Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. File:///D /Libri/(E-BOOK%20ITA)%20James%20Joyce%20-%20Gente%20di%20dublino.txt James Joyce. GENTE DI DUBLINO. Le sorelle: pagina 3.

1. Ulisse Joyce Pdf Ita Full

STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

-- Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

-- Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

-- Back to barracks, he said sternly.

He added in a preacher's tone:

-- For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

-- Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

-- The mockery of it, he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.

-- My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

-- Will he come? The jejune jesuit.

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

-- Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

-- Yes, my love?

-- How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

-- God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English. Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus; you have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

He shaved warily over his chin.

-- He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?

-- A woful lunatic, Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

-- I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

-- Scutter, he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper pocket, said:

-- Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

-- The bard's noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can't you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

-- God, he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks. I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.

-- Our mighty mother, Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptly his great searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's face.

-- The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.

-- Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.

-- You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I'm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you.

He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.

-- But a lovely mummer, he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all.

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.

Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown grave-clothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the well-fed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.

Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.

-- Ah, poor dogsbody, he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?

-- They fit well enough, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.

-- The mockery of it, he said contentedly, secondleg they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. You'll look spiffing in them. I'm not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when you're dressed.

-- Thanks, Stephen said. I can't wear them if they are grey.

-- He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers.

He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.

Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.

-- That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. He's up in Dottyville with Conolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane.

He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.

-- Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard.

Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack, hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.

-- I pinched it out of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plain-looking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.

Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes.

-- The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you.

Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:

-- It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.

-- It's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.

Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The cold steelpen.

-- Cracked lookingglass of a servant. Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money and thinks you're not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.

Cranly's arm. His arm.

-- And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I'm the only one that knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have you up your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe.

Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another, O, I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's shears. A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade. I don't want to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!

Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.

To ourselves... new paganism... omphalos.

-- Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except at night.

-- Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'm quite frank with you. What have you against me now?

They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.

-- Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.

-- Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything.

He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.

Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:

-- Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's death?

Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:

-- What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?

-- You were making tea, Stephen said, and I went across the landing to get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom. She asked you who was in your room.

-- Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.

-- You said, Stephen answered, O, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead.

A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's cheek.

-- Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?

He shook his constraint from him nervously.

-- And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? You saw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissecting room. It's a beastly thing and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneel down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it's injected the wrong way. To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning. She calls the doctor Sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups off the quilt. Humour her till it's over. You crossed her last wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge like some hired mute from Lalouette's. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother.

He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly:

-- I am not thinking of the offence to my mother.

-- Of what, then? Buck Mulligan asked.

-- Of the offence to me, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel.

-- O, an impossible person! he exclaimed.

He walked off quickly round the parapet. Stephen stood at his post, gazing over the calm sea towards the headland. Sea and headland now grew dim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, veiling their sight, and he felt the fever of his cheeks.

A voice within the tower called loudly:

-- Are you up there, Mulligan?

-- I'm coming, Buck Mulligan answered.

He turned towards Stephen and said:

-- Look at the sea. What does it care about offences? Chuck Loyola, Kinch, and come on down. The Sassenach wants his morning rashers.

His head halted again for a moment at the top of the staircase, level with the roof.

-- Don't mope over it all day, he said. I'm inconsequent. Give up the moody brooding.

His head vanished but the drone of his descending voice boomed out of the stairhead:

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery
For Fergus rules the brazen cars.

Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the harpstrings merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide.

A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, shadowing the bay in deeper green. It lay behind him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song: I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords. Her door was open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and pity I went to her bedside. She was crying in her wretched bed. For those words, Stephen: love's bitter mystery.

Where now?

Her secrets: old feather fans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a gaud of amber beads in her locked drawer. A birdcage hung in the sunny window of her house when she was a girl. She heard old Royce sing in the pantomime of Turko the terrible and laughed with others when he sang:

I am the boy
That can enjoy
Invisibility.

Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed.

And no more turn aside and brood

Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys. Memories beset his brooding brain. Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she had approached the sacrament. A cored apple, filled with brown sugar, roasting for her at the hob on a dark autumn evening. Her shapely fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from the children's shirts.

In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted body within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath bent over him with mute secret words, a faint odour of wetted ashes.

Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on their knees. Her eyes on me to strike me down. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum turma circumdet: iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat.

Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!

No mother. Let me be and let me live.

-- Kinch ahoy!

Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower. It came nearer up the staircase, calling again. Stephen, still trembling at his soul's cry, heard warm running sunlight and in the air behind him friendly words.

-- Dedalus, comedown, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines is apologizing for waking us last night. It's all right.

-- I'm coming, Stephen said, turning.

-- Do, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all our sakes.

His head disappeared and reappeared.

-- I told him your symbol of Irish art. He says it's very clever. Touch him for a quid, will you? A guinea, I mean.

-- I get paid this morning, Stephen said.

-- The school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much? Four quid? Lend us one.

-- If you want it, Stephen said.

-- Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We'll have a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotent sovereigns.

He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone stairs, singing out of tune with a Cockney accent:

O, won't we have a merry time
Drinking whisky, beer and wine,
On coronation,
Coronation day?
O, won't we have a merry time
On coronation day?

Warm sunshine merrying over the sea. The nickel shaving-bowl shone, forgotten, on the parapet. Why should I bring it down? Or leave it there all day, forgotten friendship?

He went over to it, held it in his hands awhile, feeling its coolness, smelling the clammy slaver of the lather in which the brush was stuck. So I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes. I am another now and yet the same. A servant too. A server of a servant.

