is it like people who see Mark Twain as a bigot because he used the N word in Huck Finn, never realizing that he was NOT a bigot and that's WHY he used the word? If JJ is anti semitic I really have missed something big!"

I don't think so Patrice - I found this by doing a quick search:

Why, one asks, did Shakespeare manage to look for something positive in Shylock and even give him some strong arguments in his defense, whereas Marlowe’s Jew is just a nasty, evil, unattractive caricature? How is it that George Eliot could write Daniel Deronda, in which a Jewish character is portrayed as noble idealist, while most of her contemporaries, such as Trollope and even Dickens, saw them merely as financial manipulators and unsavory upstarts? Or that Martin Amis could be so different to his anti-Semitic father? American-born T.S. Eliot describes Jews in the crudest of words, while James Joyce on the contrary saw the good and helped many escape from Europe when the Nazi disease began to spread.

....

This brings me back to James Joyce, because he was one of the few writers who actually saw the morally corrosive destructive influence of church and society, and made the difficult decision to flee Ireland to get away from the pettiness as soon as he could. The Italy he escaped to was just as bad, but at least it was different and he had cut the umbilical cord. I suggest that this was precisely why he could identify with the Jews of his day. They were the underdogs. The Irish struggled for independence from the British occupiers, and during the great migration of Jews from Eastern Europe a significant number ended up in Ireland, where they flourished. Irish society was always divided between the rural primitives and the urban elites, the ruling classes and the workers. The Jews were regarded with fascination but not revulsion, as the character of Leopold Bloom in Joyce’s great work Ulysses illustrates. Yet there are plenty of other writers from minority or oppressed groups who are unremittingly and illogically anti-Semitic.

Nicola wrote: This brings me back to James Joyce, because he was one of the few writers who actually saw the morally corrosive destructive influence of church and society, and made the difficult decision to flee Ireland to get away from the pettiness as soon as he could...."

I think this piece is key to understanding a few of the themes in Joyce's writing.

Kyle wrote: "I actually don't love the term "third person narrator" to describe this voice, but it's the term that we seem to have been using so I'm just running with it (also, I cant think of a better term)."

The problem is it's imprecise. Third-person narrators can have different levels of what John Gardner calls "psychic distance" from the reader. I like this list he offers in The Art of Fiction to demonstrate this, all of them telling the same scene using a third-person narrator (the last is second-person, but none of them are first-person) but from different "distances":
1. It was winter of the year 1853. A large man stepped out of a doorway.
2. Henry J. Warburton had never much cared for snowstorms.
3. Henry hated snowstorms.
4. God how he hated these damn snowstorms.
5. Snow. Under your collar, down inside your shoes, freezing and plugging up your miserable soul.

Certainly Joyce's third-person narrator is zooming in and out. Whether the narrator in this chapter is omniscient (telling the story from the "outside") or limited (in the head of the long-winded storyteller)seems to be the question. It makes me more aware of how Joyce is playing with the distance of his narration throughout.

Kathy wrote: "...It makes me more aware of how Joyce is playing with the distance of his narration throughout...."

Kathy -- Do you think the concept of narrator as used by writers today was well enough developed as a literary concept that Joyce was conscious of using the technique deliberately? Or does it seem more a controlled intuitive response to create the effect desired? Do we know what was "taught" about writing at the time?

(I am struggling with some analogous questions about what "science" did Joyce know.)

Patrice wrote: "What struck me about that little piece what I had wondered about, was how Joyce felt about Italy. I had a feeling that life would be tough, wherever he lived. But a different kind of tough. "

Interestingly, Joyce hated Rome but liked Trieste, where he lived for many years. He wrote to his brother, “Rome reminds me of a man who lives exhibiting to travelers his grandmother’s corpse.” Maybe that's not so strange coming from a man who disliked flowers but was fond of trees and grass.

Italian was the language the Joyce family spoke at home, though they moved so many times during the war that somebody once said his daughter was illiterate in three languages.

Kathy wrote: "The problem is it's imprecise. Third-person narrators can have different levels of what John Gardner calls "psychic distance" from the reader."

Great example, Kathy. A critic named Hugh Kenner came up with what he called "The Uncle Charles Principle," which sounds similar. It comes from a scene in the Portrait of the Artist where Stephen's Uncle Charles "repairs to the outhouse" to smoke his awful black tobacco. But "repairs" sounds like a cliche, like bad writing. Kenner argues that this is the word that Uncle Charles would use himself. It's still third person narration, but as if it were coming from the subject of the narration. Only it isn't... is this the same thing as "free indirect narration" ?

Kathy wrote: "Whether the narrator in this chapter is omniscient (telling the story from the "outside") or limited (in the head of the long-winded storyteller)seems to be the question. It makes me more aware of how Joyce is playing with the distance of his narration throughout..."

Yep. Things get pretty muddled - especially after Wandering Rocks. In the early episodes, we get used to the idea of the narrator zooming in and within the bounds of a specific person (Bloom or Stephen) or a specific place (the editor's office in Aeolus, for example). After Wandering Rocks, the narrative voice wanders even more - it follows Boylan on his way to Bloom's house simultaneous with the action at the Ormond, it applies it's own little flourshes to the conversation in Cyclops, and we will see more yet to come.

Interestingly, the "I" in Cyclops is one of the only characters beside Bloom or Stephen whose internal dialogue is shown(even if only briefly), but we never get an actual name. Ive seen it argued that he is meant to be a sort of Everyman - the voice of the common folk. It's an interesting proposal. At any rate, his "outsider" viewpoint on Bloom does help to develop the idea that Bloom is decidedly not an Everyman.

Kathy wrote: "Kyle wrote: "I actually don't love the term "third person narrator" to describe this voice, but it's the term that we seem to have been using so I'm just running with it (also, I cant think of a be..."

In addition to zooming in and out as a fairly consistent narrator's voice, Joyce also at times maintains the third person view but takes on the character's language to describe the scene, almost adopting the character's consciousness without assuming the "I" first person. Also, the narrator time-travels to narrate in language that predates the narrative by hundreds of years. Or is it a different narrator who lacks the concepts which post-date his narrative?

Lily wrote: " Or does it seem more a controlled intuitive response to create the effect desired? Do we know what was "taught" about writing at the time?.."

Seems like you're asking if Joyce was a creative genius who intuitively stumbled on this plethora of narrative techniques or whether they were evident in contemporary literature, the early stream of consciousness writers. Interesting question.