Classics and the Western Canon discussion

After disastrous encounters with the Cyclops and the Lestrygonians, Odysseus and his remaining crew land on the island of Circe the witch. A reconnaissance party explores the island and finds a number of surprisingly friendly animals ranging about Circe's house. All but Eurylochus, who suspects a trap, go to greet the enchantress. She feeds the men and gives them mead to drink, but the mead is spiked with a magic drug and the men are transformed into swine. This explains the friendliness of the animals outside – they are men transformed by Circe into animals. Eurylochus rushes back to tell Odysseus, who in turn prepares to rescue his men. He is met by Hermes, who gives him a powerful herb to counteract Circe’s magic. Hermes gives him this advice:

“When Circe strikes you with her length of wand, draw your sharp sword and rush at her, as if you intend to kill her. She will be seized with fear. Then she’ll invite you to her bed, and don’t refuse the goddess’ favours, if you want her to free your men, and care for you too. But make her swear a solemn oath by the blessed gods that she won’t try to harm you with her mischief, lest when you are naked she robs you of courage and manhood.”

In this chapter Joyce presents what appears to be a hallucinatory screenplay set in “Nighttown,” the red-light district of Dublin. The action of the episode is fairly clear, but the dream-like exaggerations beg for interpretation.

In the first scene we see Stephen and Lynch making their way to Bella Cohen’s brothel. Stephen chants the introit for paschal time (as Mulligan chants the introit for ordinary time in the first episode) and is ridiculed as a “parson” by two redcoats, Privates Compton and Carr.

The scene is described as if it were a cheap stage set, “rows of flimsy houses with gaping doors.” Children appear as gnomes and “pygmy women.” The ordinary becomes phatasmagoric. Inanimate objects (bells, a cuckoo clock, Bloom’s soap) and abstractions (The Calls, The Answers, et al.) are personified and speak. Characters from earlier in the book (Edy Boardman, Cissy Caffrey, et al.) appear in new guises as denizens of the street or simply as visions. The costumes are elaborate and carefully described.

In the next scene Bloom is following after Stephen. Bloom is nearly struck by a “dragon sandstrewer,” a kind of maintenance trolley, as he crosses the street. He is confronted by visions of his father, his mother, Molly, Gerty, and Mrs. Breen, among others, who criticize him for various things. As the accusations build Bloom weakly defends himself, but he is finally collared by the constables First and Second Watch for “committing a nuisance”, that is, relieving himself into a bucket of porter. He is then put on trial for accosting a servant girl employed in the Bloom household. He is defended by the washed-up lawyer J.J. O’Molloy, who mimics in comic fashion some of the great orators discussed in the Aeolus episode. “My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway…” Bloom is about to be hung by the barber H. Rumbold (from the Cyclops episode) as “ a well-known dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a public nuisance” when he arrives at Bella Cohen’s house of ill fame, wherein Stephen is plinking around on the pianola.

Outside the establishment he is greeted by Zoe, one of the house prostitutes, who asks if he is Stephen’s father because they are both in black. “Not I!” Bloom responds. Zoe reaches into his pocket for a feel and takes his “hard black shriveled potato,” which he explains is “A talisman. Heirloom.” She asks him if he has a “swaggerroot” and he explains that he rarely smokes. Zoe tells him to make a stump speech out of it, so he does. As he inveighs against the evils of tobacco Bloom’s stature grows. He is hailed as the “world’s greatest reformer,” is crowned emperor, and is beloved by all, even the Citizen. A new era dawns and he invites them into his new Bloomusalem, a colossal edifice with forty thousand rooms and a crystal roof, built in the shape of a pork kidney. The Man in the Mackintosh springs up through a trap door and betrays Bloom. “Don’t believe a word he says. That man is the Leopold M’Intosh, the notorious fireraiser. His real name is Higgins.” Bloom orders him shot. He waves his scepter and his bodyguard distribute gifts to the masses, including “cheap reprints of the World’s Twelve Worst Books.”

Bloom’s fantasy fortunes then fall as he is denounced as a “stage Irishman,” an agnostic, an “anythingarian,” a worshipper of the Scarlet Woman (the Catholic Church), a fiendish libertine, and “bisexually abnormal.” Dr. Dixon finds him to be a “finished example of the new womanly man” and says he is about to have a baby. Bloom responds, “O, I so want to be a mother,” and bears eight yellow and white sons.