In the gloomy domed livingroom of the tower Buck Mulligan's gowned form moved briskly about the hearth to and fro, hiding and revealing its yellow glow. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the flagged floor from the high barbicans: and at the meeting of their rays a cloud of coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning.

-- We'll be choked, Buck Mulligan said. Haines, open that door, will you?

Stephen laid the shavingbowl on the locker. A tall figure rose from the hammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled open the inner doors.

-- Have you the key? a voice asked.

-- Dedalus has it, Buck Mulligan said. Janey Mack, I'm choked. He howled without looking up from the fire:

-- Kinch!

-- It's in the lock, Stephen said, coming forward.

The key scraped round harshly twice and, when the heavy door had been set ajar, welcome light and bright air entered. Haines stood at the doorway, looking out. Stephen haled his upended valise to the table and sat down to wait. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish beside him. Then he carried the dish and a large teapot over to the table, set them down heavily and sighed with relief.

-- I'm melting, he said, as the candle remarked when .

But hush. Not a word more on that subject. Kinch, wake up. Bread, butter, honey. Haines, come in. The grub is ready. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts. Where's the sugar? O, jay, there's no milk.

Stephen fetched the loaf and the pot of honey and the buttercooler from the locker. Buck Mulligan sat down in a sudden pet.

-- What sort of a kip is this? he said. I told her to come after eight.

-- We can drink it black, Stephen said. There's a lemon in the locker.

-- O, damn you and your Paris fads, Buck Mulligan said. I want Sandycove milk.

Haines came in from the doorway and said quietly:

-- That woman is coming up with the milk.

-- The blessings of God on you, Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from his chair. Sit down. Pour out the tea there. The sugar is in the bag. Here, I can't go fumbling at the damned eggs. He hacked through the fry on the dish and slapped it out on three plates, saying:

-- In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.

Haines sat down to pour out the tea.

-- I'm giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say, Mulligan, you do make strong tea, don't you?

Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old woman's wheedling voice:

-- When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water.

-- By Jove, it is tea, Haines said.

Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling:

-- So I do, Mrs Cahill, says she. Begob, ma'am, says Mrs Cahill, God send you don't make them in the one pot.

He lunged towards his messmates in turn a thick slice of bread, impaled on his knife.

-- That's folk, he said very earnestly, for your book, Haines. Five lines of text and ten pages of notes about the folk and the fishgods of Dundrum. Printed by the weird sisters in the year of the big wind.

He turned to Stephen and asked in a fine puzzled voice, lifting his brows:

-- Can you recall, brother, is mother Grogan's tea and water pot spoken of in the Mabinogion or is it in the Upanishads?

-- I doubt it, said Stephen gravely.

-- Do you now? Buck Mulligan said in the same tone. Your reasons, pray?

-- I fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or out of the Mabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary Ann.

Buck Mulligan's face smiled with delight.

-- Charming, he said in a finical sweet voice, showing his white teeth and blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming.

Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsened rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf:

-- For old Mary Ann
She doesn't care a damn,
But, hising up her petticoats...

He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned.

The doorway was darkened by an entering form.

-- The milk, sir.

-- Come in, ma'am, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug.

An old woman came forward and stood by Stephen's elbow.

-- That's a lovely morning, sir, she said. Glory be to God.

-- To whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be sure. Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the locker.

-- The islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak frequently of the collector of prepuces.

-- How much, sir? asked the old woman.

-- A quart, Stephen said.

He watched her pour into the measure and thence into the jug rich white milk, not hers. Old shrunken paps. She poured again a measureful and a tilly. Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybe a messenger. She praised the goodness of the milk, pouring it out. Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowed about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk of the kine and poor old woman, names given her in old times. A wandering crone, lowly form of an immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid, whether he could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.

-- It is indeed, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into their cups.

-- Taste it, sir, she said.

He drank at her bidding.

-- If we could only live on good food like that, he said to her somewhat loudly, we wouldn't have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten guts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the streets paved with dust, horsedung and consumptives' spits.

-- Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked.

-- I am, ma'am, Buck Mulligan answered.

Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old head to a voice that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman; me she slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there is of her but her woman's unclean loins, of man's flesh made not in God's likeness, the serpent's prey. And to the loud voice that now bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes.

-- Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her.

-- Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines.

Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently.

-- Irish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you?

-- I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it. Are you from west, sir?

-- I am an Englishman, Haines answered.

-- He's English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we ought to speak Irish in Ireland.

-- Sure we ought to, the old woman said, and I'm ashamed I don't speak the language myself. I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows.

-- Grand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan. Wonderful entirely. Fill us out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, ma'am?

-- No, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the ring of the milkcan on her forearm and about to go.

Haines said to her:

-- Have you your bill? We had better pay her, Mulligan, hadn't we?

Stephen filled the three cups.

-- Bill, sir? she said, halting. Well, it's seven mornings a pint at twopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence over and these three mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling and one and two is two and two, sir.

Buck Mulligan sighed and having filled his mouth with a crust thickly buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search his trouser pockets.

-- Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him smiling.

Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the thick rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his fingers and cried:

-- A miracle!

He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying:

-- Ask nothing more of me, sweet. All I can give you I give. Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand.

-- We'll owe twopence, he said.

-- Time enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time enough. Good morning, sir.

She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan's tender chant:

-- Heart of my heart, were it more,
More would be laid at your feet.

He turned to Stephen and said:

-- Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Hurry out to your school kip and bring us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland expects that every man this day will do his duty.

-- That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your national library today.

-- Our swim first, Buck Mulligan said.

