Classics and the Western Canon discussion

The Homeric parallel in Episode 17 is tenuous as usual, but in both cases our heroes reach their final destination. Odysseus returns home, still in disguise as a beggar, and is unrecognized by Penelope. The suitors abuse Odysseus as they continue to plot the murder of Telemachus. Penelope explains to the beggar Odysseus that since Telemachus is now grown up, and the suitors are squandering his inheritance, she will finally take a husband. She will marry whichever of the suitors can string the great bow of Odysseus and shoot an arrow through a line of 12 axe heads (a nearly impossible feat.) The next morning the suitors discover that none of them can even string Odysseus’s bow, let alone fire the bolt. Telemachus suggests that they give the beggar a try. Odysseus receives the bow and strings it easily. Telemachus has ordered the hall closed and locked, and together father and son systematically slaughter the suitors. Athena, in the form of a bird, perches from a rafter and looks on.

Joyce told Frank Budgen that Ithaca was his favorite episode. “It is the ugly duckling of the book.” The style of the book is “mathematical catechism.” As he wrote to Budgen, “All events are resolved into their cosmic physical, psychical etc. equivalents, e.g. Bloom jumping down the area, drawing water from the tap, the micturition in the garden, the cone of incense, lighted candle and statue so that not only will the reader know everything and know it in the baldest coldest way, but Bloom and Stephen thereby become heavenly bodies, wanderers like the stars at which they gaze.”

It is hard to argue with Budgen when he says it is “the coldest episode in an unemotional book.” The chapter is delivered in the question-and-answer form familiar to Roman Catholics. (For the uninitiated, see the Baltimore Catechism as an example: http://www.boston-catholic-journal.co... ) In his lectures, James Heffernan notes that most novels begin with an exposition telling the readers basic facts about the characters before setting out on the story proper. Ulysses saves that exposition for the end. Here we learn exactly how tall Bloom is, how much money he has in the bank, what books are on his shelves, exactly how long it has been since he and Molly last had marital relations, why not, and how long it has been since Stephen last bathed (9 months). Many of these details can be interpreted metaphorically or symbolically.

Stephen and Bloom arrive at Bloom’s home around 2 am. Bloom discovers he has forgotten his house key in his other trousers and like Odysseus must devise a stratagem to enter the house. (Joyce was so particular about the details of this that he wrote to his aunt from Paris to find out if it was possible “for an ordinary person to climb over the area railings of no 7 Eccles street, either from the path or the steps, lower himself down from the lowest part of the railings till his feet are within 2 feet or 3 of the ground and drop unhurt.”)

Bloom lets Stephen into the house and lights a fire in the hearth. He fills a kettle at the tap (which is followed by a long description of the Dublin water system) and washes his hands; Stephen, as “hydrophobe,” does not wash. The contents of the kitchen dresser are catalogued, but Bloom notices there an empty tin of Plumtree’s Potted Meat and two discarded betting tickets, remnants of Boylan’s visit. Bloom fixes cups of “Epps’s massproduct, the creature cocoa,” which they drink in jocoserious silence.

Points of similarity and difference, disunion and communion are discussed while they enjoy their mass-product. When the topic of education is reached, they become united as Stoom and Blephen. Their temperaments are classified as scientific (Bloom) and artistic (Stephen) and examples follow. They compare Irish and Hebrew, and explore the legendary connection between the two cultures. Bloom sings some phrases from Hatikvah (The Hope), and Stephen responds, very curiously, with a song in which young Harry Hughes is murdered by “the jew’s daughter,” (based on Chaucer’s Prioress’s Tale.)

Bloom suggests that Stephen stay the night, thinking that this might lead to “a permanent eventuality of reconciliatory reunion between a schoolfellow and a jew’s daughter,” but Stephen declines. Bloom evidently considers Stephen a possible match for his daughter, Milly. Stephen does not.

In ceremonial fashion, Bloom and Stephen exit “the house of bondage to the wilderness of inhabitation,” and observe the night sky, “the heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.” Astrophysical details follow. They observe each other in a moment of union, “each contemplating the other in both mirrors of the reciprocal flesh of theirhisnothis fellowfaces.” They urinate together in the garden. A celestial sign is seen by both: a star shoots from Vega in the Lyre to the constellation Leo. (From the symbol of Stephen, the poet, to Bloom, the cat.)