Bloom reluctantly follows Zoe into the musicroom, where Lynch is keeping time with his wand – a brass poker – and Stephen is playing at the pianola and engaging in a stilted discussion with Lynch’s cap. "Jewgreek is greekjew. Extremes meet. Death is the highest form of life. Bah!" A gramophone begins to play “The Holy City,” and Stephen damns that “noise in the street.” Following a comment by Florry Talbot (a “blond feeble goosefat whore”) that the world is going to end, Elijah (Alexander J. Christ Dowie) appears to confirm it. “Just one word more. Are you a god or a doggone clod? If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready?”

Bloom’s grandfather, Lipoti Virag, slides down the chimney to assist Bloom in an assessment of the women in the brothel, but ends by exposing Bloom’s abnormal sexual proclivities. “But to change the venue to the Bulgar and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments?”

To be continued...

And down the rabbit hole we go...

James Joyce Street (formerly Mabbot Street), Dublin: NO ENTRY

Dublin's unconscious on stage!

Seems that if we were to plot Ulysses on the basic, simplistic story arc, this Episode would be Bloom's catharsis. It's difficult to delve into that too much without dipping into the 2nd half of the episode, but in general terms we start to see his insecurities, guilt, etc really come to the surface in these dream sequences. We have had hints so far, but he's done a pretty good job of keeping this stuff wrapped up. It is interesting to see how all this affects him...

"The leg of the duck," (also known as Conroy’s, Jack Coen’s, Jack Cohen’s, Jackie Daly’s, Jim Conroy’s, Larry The Beer Drinker, Larry The Beerdrinker, Leis Lacha, Paddy “Go Easy", Péarla An Iarthair, Pride Of The West)

...performed by two gnomes and a pygmy woman:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6VEvW...

As Bloom is first "caught in the act" by the 1st & 2nd watch, his first defense is to trot out British bona fides:membership in the Junior Army and Navy club, London; he's a "gallant" in the navy; son-in-law of Tweedy, "one of Britain's fighting men"; son of "a J. P.I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are"; connected with the British and Irish press. The Irish Jew's best defense is English heritage! I'm guessing what is put up is knocked down in this episode!

Kyle wrote: "Seems that if we were to plot Ulysses on the basic, simplistic story arc, this Episode would be Bloom's catharsis. It's difficult to delve into that too much without dipping into the 2nd half of t..."

I was just reading Hugh Kenner's essay on Circe in James Joyce's Ulysses: Critical Essays and he agrees:

As dreams, by Freud's showing, are the protectors of sleep, so fantasies, Joyce appears to suggest, are ministers of sanity. If Bloom is not crushed by his guilts, his apprehensions, and his frustrations, it is because their energies leak off into fantasy, and as 'Circe' proceeds we may follow him working out a course of psychic purgation.

Thomas wrote: From Kenner,"As dreams, by Freud's showing, are the protectors of sleep, so fantasies, Joyce appears to suggest, are ministers of sanity. If Bloom is not crushed by his guilts, his apprehensions, and his frustrations, it is because their energies leak off into fantasy, and as 'Circe' proceeds we may follow him working out a course of psychic purgation. ..."

I wonder about the concept of purgation, purification. I thought Joyce rejected the Revivalists' call for purification of Irish culture and advocated embracing English/Irish history while creating something new. Likewise I wonder if Joyce would reject the concept of individual purification and advocate embracing individual experience (limps, guilt,sin,) while transforming it into something new. The proliferation of pairs drunk/sober, bella/bello, male/ female, among many, seem to coexist (so far)without resolution or purgation. Maybe the coexistence of opposites is part of the change/newness of entelechy. Who am I to quibble with Kenner? I had dinner a couple of times at his house and he might have been Joyce personified, his speech was full of references beyond my puny experience.

Thomas wrote: "Kyle wrote: "Seems that if we were to plot Ulysses on the basic, simplistic story arc, this Episode would be Bloom's catharsis. It's difficult to delve into that too much without dipping into the ..."