He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:

-- Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

Then he said to Haines:

-- The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

-- All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey trickle over a slice of the loaf.

Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about the loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:

-- I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.

Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit. Conscience. Yet here's a spot.

-- That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbol of Irish art is deuced good.

Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table and said with warmth of tone:

-- Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines.

-- Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was just thinking of it when that poor old creature came in.

-- Would I make money by it? Stephen asked.

Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast of the hammock, said:

-- I don't know, I'm sure.

He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and said with coarse vigour:

-- You put your hoof in it now. What did you say that for?

-- Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money. From whom? From the milkwoman or from him. It's a toss up, I think.

I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and then you come along with your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes.

-- I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him.

Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen's arm.

-- From me, Kinch, he said.

In a suddenly changed tone he added:

-- To tell you the God's truth I think you're right. Damn all else they are good for. Why don't you play them as I do? To hell with them all. Let us get out of the kip.

He stood up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his gown, saying resignedly:

-- Mulligan is stripped of his garments.

He emptied his pockets on to the table.

-- There's your snotrag, he said.

And putting on his stiff collar and rebellious tie, he spoke to them, chiding them, and to his dangling watchchain. His hands plunged and rummaged in his trunk while he called for - a clean handkerchief. Agenbite of inwit. God, we'll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves and green boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. Mercurial Malachi. A limp black missile flew out of his talking hands.

-- And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said.

Stephen picked it up and put it on: Haines called to them from the doorway:

-- Are you coming, you fellows?

-- I'm ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the door. Come out, Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose. Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh with sorrow:

-- And going forth he met Butterly.

Stephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them out and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.

At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:

-- Did you bring the key?

Ulisse Joyce Pdf Ita Full

-- I have it, Stephen said, preceding them.

He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.

-- Down, sir. How dare you, sir? Haines asked:

-- Do you pay rent for this tower?

-- Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.

-- To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder.

They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:

-- Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?

-- Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were on the sea. But ours is the omphalos.

-- What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.

-- No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I'm not equal to Thomas Aquinas and the fiftyfive reasons he has made to prop it up. Wait till I have a few pints in me first.

He turned to Stephen, saying as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his primrose waistcoat:

-- You couldn't manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?

-- It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer.

-- You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some paradox?

-- Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wilde and paradoxes. It's quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.

-- What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He himself?

Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, bending in loose laughter, said to Stephen's ear:

-- O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a father!

-- We're always tired in the morning, Stephen said to Haines. And it is rather long to tell.

Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands.

-- The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, he said.

-- I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, this tower and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. That beetles o'er his base into the sea, isn't it?

Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant towards Stephen but did not speak. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image in cheap dusty mourning between their gay attires.

-- It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to halt again.

Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent. The seas' ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for the smokeplume of the mailboat, vague on the bright skyline, and a sail tacking by the Muglins.

-- I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, he said bemused. The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with the Father.

Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He looked at them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a doll's head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, and began to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:

-- I'm the queerest young fellow that ever you heard.
My mother's a jew, my father's a bird.
With Joseph the joiner I cannot agree,
So here's to disciples and Calvary.

He held up a forefinger of warning.

-- If anyone thinks that I amn't divine
He'll get no free drinks when I'm making the wine
But have to drink water and wish it were plain
That I make when the wine becomes water again.

He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, running forward to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:

-- Goodbye, now, goodbye. Write down all I said
And tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the dead.
What's bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly
And Olivet's breezy... Goodbye, now, goodbye.

He capered before them down towards the fortyfoot hole, fluttering his winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering in the fresh wind that bore back to them his brief birdlike cries.

Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and said:

-- We oughtn't to laugh, I suppose. He's rather blasphemous. I'm not a believer myself, that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm out of it somehow, doesn't it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?

-- The ballad of Joking Jesus, Stephen answered.

-- O, Haines said, you have heard it before?

-- Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily.

-- You're not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God.

-- There's only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said.

Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled a green stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it.

-- Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette.

Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in his sidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk towards Stephen in the shell of his hands.

-- Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or you don't, isn't it? Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of a personal God. You don't stand for that, I suppose?

-- You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.

He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his side. Its ferrule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels. My familiar, after me, calling Steeeeeeeeeephen. A wavering line along the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He wants that key. It is mine, I paid the rent. Now I eat his salt bread. Give him the key too. All. He will ask for it. That was in his eyes.

-- After all, Haines began...

Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was not all unkind.

-- After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are your own master, it seems to me.

-- I am the servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and an Italian.

-- Italian? Haines said.

A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.

-- And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs.

-- Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?

-- The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.

Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke.

-- I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think like that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather unfairly. It seems history is to blame.

The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen's memory the triumph of their brazen bells: et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam: the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts, a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed and menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry: Photius and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with the Father, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the Father was Himself His own Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger. Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind: a menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels of the church, Michael's host, who defend her ever in the hour of conflict with their lances and their shields.

Hear, hear. Prolonged applause. Zut! Nom de Dieu!

-- Of course I'm a Britisher, Haines' voice said, and I feel as one. I don't want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews either. That's our national problem, I'm afraid, just now.

Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman.

-- She's making for Bullock harbour.

The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay with some disdain.

-- There's five fathoms out there, he said. It'll be swept up that way when the tide comes in about one. It's nine days today.

The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting for a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sun a puffy face, salt white. Here I am.

They followed the winding path down to the creek. Buck Mulligan stood on a stone, in shirtsleeves, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder. A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him moved slowly frogwise his green legs in the deep jelly of the water.

-- Is the brother with you, Malachi?

-- Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons.

-- Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young thing down there. Photo girl he calls her.

-- Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure.

Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly man shot up near the spur of rock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones, water glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water rilling over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his black sagging loincloth.

Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Haines and Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lips and breastbone.

-- Seymour's back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur of rock. Chucked medicine and going in for the army.

-- Ah, go to God, Buck Mulligan said.

-- Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?

-- Yes.

-- Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto with money.

-- Is she up the pole?

-- Better ask Seymour that.

-- Seymour a bleeding officer, Buck Mulligan said.

He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and stood up, saying tritely:

-- Redheaded women buck like goats.

He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.

-- My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I'm the Uebermensch. Toothless Kinch and I, the supermen.

He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to where his clothes lay.

-- Are you going in here, Malachi?

-- Yes. Make room in !he bed.

The young man shoved himself backward through the water and reached the middle of the creek in two long clean strokes. Haines sat down on a stone, smoking.

-- Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked.

-- Later on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast. Stephen turned away.

-- I'm going, Mulligan, he said.

-- Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat.

Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes.

-- And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there.

Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:

-- He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spake Zarathustra.

His plump body plunged.

-- We'll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up the path and smiling at wild Irish.

Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon.

-- The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve.

-- Good, Stephen said.

He walked along the upwardcurving path.

Liliata rutilantium.
Turnia circumdet.
Iubilantium te virginum

The priest's grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I will not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.

A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round.

Usurper.

Ulysses

Author	James Joyce
Language	English
Genre	Modernist novel
Set in	Dublin, 16–17 June 1904
Publisher	Sylvia Beach
Publication date	2 February 1922
Media type	Print: hardback
Pages	730
823.912
LC Class	PR6019.O8 U4 1922
Preceded by	A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Followed by	Finnegans Wake
Text	Ulysses (novel) at Wikisource

Ulysses is a modernist novel by Irish writerJames Joyce. It was first serialised in parts in the American journal The Little Review from March 1918 to December 1920 and then published in its entirety in Paris by Sylvia Beach on 2 February 1922, Joyce's 40th birthday. It is considered to be one of the most important works of modernist literature^[1] and has been called 'a demonstration and summation of the entire movement.'^[2] According to Declan Kiberd, 'Before Joyce, no writer of fiction had so foregrounded the process of thinking'.^[3]

Ulysses chronicles the peripatetic appointments and encounters of Leopold Bloom in Dublin in the course of an ordinary day, 16 June 1904.^[4][5] Ulysses is the Latinised name of Odysseus, the hero of Homer's epic poem the Odyssey, and the novel establishes a series of parallels between the poem and the novel, with structural correspondences between the characters and experiences of Leopold Bloom and Odysseus, Molly Bloom and Penelope, and Stephen Dedalus and Telemachus, in addition to events and themes of the early 20th-century context of modernism, Dublin, and Ireland's relationship to Britain. The novel is highly allusive and also imitates the styles of different periods of English literature.

Since its publication, the book has attracted controversy and scrutiny, ranging from an obscenity trial in the United States in 1921, to protracted textual 'Joyce Wars'. The novel's stream-of-consciousness technique, careful structuring, and experimental prose—replete with puns, parodies, and allusions—as well as its rich characterisation and broad humour, have led it to be regarded as one of the greatest literary works in history; Joyce fans worldwide now celebrate 16 June as Bloomsday.

• 3Structure
• 4Plot summary
  • 4.1Part I: Telemachia
  • 4.2Part II: Odyssey
  • 4.3Part III: Nostos
• 5Editions
• 8Media adaptations
• 11Further reading
  • 11.1List of editions in print
• 12External links

Background[edit]

Joyce first encountered the figure of Odysseus/Ulysses in Charles Lamb's Adventures of Ulysses, an adaptation of the Odyssey for children, which seems to have established the Latin name in Joyce's mind. At school he wrote an essay on the character, entitled 'My Favourite Hero'.^[6][7] Joyce told Frank Budgen that he considered Ulysses the only all-round character in literature.^[8] He thought about calling his short-story collection Dubliners (1914) by the name Ulysses in Dublin,^[9] but the idea grew from a story written in 1906 to a 'short book' in 1907,^[10] to the vast novel that he began in 1914.

Locations[edit]

1. Leopold Bloom's home at 7 Eccles Street^[12] - Episode 4, Calypso, Episode 17, Ithaca, and Episode 18, Penelope
2. Post office, Westland Row - Episode 5, Lotus Eaters.
3. Sweny’s pharmacy, Lombard Street, Lincoln Place^[13] (where Bloom bought soap). Episode 5, Lotus Eaters
4. the Freeman's Journal, Prince's Street,^[14] off of O'Connell StreetEpisode 7, Aeolus And - not far away - Graham Lemon's candy shop, 49 Lower O'Connell Street, it starts Episode 8, Lestrygonians
5. Davy Byrne's pub - Episode 8, Lestrygonians
6. National Library of Ireland - Episode 9, Scylla and Charybdis
7. Ormond Hotel^[15] - on the banks of the Liffey - Episode 11, Sirens
8. Barney Kiernan's pub, Episode 12, Cyclops
9. Maternity hospital, Episode 14, Oxen of the Sun
10. Bella Cohen's brothel. Episode 15, Circe
11. Cabman’s shelter, Butt Bridge. - Episode 16, Eumaeus

The action of the novel moves from one side of Dublin Bay to the other, opening in Sandycove to the South of the city and closing on Howth Head to the North.

Structure[edit]

Ulysses is divided into the three books (marked I, II, and III), and 18 episodes. The episodes do not have chapter headings or titles, and are numbered only in Gabler's edition. In the various editions the breaks between episodes are indicated in different ways; e.g. in the Modern Language edition each episode begins at the top of a new page.