The description of Bloom opening the gate for Stephen is worth looking at: he inserts “an arruginated male key in the hole of an unstable female lock, obtaining a purchase on the bow of the key and turning its wards from right to left, withdrawing a bolt from its staple…” Is this the bow of Odysseus? (And what does ‘arruginated’ mean?)

Bloom goes inside and stumbles over furniture that Molly has rearranged in his absence. He undresses and begins his nightly ritual, an examination of the day’s events, his worldly possessions (public and private), and his ambitions. He does this in the belief that “tranquil recollection of the past when practiced habitually before retiring for the night alleviated fatigue and produced as a result sound repose…”

Bloom gets into bed with Molly, first removing his pillow from the top of the bed to the bottom so that he sleeps with his head at Molly’s feet. He notices in the bed “the imprint of a human form, male, not his” and some crumbs of potted meat, recooked. He reflects that every man thinks of himself as the first, but he is only the “last term of a preceding series even if the first term of a succeeding one… whereas he is neither first nor last nor only nor alone in a series originating in and repeating to infinity.” A list of all of Molly’s supposed lovers follows.

Bloom’s feelings about Molly’s infidelity are then analyzed, answering the question that has occupied many a reader since episode three. His emotions are described in terms of envy, jealousy, abnegation, and finally equanimity. Bloom kisses her rump, and Molly wakens to administer a “catechetical interrogation.” Bloom is not entirely honest in his reply, and shortly thereafter drifts off to sleep. The traveler rests.

Question: How does Bloom metaphorically slay the suitors?

This was the only chapter in which the audio failed me. It was so tedious I couldn't bear it and skipped it when I was about halfway through. Definitely needed the book so you could skim read for this one. My God, this was so dull!!!!

Yes, I suspect Joyce did enjoy writing this one and creating (in great and minute detail) this world of Bloom and his time with Stephen and the reflections thereafter. Less enjoyable is reading it. ha! As with Nicola, I was listening (with book in hand) to the audio..and fear I drifted quite a bit….thankful for Thomas' recap! (as always!)

We are not the first to ponder this word: http://wordsmith.org/board/ubbthreads...

The extended metaphor about the potted meat is interesting. If we recall the slogan from I believe Lotus Eaters - "What's a home without Plumtree's potted meat? Incomplete!". It seems that Boylan has "completed" this home...

Thomas wrote: "(Joyce was so particular about the details of this that he wrote to his aunt from Paris to find out if it was possible “for an ordinary person to climb over the area railings of no 7 Eccles street, either from the path or the steps, lower himself down from the lowest part of the railings till his feet are within 2 feet or 3 of the ground and drop unhurt.”)"

I just posted a picture of the front door in our photos section.

Thank you SO MUCH for your fabulous synopses, Thomas. I didn't recognize the question and answer format and was wondering about it.

Patrice wrote: "Someone posted this on their review of Ulysses, I love it."

Interesting that in the song "you will not meet the Lestrygonians and Cyclops unless they are in your soul", the journey should not be rushed, Ithaca should steadfastly remain the goal, and when you arrive you will know what Ithaca signifies. The parallel seems to hold at this level of detail.

Nicola wrote: "This was the only chapter in which the audio failed me. It was so tedious I couldn't bear it and skipped it when I was about halfway through. Definitely needed the book so you could skim read for ..."

The style of writing in this episode is so technically and grammatically meticulous that it almost has to be read to be understood. I think the audio is helpful for most of Ulysses, but not for this one, I agree.

Just finished reading this, and yes, I don't see how anyone could listen to this episode! I didn't recognize this as being a catechism, so thank you for that Thomas. But, unlike most commenters here so far, I actually liked reading this part. It reminded me almost of a scientific journal, not quite but almost, in that a question was posed and a VERY detailed answer was then given. No detail was left out. Although a lot of the questions and answers themselves were above my head and puzzling, that was probably due to a lack of knowledge on my part. Otherwise everything was spelled out, too much really. :)

My favorite passage:

What suddenly arrested his ingress?
The right temporal lobe of the hollow sphere of his cranium came into contact with a solid timber angle where, and infinitesimal but sensible fraction of a second later, a painful sensation was located in consequence of antecedent sensations transmitted and registered.

Reduced to: Bloom hit his head. lol.

Sue wrote: "We are not the first to ponder this word: http://wordsmith.org/board/ubbthreads..."