This is interesting...I'll have to read the essay a little later. Though I suppose strictly speaking these aren't really so much dreams as they are visions since the characters are awake. Not sure if that's a distinction without a difference in the context that Kenner discusses, but it is something that struck me as I read through. For example there are a few "stage directions" noting that only a second or two of "real time" has elapsed...

I felt like I was on Toad's Wild Ride reading this episode! I am quite enjoying the screenplay aspect of this episode, especially the set and costume descriptions and the various inanimate objects coming to life - the "wandering soap" for instance. And it took me awhile to figure out that most of this stuff was not actually happening.... :)

Of course I'm scratching my head at a lot of it, so the summary helps once again. And there are a couple of questions I have, but it looks like I read just a little bit ahead of the summary, so I will hold off on those.

Oh, the shriveled potato. So we find out it's not an edible potato for later in the day that he happens to be carrying for some odd reason, but instead it's Bloom's talisman. It's an heirloom so I'm wondering if it is for luck against another potato famine? Or is does Bloom carry it for luck in general? It seems that he must carry it every time he leaves the house for the day?

Seems that as in a dream state wherein the brain tries to process or sort things out in a loose manner, here in this hallucinatory state, the brain's thinking process is more wildly free floating and issues that reside already in the brain leap up in whatever form! As above stated , there appears to be a lot of guilt (and some self doubt (e.g. "womanly man")) in Bloom's mind and perhaps some self aggrandizement (albeit significantly less than guilt). However, in the hallucinatory stage, it would seem not much productive sorting is occurring!

Linda wrote: "Oh, the shriveled potato. So we find out it's not an edible potato for later in the day that he happens to be carrying for some odd reason, but instead it's Bloom's talisman. It's an heirloom so ..."

Well, also possibly an "heirloom" in the sense of another metaphor for "the family jewels"?

Kyle wrote: "For example there are a few "stage directions" noting that only a second or two of "real time" has elapsed... ."

That's something that Kenner notes as well. He relates a story about a woman under hypnosis who is told that she will see a movie she has not seen in many years but that she will see it very vividly and in detail. But he makes a mistake and snaps his fingers right after telling her this and she awakens, giving her no time to carry out his instructions. She tells him that she has just seen Gone with the Wind, all two and a half hours of it, and can remember every detail. She can even repeat lines of dialogue, as if she had just come from the theater.

So how much real time elapses from the time Zoe tells Bloom to "make a stump speech," and when she returns to say "Talk away until you're black in the face"? The fantasy in between goes on for 20 pages or so.

Linda wrote: "Oh, the shriveled potato. So we find out it's not an edible potato for later in the day that he happens to be carrying for some odd reason, but instead it's Bloom's talisman. It's an heirloom so ..."

The potato is interesting as far as the parallel with the Odyssey goes. Hermes gives Odysseus a magic herb to ward off the spells of Circe:

It was black at the root with a milk-white flower. Moly the gods call it, difficult for mortals to uproot, though the gods of course can do anything. Hermes headed off through the wooded isle to high Olympus, while I approached the house of Circe, thinking black thoughts as I went along. Odyssey, Bk X, 302

Maybe Bloom's shriveled black potato serves a similar purpose? Is that why Zoe takes it from him? Why on earth would she want it?

Thomas wrote: ""The leg of the duck," (also known as Conroy’s, Jack Coen’s, Jack Cohen’s, Jackie Daly’s, Jim Conroy’s, Larry The Beer Drinker, Larry The Beerdrinker, Leis Lacha, Paddy “Go Easy", Péarla An Iarthai..."

Thanks. I was wondering what that reference was.

Kyle wrote: " Though I suppose strictly speaking these aren't really so much dreams as they are visions since the characters are awake. "

Or hallucinations.

So how much real time elapses from the time Zoe tells Bloom to "make a stump speech," and when she returns to say "Talk away until you're black in the face."

that's an interesting question. I'll have to look more closely tonight (If i can find the time..). I don't think I started paying close attention to the elapsed time until the whole group was together in the piano room - at that point it seemed to me that little, if any real time was passing during the visions. I did get the impression while bloom was wandering alone that time was passing during his visions. If that's true, his conversation with Zoe would have been a sort of turning point. That will be an interesting thing to try to parse out fully though.

