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Ulysses (Modern Classics (Penguin)) by James Joyce
Book Summary InformationAuthor: James Joyce Introduction: Declan Kiberd Edition: Paperback Audio: English (Unknown); English (Original Language); English (Published) Published: 2008-07 ISBN: 0141182806 Number of pages: 939 Publisher: Penguin Books
Book Reviews of Ulysses (Modern Classics (Penguin))Book Review: Five Star with a Warning: Let the Reader Beware [1][6][9][17] Summary: 5 Stars
In this book, Joyce continually reminds his readers that this 265,000-word epic utilizing over 30,000 different words is more about his prowess, and sometimes less about your pleasure.
As athletic feat is derived from hours of repetitive drills, so too may this novel's conquest only be enjoyed after years of reading ever improving literature. This is not a book for the amateur. Precisely the opposite, this is a book continually referring to other novels, uses language of greater expanse than most others, and is written in styles which make the complexities vastly increased.
More puzzle maker than novelist, Joyce's decision to write in paradox, paradigm, pun, parody, contrarian, contradiction and more makes the reading experience as complete as one could ask in the English language. The array of writing styles is mesmerizing: simple novel; over 30 pages of newspaper column; a 180-page play; over 70 pages of questions followed by answers; and one final chapter made up of seemingly 30-40 pages in ONE sentence of rambling autobiographical sexual revelation by Molly Bloom - the protagonist's cavorting wife.
The interplay of the styles is extremely brave and enlightening. As they touch upon the same topic, but in different voices and different styles, the reader can further delve into what transpired hundreds of pages before, when the writer intentionally did not reveal it all, and definitely did not reveal it in easily decipherable verse. The interrelation between the texts would allow one to probably read the chapters in different orders and end in the same frame of mind. Nabokov asserted one could do such to his "Lolita." And, Nabokov, creator of "Pale Fire", reminds me so much of Joyce as each toys with and teases the reader with puns, parodies and sometimes outdated jokes.
The main characters, Leopold Bloom and Molly Bloom, are known to even those who have not read the novel. Their mutual philandering is the focus of much of the novel. The exploits of each are relatively revealed. But, not in black and white English. The point is taken, and from this came one great pornography trial which culminated with a 1933 United States District Court decision proclaiming, ". . . the effect of `Ulysses' on the reader undoubtedly is somewhat emetic, nowhere does it tend to be an aphrodisiac."
Such words would not be clearer. "An exquisite dulcet epithalame of most mollification suadency for juveniles amatory whom the odoriferous flambeaus of the paranymphs have escorted to the quadrupedal proscenium of connubial communion." University level English is a prerequisite to understand this alleged smut - or to use Joyce's words: concupiscence delivering induration.
And, most of the book, believe it or not, is not about sexual issues. Much touches upon other topics: philosophy, anti-Semitism, socialism . . . . But it is not always condescending; and it is much more than a 700-800-pages of dialectic prose. Because some of those topics are extremely poignant in 2009, those portions of the book apply to today's themes and can be easily (?) read today. Other topics are not for today's discussion. And, that makes reading those portions very difficult for today's reader.
In all honesty there were times when I read the novel and asked, "what am I missing?" I had to stop and reflect, "Do others really see something that I cannot?" For instance the following passage really lost me: "What do they think when they hear music? Way to catch rattlesnakes. Night Michael Green gave us the box. Tuning up. Shah of Persia liked that best. Remind him of home sweet home. Wiped his nose in curtain too." Do I need recite more? This caught my interest as much as a "White on White" painting at the museum of modern art. "I just don't get it."
And then, later I read the question-answer portion (second to last chapter), and the efficiency and beauty of the writing is both unique and unparalleled. A master of accidence and syntax, the writing is clear and artistic and most importantly - understandable. At the end of that chapter, I could only close the book, lean back and reflect on what I just read, and say one word, "Shazam."
Like climbing a mountain, the trek may be difficult - but at the journey's end, the party who endured the hardship will be rewarded with a lifetime of memories. Because of some bizarre passages of experimental prose and style, I cannot assert this is my favorite book. Not even the top ten for me. But, it is a great book. And, so well worth the read.
Few tips: Read "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man " and maybe the "Dubliners" before this. I would also recommend reading the last two chapters before reading from the beginning. And have a dictionary nearby. You will use it. Trust me.
Summary of Ulysses (Modern Classics (Penguin))Written over a seven-year period, from 1914 to 1921, this book has survived bowdlerization, legal action and controversy. The novel deals with the events of one day in Dublin, 16th June 1904, now known as "Bloomsday". The principal characters are Stephen Dedalus, Leopold Bloom and his wife Molly. "Ulysses" has been labelled dirty, blasphemous and unreadable.In a famous 1933 court decision, Judge John M. Woolsey declared it an emetic book - although he found it not quite obscene enough to disallow its importation into the United States - and Virginia Woolf was moved to decry James Joyce's "cloacal obsession". None of these descriptions, however, do the slightest justice to the novel. To this day it remains the modernist masterpiece, in which the author takes both Celtic lyricism and vulgarity to splendid extremes. It is funny, sorrowful, and even (in its own way) suspenseful. And despite the exegetical industry that has sprung up in the last 75 years, "Ulysses" is also a compulsively readable book. Ulysses has been labeled dirty, blasphemous, and unreadable. In a famous 1933 court decision, Judge John M. Woolsey declared it an emetic book--although he found it sufficiently unobscene to allow its importation into the United States--and Virginia Woolf was moved to decry James Joyce's "cloacal obsession." None of these adjectives, however, do the slightest justice to the novel. To this day it remains the modernist masterpiece, in which the author takes both Celtic lyricism and vulgarity to splendid extremes. It is funny, sorrowful, and even (in a close-focus sort of way) suspenseful. And despite the exegetical industry that has sprung up in the last 75 years, Ulysses is also a compulsively readable book. Even the verbal vaudeville of the final chapters can be navigated with relative ease, as long as you're willing to be buffeted, tickled, challenged, and (occasionally) vexed by Joyce's sheer command of the English language. Among other things, a novel is simply a long story, and the first question about any story is: What happens?. In the case of Ulysses, the answer might be Everything. William Blake, one of literature's sublime myopics, saw the universe in a grain of sand. Joyce saw it in Dublin, Ireland, on June 16, 1904, a day distinguished by its utter normality. Two characters, Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom, go about their separate business, crossing paths with a gallery of indelible Dubliners. We watch them teach, eat, stroll the streets, argue, and (in Bloom's case) masturbate. And thanks to the book's stream-of-consciousness technique--which suggests no mere stream but an impossibly deep, swift-running river--we're privy to their thoughts, emotions, and memories. The result? Almost every variety of human experience is crammed into the accordian folds of a single day, which makes Ulysses not just an experimental work but the very last word in realism. Both characters add their glorious intonations to the music of Joyce's prose. Dedalus's accent--that of a freelance aesthetician, who dabbles here and there in what we might call Early Yeats Lite--will be familiar to readers of Portrait of an Artist As a Young Man. But Bloom's wistful sensualism (and naive curiosity) is something else entirely. Seen through his eyes, a rundown corner of a Dublin graveyard is a figure for hope and hopelessness, mortality and dogged survival: "Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Ireland's hearts and hands. More sensible to spend the money on some charity for the living. Pray for the repose of the soul of. Does anybody really?" --James Marcus
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