Thanks Sue! I ran across this before but didn't read through all five pages because it sounded like they were just making haphazard guesses, plus they were squabbling like children. But on the fourth page there is a good answer:

I have no literary support for this, but I believe I can offer insight into what arruginated means. The word "ruga" or its more common plural form "rugae" means in medicine "an anatomical fold or wrinkle especially of the viscera." The lining of the stomach is full of little ridges called rugae. http://arbl.cvmbs.colostate.edu/hbook...

The word's relation to the more commonly-encountered "corrugated" should be obvious to this community. I believe that Joyce was describing the appearance of an old-fashioned key, which would have had teeth that were cut in a series of ridges or rugae, with "arruginated" being to rugae as "irradiated" is to radiation.

This makes sense because of Joyce's use of the word "corrugated" in the episode. Gifford notes that Odysseus's brow is "corrugated" when he sees the state of his palace, and Bloom shows the same reaction when he sees the betting tickets.

Linda wrote: "What suddenly arrested his ingress?
The right temporal lobe of the hollow sphere of his cranium came into contact with a solid timber angle where, and infinitesimal but sensible fraction of a second later, a painful sensation was located in consequence of antecedent sensations transmitted and registered.

Reduced to: Bloom hit his head. lol"

Some commentators say that this parallels the scene in the Odyssey where Eurymachus throws a stool at Odysseus. (The difference is that Eurymachus misses.) One other parallel point is when Bloom lights a cone of incense. After Odysseus destroys the suitors he fumigates the palace.

I'm with Nicola and Sue in finding the format of this section tedious in the extreme. Actually, I should say "finding" since I quit last night about a third of the way through with my brain fried. Back at it tonight.

Joyce has tried about every option there is for presenting ideas, hasn't he? Incomprehensible stream of consciousness. A wide variety of narrative styles. A play. A catechism mixed with mathematical/scientific detail. About all he hasn't tried is a comic book (did comic books even exist in 1904?) and an operatic score. Hmmm -- we still have Section 18 to go; maybe I'm speaking too soon.

Patrice wrote: "Any ideas about what the point is?

The question answer format, apparently based on the Catechism, must have a point to it. I just can't figure it out. Is it that science has replaced religion? ..."

I think it shows how Bloom deals with his emotions -- throughout the novel we see his pragmatic and pseudo-scientific way of dealing with adversity. Here we see how he deals with the suitors. Boylan and all the others meet the same demise -- they are reduced to mere physical facts. Bloom rises above the emotional plane of human existence and sees that in the cold light of science Boylan is just another in a sequence of biological phenomena.

Thomas wrote: "Patrice wrote: "Any ideas about what the point is?..." I think it shows how Bloom deals with his emotions ...

Yes, but so does Circe. Bloom must be a romantic (the Romantics loved pseudo-science, think Frankenstein).

I see the story (the importance of which may be a matter of argument) in Ulysses as an allegorical representation of two opposite forces in the artist's soul. These forces take different forms, but one incarnation is the Romantic vs. the Classic. Stephen's love of form (fear of water) combined with a certain shallowness reveals his essential Classic nature.

The problem for me with the question and answer format of the catechism is that it creates a barrier between the learner and the purpose of instruction. For those who wish to accept the Word of God that they might receive the Holy Spirit, the Catechism seems to be a distraction of details and verbiage which does not itself provide a path to faith. Ultimately, faith is a leap for which rationally organized and structured questions and answers are inadequate--inadequate because they obscure the emotional and spiritual connections on which faith grows.

Ithaca is the culmination of the most anticipated personal connections between Bloom and Stephen and Bloom and Molly. What might be the most emotional of interactions is obscured by the catechism format, a barrier of inane, funny, obsessively pseudo-scientifically accurate (sometimes inaccurate) details. The word ventriloquism comes to mind from Circe. Can Bloom and Stephen throw their emotions over the barrier to our receiving sensibilities? Can the emotional tension which must pervade the scene reach the reader between and around the emotionally lifeless words, like those empty shells in earlier episodes? Do we hear the sea in those shells. Does the sound have meaning?

I'm hiding this deep in the Ithaca thread because I only want the actual participants to see it:

I'm making a gift for everybody in the club who finishes Ulysses. It's a surprise. When you get to the end, send me your email address in a private message and I'll send it to you.

Wendel wrote: "Thomas wrote: "Patrice wrote: "Any ideas about what the point is?..." I think it shows how Bloom deals with his emotions ...