Susan wrote: "I wonder about the concept of purgation, purification. "

Purgation/purification is a big part of this episode, and in some way I wonder if it isn't the point of Ulysses as a whole (if Ulysses has a point at all.)

Both Stephen and Bloom carry a lot of guilt, whether they publicly admit it or not. If Stephen were a good Catholic he would go to confession, do penance, and expiate his guilt, but he is not a good Catholic. (Here he enters a brothel chanting the Introit from the mass, which shows us how oriented toward Catholicism he still is. But as Mulligan says, it's injected the wrong way, and there doesn't seem to be much chance of reform.) Short of confession, how does Stephen deal with his guilt? Alcohol seems to be one of his coping mechanisms, but it doesn't seem to be working for him.

Bloom is not religiously oriented at all, so that avenue isn't open to him, and he doesn't drink much. How does he deal with his guilt about Rudy, his inability to be intimate with Molly, and with his various other hang ups?

Is there purification available via the imagination? Through dreams or fantasy? Perhaps through art? Is that what is going on here?

Thomas wrote: "Susan wrote: "I wonder about the concept of purgation, purification. "

Purgation/purification is a big part of this episode, and in some way I wonder if it isn't the point of Ulysses as a whole (i..."

As Thomas points out, a religious purgation is not available to Bloom. At the moment I'm exploring the possibility that the process of transformation (that's an assumption that Bloom experiences transformation) begins or moves forward in Circe and that rather than a purgation or purification, the process is rather Bloom's ability to bring disparate elements into harmony or tonal vibration. Whatever the metaphor, I think the vocabulary will be outside the Catholic church and purgation is firmly entrenched in that rejected paradigm. Sex, bodily functions, guilt-- Bloom needs to find a way to embrace, not reject them. Hallucination, the subconscious personified seem to be part of the process, but what are the algorithms(?) for psychic realignment that will allow Bloom to function as a citizen of dear dirty Dublin? Maybe I'm just missing the purgation elements and an alternate view could be developed.

I know we try to keep comments of critics to a minimum, or to place them in background material, so I shall place these comments on Circe from Nabokov in spoiler format. (I fear placing them in background material would totally take them out of useful context.)

(view spoiler)[ Nabokov considers this section to be a parody of mystical and slapstick drama. p.289, Lectures on Literature

"I do not know of any commentator who has correctly understood this chapter. The psychoanalytical interpretation I, of course, dismiss completely and absolutely, since I do not belong to the Freudian denomination with its borrowed myths, shabby umbrellas, and dark backstairs. To regard this chapter as the reactions of intoxication or lust on Bloom's subconscious is impossible for the following reasons:
1. Bloom is perfectly sober and ....
2. Bloom cannot possibly know of a number of events, characters, and facts that appear as visions in this chapter.

"I propose to regard this chapter .. as a hallucination on the author's part, an amusing distortion of his various themes. The book is itself dreaming and having visions; this chapter is merely an exaggeration, a nightmare evolution of its characters, objects, and themes." p.350, Ibid.

Elsewhere, N. speaks to his perception of themes:

"1. The hopeless past....
2. The ridiculous and tragic present....
3. The pathetic future....
This is the main theme: Bloom and Fate." p.288
(hide spoiler)]

Lily wrote: "I know we try to keep comments of critics to a minimum, or to place them in background material, so I shall place these comments on Circe from Nabokov in spoiler format. (I fear placing them in ba..."

I was particularly interested in his comment that "Bloom cannot possibly know of a number of events, characters, and facts that appear as visions in this chapter." I haven't gotten far enough in to see whether this is true, but if it is, it seems to be something we need to address in understanding what Joyce is up to.

Everyman wrote: Nabokov comments: "Bloom cannot possibly know of a number of events, characters, and facts that appear as visions in this chapter." ..."

Why should Bloom's experience be the limiting consciousness for elements in Circe? The episode seems to echo, expand, exaggerate the events and interactions of Stephen and Bloom in Dublin. Joyce recreates Dublin with such detail that it would seem important as the context for Stephen and Bloom's day.