At first glance, much of the book may appear unstructured and chaotic; Joyce once said that he had 'put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant', which would earn the novel immortality.^[16] The two schemata which Stuart Gilbert and Herbert Gorman released after publication to help defend Joyce from the obscenity accusations^{[clarification needed]} made the links to The Odyssey clearer, and also helped explain the work's internal structure.

Joyce and Homer[edit]

Joyce divides Ulysses into 18 episodes that 'roughly correspond to the episodes in Homer's Odyssey'.^[17] Homer's Odyssey is divided into 24 books (sections).

It has been suggested by scholars that every episode of Ulysses has a theme, technique and correspondence between its characters and those of the Odyssey. The text of the published novel does not include the episode titles that are used below, nor the correspondences, which originate from explanatory outlines Joyce sent to friends, known as the Linati and Gilbert schemata. Joyce referred to the episodes by their Homeric titles in his letters. He took the idiosyncratic rendering of some of the titles, e.g. 'Nausikaa' and the 'Telemachiad' from Victor Bérard's two-volume Les Phéniciens et l'Odyssée which he consulted in 1918 in the Zentralbibliothek Zürich.

While the action of Joyce's novel takes place during one ordinary day in early twentieth-century Dublin, Ireland, in Homer's epic, Odysseus, 'a Greek hero of the Trojan War ... took ten years to find his way from Troy to his home on the island of Ithaca'.^[18] Furthermore, Homer's poem includes violent storms and a shipwreck, giants and monsters, gods and goddesses, a totally different world from Joyce's. Joyce's character Leopold Bloom, 'a Jewish advertisement canvasser', corresponds to Odysseus in Homer's epic; Stephen Dedalus, the hero also of Joyce's earlier, largely autobiographical, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, corresponds to Odysseus's son Telemachus; and Bloom's wife Molly corresponds to Penelope, Odysseus's wife, who waited twenty years for him to return.^[19]

Plot summary[edit]

Part I: Telemachia[edit]

Episode 1, Telemachus[edit]

It is 8 a.m. Buck Mulligan, a boisterous medical student, calls Stephen Dedalus (a young writer encountered as the principal subject of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man) up to the roof of the Sandycove Martello tower where they both live. There is tension between Stephen and Mulligan, stemming from a cruel remark Stephen has overheard Mulligan making about his recently deceased mother, May Dedalus, and from the fact that Mulligan has invited an English student, Haines, to stay with them. The three men eat breakfast and walk to the shore, where Mulligan demands from Stephen the key to the tower and a loan. Departing, Stephen declares that he will not return to the tower tonight, as Mulligan, the 'usurper', has taken it over.

Episode 2, Nestor[edit]

Stephen is teaching a history class on the victories of Pyrrhus of Epirus. After class, one student, Cyril Sargent, stays behind so that Stephen can show him how to do a set of arithmetic exercises. Stephen looks at the ugly face of Sargent and tries to imagine Sargent's mother's love for him. Stephen then visits school headmaster Garrett Deasy, from whom he collects his pay and a letter to take to a newspaper office for printing. The two discuss Irish history and the role of Jews in the economy. As Stephen leaves, Deasy said that Ireland has 'never persecuted the Jews' because the country 'never let them in'. This episode is the source of some of the novel's most famous lines, such as Dedalus's claim that 'history is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake' and that God is 'a shout in the street.'

Episode 3, Proteus[edit]

Stephen finds his way to Sandymount Strand and mopes around for some time, mulling various philosophical concepts, his family, his life as a student in Paris, and his mother's death. As Stephen reminisces and ponders, he lies down among some rocks, watches a couple whose dog urinates behind a rock, scribbles some ideas for poetry and picks his nose. This chapter is characterised by a stream of consciousness narrative style that changes focus wildly. Stephen's education is reflected in the many obscure references and foreign phrases employed in this episode, which have earned it a reputation for being one of the book's most difficult chapters.

Part II: Odyssey[edit]

Episode 4, Calypso[edit]

The narrative shifts abruptly. The time is again 8 a.m., but the action has moved across the city and to the second protagonist of the book, Leopold Bloom, a part-Jewish advertising canvasser. The episode opens with the famous line ‘Mr. Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls.’ Bloom, after starting to prepare breakfast, decides to walk to a butcher to buy a pork kidney. Returning home, he prepares breakfast and brings it with the mail to his wife Molly as she lounges in bed. One of the letters is from her concert manager Blazes Boylan, with whom Molly is having an affair. Bloom is aware that Molly will welcome Boylan into her bed later that day, and is tormented by the thought. Bloom reads a letter from their daughter Milly Bloom, who tells him about her progress in the photography business in Mullingar. The episode closes with Bloom reading a magazine story titled Matcham’s Masterstroke, by Mr. Philip Beaufoy, while defecating in the outhouse.

Episode 5, Lotus Eaters[edit]

Bloom makes his way to Westland Row post office, where he receives a love letter from one 'Martha Clifford' addressed to his pseudonym, 'Henry Flower'. He meets an acquaintance, and while they chat, Bloom attempts to ogle a woman wearing stockings, but is prevented by a passing tram. Next, he reads the letter and tears up the envelope in an alley. He wanders into a Catholic church service and muses on theology. The priest has the letters I.N.R.I. or I.H.S. on his back; Molly had told Bloom that they meant I have sinned or I have suffered, and Iron nails ran in.^[20] He goes to a chemist where he buys a bar of lemon soap. He then meets another acquaintance, Bantam Lyons, who mistakenly takes him to be offering a racing tip for the horse Throwaway. Finally, Bloom heads towards the baths.