Yes, but so does Circe. Bloom must be a romantic (the Romantics loved p..."

That is an interesting thought. I don't know much about romanticism, but this would explain the references to the Count of Monte Cristo very nicely. I hadn't been able to make much sense of them before.

And I agree with you about Stephen -- rigid, ineluctable Stephen. It's interesting that the style of this episode is pure Stephen -- it almost reminds me of the question and answer/objection format of the Summa Theologica -- but the substance is all Bloom.

Susan wrote: "Ithaca is the culmination of the most anticipated personal connections between Bloom and Stephen and Bloom and Molly. What might be the most emotional of interactions is obscured by the catechism format..."

Do you think they actually make those connections?

Thomas wrote: "Do you think they actually make those connections? ..."

In my reading of Ithaca there is no expressed emotional connection. Is that the human condition, Joyce's inability to express emotion, or these unique individuals who fail to connect? Or, is there some connection between the characters which is communicated indirectly in spite of Joyce's (what seems to me) emotionless catechism format?

So, some specifics from this episode I picked up on and wanted to clarify.

It appears that Bloom and Molly had sexual relations 5 weeks before Rudy was born - after all our speculation of why Bloom seems to blame himself for Rudy's death, is this it? He thinks that he somehow caused damage by having sex when the pregnancy was so far along? And to go along with this, is this why he sleeps head to foot? To help prevent him from wanting to initiate relations and thus causing another pregnancy? I know this has been talked about in past threads, I just don't remember if we had come to, or were able to, come to any conclusion so far.

And did I read correctly that he, in fact, thinks about divorcing Molly, but "Not now"? So in fact, the other men do bother him enough to consider divorce. Because of this, is the head to foot sleeping enforced by Molly's other relations, or does he do it mainly because of unwanted pregnancy? He still kisses her and thinks about her when he climbs in bed.

Susan wrote: "Ithaca is the culmination of the most anticipated personal connections between Bloom and Stephen and Bloom and Molly. What might be the most emotional of interactions is obscured by the catechism format,"

That's a fair point, but maybe at the same time it IS the point, or one of the points -- the de-emotionalizatoin of these relationships, objectifying them to take the spontaneity and personalizations out of them. The normal process of human interaction is dialogue. By replacing dialogue with a catechismistic format he says that these aren't truly human relationships after all.

Thomas wrote: "it almost reminds me of the question and answer/objection format of the Summa Theologica -- but the substance is all Bloom. "

I had the same thought.

Nicola wrote: "This was the only chapter in which the audio failed me. It was so tedious I couldn't bear it and skipped it when I was about halfway through. Definitely needed the book so you could skim read for ..."

I'm clearly odd (wo)man out here! After Circe and Eumaeus, I am enjoying listening to Ithica. Now, I do have about half of it to go yet, so that may fade. I don't care about all the detail and find myself asking what are the facts Joyce would be including now, a century later, and which now seem questionable, even erroneous.

@18 Thomas writes: "Bloom rises above the emotional plane of human existence..."

Your metaphor intrigues me, Thomas. I am contrasting it with one along the lines of "Bloom digs below the emotional plane of human existence..."

Nonetheless, coming at the text from a different perspective, probably partly because I am one of those personalities who embeds emotion in facts, I don't necessarily find this section emotionless. What the emotion is may be shrouded, but it seems still present - kindness, fear, reticence (doubt),...

Susan wrote: @24 "In my reading of Ithaca there is no expressed emotional connection. Is that the human condition, Joyce's inability to express..."

Bloom and Stephen, passing like "ships in the night" - the story of their relation as the history of what-could-have-been-but-is-not. Instead we get dreary enumerations? As readers we may pay too much attention to what is, or seems to be, and forget about what is-not (but could have been).

Having read a catechism for the first time in the link from the first post, it seems that the children must repeat these answers again and again until the have them memorized. Perhaps some of the point is that we get to hear the things Bloom has come to accept about his life by telling himself over and over again.

I did enjoy this chapter, especially the long lists. We finally got to know more about Bloom near the end of the book, atypically. We received a description of things he owns, what he looks like, what he cares about, etc. The snatches of the letter from his father were quite poignant to me. Bloom's father and Stephen's mother feel like ghosts in this story to me.

There was a section in which Bloom is describing the guilt he feels over not following his father's religious tenets. I prepared myself to see the link between that and Stephen's failing to kneel and pray for his mother, but Bloom's were much less dramatic. Ah, well.