Susan wrote: "...Why should Bloom's experience be the limiting consciousness for elements in Circe?..."

Well, I think it is a literary or authorial or narrative voice question Eman is posing. (I'm uncertain of the correct terms the lit-trained would use.) At least, as a reader, it raises the question as to whose vision or fantasy is this. If it is Bloom's can or should it have elements that he cannot know? Or, if not, whose vision/fantasy is it (are they, if plural)....?

Even with help, I get really lost moving back and forth between vision/fantasy and real time.

Patrice wrote: "Doesn't Joyce imply that Bloom does have religious guilt? It makes no sense at all to me. But his father's "ghost" seems to attack him for not being Jewish enough in a similar way that SD mother ..."

The sense I get is that Bloom's guilt is not religious exactly. When Bloom's father appears he is speaking broken English and his complaint is mostly about how Bloom is mismanaging money. It's a caricature, almost a Jewish stereotype. Immediately after this his mother appears, dressed up in a "mobcap, crinoline and bustle" crying out "O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him!" and then a phial, an Agnus Dei, and shriveled potato fall out of her petticoat. Another caricature. She could be the milk woman from the first episode, the stereotypical Irishwoman.

But both of his parents tell Bloom there is something wrong with him. He has failed them. I think that's the key point.

Lily wrote: "I know we try to keep comments of critics to a minimum, or to place them in background material, so I shall place these comments on Circe from Nabokov in spoiler format. (I fear placing them in ba..."

Critics and commentators are okay in this discussion. We need all the help we can get. I just wish Nabokov were a little more specific. There are moments of "telepathy" throughout the book, where Stephen and Bloom have shared thoughts or feelings, so it's not shocking that it happens here as well. This was obviously intentional on Joyce's part, so I'm not sure I agree with VN when he says the author is hallucinating or the "book itself" is dreaming. It seems to be calculated for effect.

Thomas wrote: "But both of his parents tell Bloom there is something wrong with him. He has failed them. I think that's the key point. ..."

Circe is full of accusations against Bloom, his parents' disappointment being one. Does Bloom internalize the sense of failure they project? I would suggest not. He is somewhat more financially stable than others, experienced some success with women in his youth. Others may not agree, but I find him comfortable with his bodily functions, relatively happy with his fantasies and substitutions for intimacy with Molly, a social peacemaker--basically a good-natured, independent guy encountering some obstacles, but comfortable with pragmatic solutions. Stephen, on the other hand, frames his problems as moral dilemmas and is not happy with the solutions.

Lily wrote: "Even with help, I get really lost moving back and forth between vision/fantasy and real time. ..."

I'm wondering if the distinction is critical to understanding. I had difficulty in Nausicaa knowing what parts of the beach scene were real or fantasy. I'm leaning toward feeling that as a reader I'm like a member of a jury, hearing evidence that the Court presents through faulty witnesses, shaped by rules and competency of the representation, among many factors. There are ambiguities in a court presentation and in JOyce's text. How to deal with them?

Any thoughts on the role of comedy in "understanding what Joyce is up to", as Eman says?

Also, just wondering about the comedic literary tradition. Shakespeare wrote some comedies, punch and judy, Joyce references Swift, maybe more satire, but any help on a comedic tradition into which Ulysses might fit?

It seems to me if we view this episode as a carthrtic sort of event, the first question would be: "what is Bloom's major conflict". I hesitate to use those terms - they seem a bit simplistic in this context. But there is I think at least some utility there just to establish some kind of framework/blueprint.

Obviously the situation between Boylan and Molly has been eating him up all day, but perhaps this is just a symptom of the larger problem. We dont know exactly why the Blooms don't have relations anymore, but we know that it dates back to Rudy's death. We also know that Rudy had been on Bloom's mind on and off throughout the day. We also saw Bloom having paternal sort of feeling towards Stephen in the last episode, and he is now looking around the red light district in hopes of pulling Stephen out. Since we're only up to the 1st half of the episode, I think I have to stop there. But I would suggest that there is probably a good case to be made that a lot of Bloom's ennui/paralysis goes back to unreconciled feelings about Rudy's death.

Of course there is almost always more than one layer with Joyce, but it seems to me this is an important one.