Episode 6, Hades[edit]

The episode begins with Bloom entering a funeral carriage with three others, including Stephen's father. They drive to Paddy Dignam's funeral, making small talk on the way. The carriage passes both Stephen and Blazes Boylan. There is discussion of various forms of death and burial, and Bloom is preoccupied by thoughts of his dead son, Rudy, and the suicide of his own father. They enter the chapel into the service and subsequently leave with the coffin cart. Bloom sees a mysterious man wearing a mackintosh during the burial. Bloom continues to reflect upon death, but at the end of the episode rejects morbid thoughts to embrace 'warm fullblooded life'.

Episode 7, Aeolus[edit]

At the office of the Freeman's Journal, Bloom attempts to place an ad. Although initially encouraged by the editor, he is unsuccessful. Stephen arrives bringing Deasy's letter about 'foot and mouth' disease, but Stephen and Bloom do not meet. Stephen leads the editor and others to a pub, relating an anecdote on the way about 'two Dublin vestals'. The episode is broken into short segments by newspaper-style headlines, and is characterised by an abundance of rhetorical figures and devices.

Episode 8, Lestrygonians[edit]

Bloom's thoughts are peppered with references to food as lunchtime approaches. He meets an old flame, hears news of Mina Purefoy's labour, and helps a blind boy cross the street. He enters the restaurant of the Burton Hotel, where he is revolted by the sight of men eating like animals. He goes instead to Davy Byrne's pub, where he consumes a gorgonzola cheese sandwich and a glass of burgundy, and muses upon the early days of his relationship with Molly and how the marriage has declined: 'Me. And me now.' Bloom's thoughts touch on what goddesses and gods eat and drink. He ponders whether the statues of Greek goddesses in the National Museum have anuses as do mortals. On leaving the pub Bloom heads toward the museum, but spots Boylan across the street and, panicking, rushes into the gallery across the street from the museum.

Episode 9, Scylla and Charybdis[edit]

At the National Library, Stephen explains to some scholars his biographical theory of the works of Shakespeare, especially Hamlet, which he claims are based largely on the posited adultery of Shakespeare's wife. Bloom enters the National Library to look up an old copy of the ad he has been trying to place. He encounters Stephen briefly and unknowingly at the end of the episode.

Episode 10, Wandering Rocks[edit]

In this episode, nineteen short vignettes depict the wanderings of various characters, major and minor, through the streets of Dublin. Included among these is a brief scene between Mulligan and Haines at a coffeehouse patronized by the chess-playing brother of Irish hero Charles Stewart Parnell, in which Haines and Mulligan discuss Stephen's predicament. The scene is a type of ekphrasis in that Mulligan's pronouncements, that the Catholic education system 'drove [Stephen's] wits astray' and that Stephen 'will never capture the Attic note,' point to a central tension in the novel between contemplation and action, a tension best summarized elsewhere in Matthew Arnold's essay Hebraism and Hellenism, which Joyce read and enjoyed. The episode ends with an account of the cavalcade of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, William Ward, Earl of Dudley, through the streets, which is encountered by various characters from the novel.

Episode 11, Sirens[edit]

In this episode, dominated by motifs of music, Bloom has dinner with Stephen's uncle at a hotel, while Molly's lover, Blazes Boylan, proceeds to his rendezvous with her. While dining, Bloom watches the seductive barmaids and listens to the singing of Stephen's father and others.

Episode 12, Cyclops[edit]

This chapter is narrated by an unnamed denizen of Dublin. The narrator goes to Barney Kiernan's pub where he meets a character referred to only as 'The Citizen'. There is a belief that this character is a satirization of Michael Cusack, a founder member of the Gaelic Athletic Association.^[21] When Leopold Bloom enters the pub, he is berated by the Citizen, who is a fierce Fenian and anti-Semite. The episode ends with Bloom reminding the Citizen that his Saviour was a Jew. As Bloom leaves the pub, the Citizen, in anger, throws a biscuit tin at where Bloom's head had been, but misses. The chapter is marked by extended tangents made in voices other than that of the unnamed narrator: these include streams of legal jargon, Biblical passages, and elements of Irish mythology.

Episode 13, Nausicaa[edit]

All the action of the episode takes place on the rocks of Sandymount Strand, a shoreline area to the southeast of central Dublin.^[22] A young woman named Gerty MacDowell is seated on the rocks with her two friends, Cissy Caffrey and Edy Boardman. The girls are taking care of three children, a baby, and four-year-old twins named Tommy and Jacky. Gerty contemplates love, marriage and femininity as night falls. The reader is gradually made aware that Bloom is watching her from a distance. Gerty teases the onlooker by exposing her legs and underwear, and Bloom, in turn, masturbates. Bloom’s masturbatory climax is echoed by the fireworks at the nearby bazaar. As Gerty leaves, Bloom realises that she has a lame leg, and believes this is the reason she has been ‘left on the shelf’. After several mental digressions he decides to visit Mina Purefoy at the maternity hospital. It is uncertain how much of the episode is Gerty’s thoughts, and how much is Bloom’s sexual fantasy. Some believe that the episode is divided into two halves: the first half the highly romanticized viewpoint of Gerty, and the other half that of the older and more realistic Bloom.^[22] Joyce himself said, however, that ‘nothing happened between [Gerty and Bloom]. It all took place in Bloom’s imagination’.^[22] ‘Nausicaa’ attracted immense notoriety while the book was being published in serial form. It has also attracted great attention from scholars of disability in literature.^[23] The style of the first half of the episode borrows from (and parodies) romance magazines and novelettes.