Wendel wrote: "Bloom and Stephen, passing like "ships in the night" - the story of their relation as the history of what-could-have-been-but-is-not. Instead we get dreary enumerations?...."

"Ships in the night" reminds me of "Les Chaises" where the two characters talk past each other, totally oblivious to the content of the talk, until the speech devolves to vowel sounds and still they are oblivious. Here it's interesting that when Bloom is isolated in his thoughts at the lunch location, the narrator is more intimately recounting conversations, but when Bloom is in his own home with the people we might expect him to be most intimate, the narration is formatted for maximum distance-- excluding dialogue, painted in the broadest strokes of minute personal/impersonal detail. Expressions of kindness, caring seem to be gestures--making cocoa with cream, kissing Molly's rump. In Penelope we have one more opportunity for characters to speak for themselves in wholeness-- body, mind and spirit. I doubt Joyce is capable of creating even the illusion of wholeness, either because he has failed to achieve equanimity (is that wholeness?) himself or because, as hard as he tries to communicate, words fail to capture unity, or because, as in the existential tradition, union is an illusion and "ships (only)pass in the night."

Susan wrote: "Or, is there some connection between the characters which is communicated indirectly in spite of Joyce's (what seems to me) emotionless catechism format? "

I think there is, but it's purely symbolic. When Bloom is kindling the fire Stephen associates him with others who have cared for him in the past -- family members mostly. There is that moment when they come together as "Stoom" and "Blephen." They contemplate each other in silence in the garden, "theirhisnothis fellowfaces." The shooting star flies from the symbol of Stephen to the symbol of Bloom. When Stephen leaves, Bloom feels "the cold of interstellar space."

All purely symbolic instances, fairly abstract, but they seem to indicate a momentary, fleeting connection. And then the loss of that connection.

Tk wrote: "Having read a catechism for the first time in the link from the first post, it seems that the children must repeat these answers again and again until the have them memorized. Perhaps some of the p..."

Maybe memorization of the catechism creates a path toward faith, but eastern religions certainly offer an alternate path to enlightenment. It's a head-heavy approach, which I was hoping Joyce might find means to transcend.

Linda wrote: "It appears that Bloom and Molly had sexual relations 5 weeks before Rudy was born - after all our speculation of why Bloom seems to blame himself for Rudy's death, is this it? He thinks that he somehow caused damage by having sex when the pregnancy was so far along? And to go along with this, is this why he sleeps head to foot? "

Great questions. I don't have the answers... maybe Molly will have something to say about it in the next chapter?

It's interesting that in that same section Joyce notes the breakdown in "mental intercourse" as well as the physical issue. And the prospect of divorce. Divorce in Catholic Ireland was a big deal, but the fact that Bloom is even considering it says something, though it could be just another of his fantasies.

Lily wrote: "Your metaphor intrigues me, Thomas. I am contrasting it with one along the lines of "Bloom digs below the emotional plane of human existence..."

I'm not sure if it's above or below, but the motion seems to be upward, like Dante and Vergil emerging from Hell -- they sees the stars again, just as Stephen and Bloom see "the heaventree hung with humid nightblue fruit" as they emerge from the house (to the strains of Psalm 113, no less.)

Nonetheless, coming at the text from a different perspective, probably partly because I am one of those personalities who embeds emotion in facts, I don't necessarily find this section emotionless. What the emotion is may be shrouded, but it seems still present - kindness, fear, reticence (doubt),... "

I think that's how the chapter begs to be read. It's full of physical things and facts, but each of those things has a meaning and emotion that transcends whatever it is physically. I like your phrase: "embedding emotion in facts." That's quite nice, and very Joycean, if I may be so bold.

I'm not quite done with this episode, but so far, I think the parody of catechism is hilarious.

Also, last night I was reading Green Eggs and Ham to my son (for the millionth time) and I thought: reading Ulysses is a lot like trying green eggs and ham. The moderators and literary circles at large kept telling me I should try it and 17 episodes later, after almost completely eating it, I find I like it. Thank you, thank you, Sam-I-Am.

I think Joyce experiments with just about every form of writing. I wonder how he would have done writing an episode backwards?

Thomas wrote: "Lily wrote: "Your metaphor intrigues me, Thomas. I am contrasting it with one along the lines of "Bloom digs below the emotional plane of human existence..."

I'm not sure if it's above or below, b..."