Kyle wrote: "I would suggest that there is probably a good case to be made that a lot of Bloom's ennui/paralysis goes back to unreconciled feelings about Rudy's death."

I wonder if this particular day happens to be the anniversary of Rudy's birth or death? Or does Bloom think about Rudy often like this every day?

Not having lost anyone closer to me than my grandparents, I don't know what is "normal", although there probably isn't such a thing when it comes to matters of dealing with death.

Patrice wrote: "Wasn't June l6 the day he met Molly?"

Hmmm...I don't remember.

Linda wrote: "Patrice wrote: "Wasn't June l6 the day he met Molly?"

Hmmm...I don't remember."

I believe in "real life" it was the day Joyce met Nora.

Yes --http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloomsday

Does it also have an anniversary significance in the text? Not sure about that.

Susan wrote: "...I'm leaning toward feeling that as a reader I'm like a member of a jury, hearing evidence that the Court presents through faulty witnesses, shaped by rules and competency of the representation, among many factors. There are ambiguities in a court presentation and in Joyce's text. How to deal with them? ..."

I like that viewpoint/attitude! ;-)

Thomas wrote: "...This was obviously intentional on Joyce's part, so I'm not sure I agree with VN when he says the author is hallucinating or the "book itself" is dreaming. It seems to be calculated for effect. ..."

@23 It is often no easier to decipher VN than Joyce -- I'm not certain I "understand" what he means by the book itself is dreaming, other than that what is presented seems to not be simply a dream or hallucination of Bloom. I suspect VN would agree that what is here was calculated for effect.

But, I thought what VN had to say here was interesting enough to share and punch around a bit. :-0

Susan wrote: "Circe is full of accusations against Bloom, his parents' disappointment being one. Does Bloom internalize the sense of failure they project? I would suggest not."

I think I understand what you're saying, because Bloom doesn't voice discontent the way Stephen does. But I still have to wonder, if Bloom doesn't internalize these issues, what are they doing here?

Bloom is very good at rationalizing and avoiding the real issue, so it may seem like he's happy with his substitutes for Molly, but I'm not so sure he really is. Here we see him psychically defenseless, unable to deceive himself or evade his most honest urges and anxieties, and he seems to have a lot of neuroses built up inside.

Susan wrote: "Also, just wondering about the comedic literary tradition. Shakespeare wrote some comedies, punch and judy, Joyce references Swift, maybe more satire, but any help on a comedic tradition into which..."

Great question. I think this episode is hilarious, though I'm not sure if it is a comedy in the classical sense. It's tremendously exaggerated, which I think is why it's funny, like the parodies in the Cyclops episode. It's almost as if the narrator of those parodies has taken over and is composing a play ridiculing Freudianism using Bloom and Stephen as subjects. the problem with that thought is that the criticism cuts a little too close to reality to be mere parody.

I'm still reading this chapter, but it does seem to me to have a dreamlike quality in the sense that it strikes me as a review of everything that's happened so far to Bloom today. Earlier characters are showing up doing unexpected things, just as they do when our brains review and reshuffle things in our dreams. OTOH "revue" might be the more appropriate word. Let's not forget this is clearly theater. Lest we should become accustomed to the format and forget, the stage directions and costume details are there to remind us. I don't know quite what to make of this, but this chapter is written in dramatic form for a reason. That also sort of negates the question of narrative point of view for this chapter. I can see why Nabokov might suggest that the text itself is dreaming.

Thomas wrote: "I think this episode is hilarious, though I'm not sure if it is a comedy in the classical sense. It's tremendously exaggerated, which I think is why it's funny, like the parodies in the Cyclops episode. ..."

What is comedy in the classic sense?

Circe was one big acid trip, very amusing in parts, tedious in others. I think a lot was revealed as instead of getting concious thought we are seeing dreams, fears, hallucinations, in other words all the things that prey on the mind but are usually repressed or if spoken about it's done in a way which downplays their true impact.

The situation with the servant which was brought up at the trial. All of the bigotry in the trial itself. I don't know if this was 'real' (the servant bit not the trial) but it's clearly left an impression.