Episode 14, Oxen of the Sun[edit]

Bloom visits the maternity hospital where Mina Purefoy is giving birth, and finally meets Stephen, who has been drinking with his medical student friends and is awaiting the promised arrival of Buck Mulligan. As the only father in the group of men, Bloom is concerned about Mina Purefoy in her labour. He starts thinking about his wife and the births of his two children. He also thinks about the loss of his only ‘heir’, Rudy. The young men become boisterous, and even start talking about topics such as fertility, contraception and abortion. There is also a suggestion that Milly, Bloom’s daughter, is in a relationship with one of the young men, Bannon. They continue on to a pub to continue drinking, following the successful birth of a son to Mina Purefoy. This chapter is remarkable for Joyce's wordplay, which, among other things, recapitulates the entire history of the English language. After a short incantation, the episode starts with latinate prose, Anglo-Saxon alliteration, and moves on through parodies of, among others, Malory, the King James Bible, Bunyan, Pepys, Defoe, Sterne, Walpole, Gibbon, Dickens, and Carlyle, before concluding in a haze of nearly incomprehensible slang. The development of the English language in the episode is believed to be aligned with the nine-month gestation period of the foetus in the womb.^[24]

Episode 15, Circe[edit]

Episode 15 is written as a play script, complete with stage directions. The plot is frequently interrupted by 'hallucinations' experienced by Stephen and Bloom—fantastic manifestations of the fears and passions of the two characters. Stephen and Lynch walk into Nighttown, Dublin's red-light district. Bloom pursues them and eventually finds them at Bella Cohen's brothel where, in the company of her workers including Zoe Higgins, Florry Talbot and Kitty Ricketts, he has a series of hallucinations regarding his sexual fetishes, fantasies and transgressions. Bloom is put in the dock to answer charges by a variety of sadistic, accusing women including Mrs Yelverton Barry, Mrs Bellingham and the Hon Mrs Mervyn Talboys. When Bloom witnesses Stephen overpaying for services received, Bloom decides to hold onto the rest of Stephen's money for safekeeping. Stephen hallucinates that the rotting cadaver of his mother has risen up from the floor to confront him. Terrified, Stephen uses his walking stick to smash a chandelier and then runs out. Bloom quickly pays Bella for the damage, then runs after Stephen. Bloom finds Stephen engaged in a heated argument with an English soldier, Private Carr, who, after a perceived insult to the King, punches Stephen. The police arrive and the crowd disperses. As Bloom is tending to Stephen, Bloom has a hallucination of Rudy, his deceased child.

Part III: Nostos[edit]

Episode 16, Eumaeus[edit]

Bloom and Stephen go to the cabman's shelter to restore the latter to his senses. At the cabman's shelter, they encounter a drunken sailor named D. B. Murphy (W. B. Murphy in the 1922 text). The episode is dominated by the motif of confusion and mistaken identity, with Bloom, Stephen and Murphy's identities being repeatedly called into question. The rambling and laboured style of the narrative in this episode reflects the nervous exhaustion and confusion of the two protagonists.

Episode 17, Ithaca[edit]

Bloom returns home with Stephen, makes him a cup of cocoa, discusses cultural and lingual differences between them, considers the possibility of publishing Stephen's parable stories, and offers him a place to stay for the night. Stephen refuses Bloom's offer and is ambiguous in response to Bloom's proposal of future meetings. The two men urinate in the backyard, Stephen departs and wanders off into the night,^[25] and Bloom goes to bed, where Molly is sleeping. She awakens and questions him about his day. The episode is written in the form of a rigidly organised and 'mathematical' catechism of 309 questions and answers, and was reportedly Joyce's favourite episode in the novel. The deep descriptions range from questions of astronomy to the trajectory of urination and include a famous list of 25 men perceived as Molly's lovers (apparently corresponding to the suitors slain at Ithaca by Odysseus and Telemachus in The Odyssey), including Boylan, and Bloom's psychological reaction to their assignation. While describing events apparently chosen randomly in ostensibly precise mathematical or scientific terms, the episode is rife with errors made by the undefined narrator, many or most of which are intentional by Joyce.^[26]

Episode 18, Penelope[edit]

The final episode consists of Molly Bloom's thoughts as she lies in bed next to her husband. The episode uses a stream-of-consciousness technique in eight sentences and lacks punctuation. Molly thinks about Boylan and Bloom, her past admirers, including Lieutenant Stanley G. Gardner, the events of the day, her childhood in Gibraltar, and her curtailed singing career. She also hints at a lesbian relationship, in her youth, with a childhood friend named Hester Stanhope. These thoughts are occasionally interrupted by distractions, such as a train whistle or the need to urinate. The episode famously concludes with Molly's remembrance of Bloom's marriage proposal, and of her acceptance: 'he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.' The episode is also concerned with the occurrence of Molly’s early menstrual period. She considers the proximity of her period following her extra-marital affairs with Boylan, and believes her menstrual condition is the reason for her increased sexual appetite.

Molly corresponds to Penelope in Homer's epic poem, who is known for her fidelity to Odysseus during his twenty-year absence, despite having many suitors.

Editions[edit]

Publication history[edit]

The publication history of Ulysses is complex. There have been at least 18 editions, and variations in different impressions of each edition.