I was playing with the primacy of emotion versus fact to understanding of being human -- which I think Joyce does, too.

I like your phrase: "embedding emotion in facts." That's quite nice, and very Joycean, if I may be so bold.

LOL. Sort of a Meyers-Briggs orientation, I guess. After approaching three months with J's U, I'm not quite sure whether to be flattered or insulted! But I'll take it in the graciousness possibly intended. ;)

This will be from left field, but I was struck with the amount of library (research) work many of these factual passages must have cost Joyce. Yet one hundred years later, most of us could use Google to cobble together similar streams. (That is said without intent to minimize all the decisions Joyce made on what to include in any particular fire hose dose of information.)

At times, I felt as if I was reading a forerunner to hyper-linked text -- one fact led to another. I was reminded of a research study we did in the early nineties which showed the deep interest in encyclopedic knowledge in the heartland of this country (the U.S.) -- we weren't sure at the time whether to believe the data.

Tk wrote: "We finally got to know more about Bloom near the end of the book, atypically. We received a description of things he owns, what he looks like, what he cares about, etc."

Nice point. We've been following him all this time without really knowing all that much about him.

Lily wrote: "This will be from left field, but I was struck with the amount of library (research) work many of these factual passages must have cost Joyce. .."

Supposedly Joyce remembered everything he ever read and jotted down any new word he heard. A friend sent him a word and was pleased that Joyce used it once in his work! A whole industry has arisen trying to track the source of every thought and word! There is some evidence he created ambiguity just to feed the industry!

Susan wrote: "Supposedly Joyce remembered everything he ever read and jotted down any new word he heard...."

Without denigrating so called photographic memories, I'm a skeptic about what that actually means.

That Joyce remembered "everything he ever read" is a bit of an exaggeration (some of it I'm sure he wanted to forget) but his memory was phenomenal. This may be in part because his eyesight was so poor. His vision was never very good and he was nearly blind by the time he finished Ulysses.

Accounts from his contemporaries are that he could recite pages and pages of poetry from memory and that he expected others to be able to do so as well. He found it strange that someone would not be able to recite lengthy passages of his or her favorite author from memory. There is a story in Birmingham's The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle for James Joyce's Ulysses that after Joyce was recovering from one of many eye surgeries that Sylvia Beach went to read to him for a while. She read a paragraph or two from a novel he liked -- a Walter Scott novel -- when Joyce interrupted her and recited the next few pages from memory.

Like Lily and Linda, I have been enjoying Ithaca. I've finally developed an affinity with Bloom. When he was daydreaming about his farm and even came up with his own motto - Semper Paratus - and cataloguing the items in his dresser drawers, I forgave him almost all his earlier transgressions. My Latin is not very good, so I had to look up Semper Paratus. I couldn't think of a more appropriate motto for him! Always ready. Always ready to seize the opportunity to enjoy one of life's pleasures. Always ready to feed a bird or a skinny, stinky university student.

I even softened toward Stephen once he sobered up and stopped posturing.

And I giggled when I discovered that Bloom was a friend to Everyman. Our moderator is older than I thought! :-)

Zippy wrote: "When he was daydreaming about his farm and even came up with his own motto - Semper Paratus - and cataloguing the items in his dresser drawers, I forgave him almost all his earlier transgressions. My Latin is not very good, so I had to look up Semper Paratus."

I loved Bloom's daydreaming about his farm, but I must have missed the motto so thanks for mentioning it. It IS perfect! Even ready for a bath at the drop of a pin as he's armed with a bar of soap. :)

I love all the cataloging too. So organized - it put my mind at ease.

I chuckled at the Everyman reference too. :)

Zippy wrote: "And I giggled when I discovered that Bloom was a friend to Everyman. Our moderator is older than I thought! :-) "

Ah yes, I remember him well.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sISWP...

Zippy wrote: "Like Lily and Linda, I have been enjoying Ithaca. I've finally developed an affinity with Bloom. When he was daydreaming about his farm and even came up with his own motto - Semper Paratus - and cataloguing the items in his dresser drawers, I forgave him almost all his earlier transgressions. .."

Why does this warmth for the character come through in such a factual, objective, structured narrative format?
It's not because the voice is doing any PR for Bloom, so why does it work?