Nicola wrote: "Circe was one big acid trip, very amusing in parts, tedious in others. I think a lot was revealed as instead of getting concious thought we are seeing dreams, fears, hallucinations, in other words..."

How did you see the scope of the hallucinations? I think Eman was alluding to this. Bloom's personal mind carnival or something broader?

According to commentary on Aristotle's Poetics "comedy has involved a high-spirited celebration of human sexuality and the triumph of eros....The most sympathetic comic figures are frequently plucky underdogs, young men or women from humble or disadvantaged backgrounds who prove their real worth--in effect their "natural nobility"--through various tests of character over the course of a story or play.... A comedy is a story of the rise in fortune of a sympathetic central character."

Could Bloom be a comic hero?

Susan wrote: "According to commentary on Aristotle's Poetics "comedy has involved a high-spirited celebration of human sexuality and the triumph of eros....The most sympathetic comic figures are frequently pluck..."

Thanks, Susan. There are definitely comic aspects to Bloom, and to Ulysses as a whole. It's certainly closer to comedy than tragedy, but it's the "rise in fortune of a sympathetic central character" that I'm unsure of at this point. Athenian comedy had its roots in the festival of Dionysus, and this episode with its drunken ribaldry could easily be called Dionysian. I'm not sure if that's what Joyce had in mind, but with his interest in aesthetic theory I'm sure it must have occurred to him at some point.

Thomas wrote: "closer to comedy than tragedy, but it's the "rise in fortune of a sympathetic central character" that I'm unsure of at this point.r..."

Do we have a sympathetic central character? Are there obstacles between the character and his fortune? Must the fortunes actually rise by the conclusion? Anything else that might bar Ulysses from being labeled a comic novel? Or other characteristics which might be required? I wish I knew more about the comedic tradition. Where might I look for a predecessor?

Susan wrote: "Do we have a sympathetic central character? Are there obstacles between the character and his fortune? Must the fortunes actually rise by the conclusion? Anything else that might bar Ulysses from being labeled a comic novel??"

I don't want to mislead anyone into thinking that Joyce was trying to conform to any standard, particularly a classical standard like that set by Aristotle in antiquity. It's just a way of asking how Joyce uses comedy, a place to start looking. We could just as well ask if this is a comedy in the sense of Dante's Divine Comedy. As Virgil's Aeneas followed Homer's Odysseus and Dante follows Virgil, so Joyce follows Dante, in a dim and distant way. The journeys of Odysseus, Aeneas, and Dante are distinct, but similar. The Odyssey, the Aeneid, and the Divine Comedy are "comedies" in the classical sense -- a man who is down on his luck eventually makes good; after a tremendous adventure through darkness, things turn out well for him. We haven't seen whether this will happen with Bloom (or Stephen) yet, but it's what set me off on this "comedy" thought. I'm not sure myself if it will pan out for old Bloom. We will have to wait and see.

What a chapter! (Am about half-way through it.) With what in literature or cinematography are others comparing this? Are there "real" places to which others compare this as having been? In a different way than stories set in places of war, this perhaps makes me grateful for a relatively "sheltered" life.

Lily wrote: "What a chapter! (Am about half-way through it.) With what in literature or cinematography are others comparing this? "

I don't know what compares to Circe cinematically, but it's a great question. I imagine a towering mashup of Fellini, Jodorowsky, David Lynch, and the Marx Brothers.

But the Circe episode was in fact adapted for the stage as "Ulysses in Nighttown" and has been performed a number of times, first in 1958, directed by Burgess Meredith and starring Zero Mostel as Bloom, Tommy Lee Jones as Stephen Dedalus, and David Ogden Stiers as Mulligan. Later productions included Carroll O'Connor and Bea Arthur.

Thomas wrote: "...I imagine a towering mashup of Fellini, Jodorowsky, David Lynch, and the Marx Brothers. ..."

Given I know the works of none of those, at least one clue why I feel so clueless at times in trying to "place" Ulysses. I rather feel at times I am visiting Victorian London Bedlam or possibly a variant of Jack Nicholson's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Perhaps a bit of the prostitution under the Bronx freeways in Colum McCann's Let the Great World Spin. Even the courtroom of Judge Judy (born Judith Sheindlin Blum)! ;-) But none of those are really a close comparison.