Susan wrote: "Why does this warmth for the character come through in such a factual, objective, structured narrative format?
It's not because the voice is doing any PR for Bloom, so why does it work? "

Excellent question. For me it's because Bloom is an essentially compassionate, positive, and forgiving person. Bloom tries to understand everyone without judging them, even those who abuse him or look down on him. This character of his personality comes through his thoughts even when he's examining things "scientifically" or through a rote recitation of his possessions. Despite his imperfections (or maybe because of them), Bloom is an essentially humane man.

The Soap:

"We're a capital couple, Bloom and I
He brightens the earth, I polish the sky."

Susan wrote: Why does this warmth for the character come through in such a factual, objective, structured narrative format? "

I love that question. I don't have an answer, but it's a great question. (Many, perhaps most, of the best questions don't have easy answers.)

Everyman wrote: "Susan wrote: Why does this warmth for the character come through in such a factual, objective, structured narrative format? "

I love that question. I don't have an answer, but it's a great questi..."

I don't know if it is THE answer, but it seems to me a lot of perspective in Thomas's response @47.

I am going ahead and claiming "read" for Ulysses as of this evening. But I'm not sure it is "read" in my usual meaning of the term when I consider a book read. Frightening as the thought feels, it is almost more like "starting" than "ending." And it seems not at all like wanting to reread Tolstoy's AK or W&P or The Comedia or even Homer's epics. Maybe more like wanting to revisit NJ shore after the devastation of Hurricane Sandy?

Thomas wrote: "Susan wrote: "Why does this warmth for the character come through ..." ... Despite his imperfections (or maybe because of them), Bloom is an essentially humane man.

But what exactly are those imperfections, if I may ask? Is it not 'just' his sexual obsession that is bothering us? And would that not make this a bit like saying that someone is perfectly humane 'despite being gay'?

Traditional interpretations shy away from Bloom's specific sexual nature. But if it were only an expression of guilt, would it then seem a major imperfection? Or is Joyce 'amplifying' (in a sly way, given his biography) the problematic nature of (male?) sexuality?

Making Bloom humane despite being human? Questions, questions ..

Wendel wrote: "...But what exactly are those imperfections, if I may ask?..."

Wendel, it seems somehow to me that to ask what are Bloom's imperfections is to do exactly what Bloom asks us not to do, or at least be careful about doing, i.e., to be judgmental. There are definitely characteristics and situations here that make at least many of us uncomfortable, but it seems to me that Joyce asks us to be careful where we take that.

One of the things that is interesting/puzzling to me is whether the story posits or privileges certain actions to be taken, regardless or despite whatever judgments are made.

Wendel wrote: "But what exactly are those imperfections, if I may ask? Is it not 'just' his sexual obsession that is bothering us? And would that not make this a bit like saying that someone is perfectly humane 'despite being gay'?"

I don't consider Bloom's sexual obsessions to be his imperfections exactly, though they may be symptomatic of them. His imperfection, as I see it, is a mushy self-identity. He is never quite at home, not in his own country, or his own city, or even even in his own home with his own wife. He develops coping mechanisms to deal with this -- a rich fantasy life, on one hand, and a wonderful kind of objectivity on the other. I think his "humaneness" comes from this -- his experience as an "alien" allows him to be more humane than others who have a fixed and accepted identity.

Thomas wrote: "For me it's because Bloom is an essentially compassionate, positive, and forgiving person. Bloom tries to understand everyone without judging them, even those who abuse him or look down on him. This character of his personality comes through his thoughts even when he's examining things "scientifically" or through a rote recitation of his possessions. Despite his imperfections (or maybe because of them), Bloom is an essentially humane man.."

This pretty much nails it as far as Bloom is concerned, I think. To me, it seems apparent that Bloom is deeply affected by the infidelity - it's just that his way of coping is to rationalize. Also, as Susan mentioned, a catechism is an attempt to impose a rigid rationality on an almost purely emotional/visceral experience. To take the next logical step, this is exactly what Bloom is doing. This is profoundly sad underneath all of the verbiage.

Edit: I typed this before I got to your bit about Bloom's coping mechisms... Didn't mean to steal your word!

Susan wrote: "The problem for me with the question and answer format of the catechism is that it creates a barrier between the learner and the purpose of instruction. For those who wish to accept the Word of G..."

I tend to think that creating a barrier is exactly what Bloom is trying to do, consciously or unconsciously....

Thomas wrote: "His imperfection, as I see it, is a mushy self-identity..."

Indeed, and the same could be said of Stephen - conflicted feelings about religion, social awkwardness, not willing to return home to his family...