According to Joyce scholar Jack Dalton, the first edition of Ulysses contained over two thousand errors but was still the most accurate edition published.^[27] As each subsequent edition attempted to correct these mistakes, it incorporated more of its own, a task made more difficult by deliberate errors (See 'Episode 17, Ithaca' above) devised by Joyce to challenge the reader.^[26]

Notable editions include:

• the first edition published in Paris on 2 February 1922 (Joyce's 40th birthday) by Sylvia Beach at Shakespeare and Company, 1000 numbered copies printed by Darantiere in Dijon consisting of 100 signed copies on Dutch handmade paper, 150 numbered copies on vergé d’Arches paper, and 750 copies on handmade paper,^[28] plus an extra 20 unnumbered copies on mixed paper for libraries and press.^[29][30][31]

• the first English edition published by Harriet Shaw Weaver's Egoist Press, London, in October 1922. For legal reasons the book was printed on behalf of Egoist Press by John Rodker, Paris, using the same printer, Darantiere, and plates as the first Paris edition. This edition consisted of 2000 numbered copies on handmade paper for sale^[32] plus 100 unnumbered copies for press, publicity and legal deposit libraries.^{[33][34][35][36]} A seven page errata list compiled by Joyce, Weaver and Rodker was loosely inserted and contained 201 corrections.^[37][38] Approximately 500 copies were burned by the New York Post Office Authorities^[39] as noted in later Shakespeare & Co. editions.^[40]

• the pirated Samuel Roth edition, published in New York in 1929. The first U.S. edition of the novel, unauthorised by Joyce, was designed to closely mimic the 1927 Shakespeare & Company 9th printing but many errors and corruptions occurred during reproduction^[41][42]. Reportedly 2000–3000 copies were printed but the majority were seized and destroyed by the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice after a raid on his offices on 4th October 1929^[43] A copy of this edition was unknowingly used by Bennett Cerf of Random House as the basis for the first authorised US edition printed in 1934, reproducing many of these errors.^[44][45]

• the Odyssey Press, Hamburg, edition of 1932, issued in two volumes. The title page of this edition states 'The present edition may be regarded as the definitive standard edition, as it has been specially revised, at the author’s request, by Stuart Gilbert.'. This edition still contained errors but by its fourth revised printing (April 1939) it was considered the most accurate offering of the text and subsequently used as the basis for many publications of Ulysses.^[46][47][42]

• the 1934 Random House first authorised U.S. edition^[48], published after the decision in United States v. One Book Called Ulysses finding that the book was not obscene (discussed below in 'Censorship').^[46]

• the first edition printed and published in England, The Bodley Head in 1936.^[49]

• the revised Bodley Head edition of 1960

• the revised Modern Library edition of 1961 (reset from the Bodley Head 1960 edition)

• the Gabler critical and synoptic edition of 1984.

Gabler's 'corrected edition'[edit]

Hans Walter Gabler's 1984 edition was the most sustained attempt to produce a corrected text, but it received much criticism, most notably from John Kidd. Kidd's main theoretical criticism is of Gabler's choice of a patchwork of manuscripts as his copy-text (the base edition with which the editor compares each variant), but this fault stems from an assumption of the Anglo-American tradition of scholarly editing rather than the blend of French and German editorial theories that actually lay behind Gabler's reasoning.^[50] The choice of a composite copy-text is seen to be problematic in the eyes of some American editors, who generally favour the first edition of any particular work as copy-text.^[50]

Less subject to differing national editorial theories, however, is the claim that for hundreds of pages—about half the episodes of Ulysses—the extant manuscript is purported to be a 'fair copy' that Joyce made for sale to a potential patron. (As it turned out, John Quinn, the Irish-American lawyer and collector, purchased the manuscript.) Diluting this charge somewhat is the fact that the theory of (now lost) final working drafts is Gabler's own. For the suspect episodes, the existing typescript is the last witness. Gabler attempted to reconstruct what he called 'the continuous manuscript text', which had never physically existed, by adding together all of Joyce's accretions from the various sources. This allowed Gabler to produce a 'synoptic text' indicating the stage at which each addition was inserted. Kidd and even some of Gabler's own advisers believe this method meant losing Joyce's final changes in about two thousand places.^[50] Far from being 'continuous', the manuscripts seem to be opposite. Jerome McGann describes in detail the editorial principles of Gabler in his article for the journal Criticism, issue 27, 1985. In the wake of the controversy, still other commentators charged that Gabler's changes were motivated by a desire to secure a fresh copyright and another seventy-five years of royalties beyond a looming expiration date.

In June 1988 John Kidd published 'The Scandal of Ulysses' in The New York Review of Books,^[50] charging that not only did Gabler's changes overturn Joyce's last revisions, but in another four hundred places Gabler failed to follow any manuscript whatever, making nonsense of his own premises. Kidd accused Gabler of unnecessarily changing Joyce's spelling, punctuation, use of accents, and all the small details he claimed to have been restoring. Instead, Gabler was actually following printed editions such as that of 1932, not the manuscripts. More sensationally, Gabler was found to have made genuine blunders, the most famous being his changing the name of the real-life Dubliner Harry Thrift to 'Shrift' and cricketer Captain Buller to 'Culler' on the basis of handwriting irregularities in the extant manuscript. (These 'corrections' were undone by Gabler in 1986.) Kidd stated that many of Gabler's errors resulted from Gabler's use of facsimiles rather than original manuscripts.

In December 1988, Charles Rossman's 'The New Ulysses: The Hidden Controversy' for the New York Review revealed that Gabler's own advisers felt too many changes were being made, but that the publishers were pushing for as many alterations as possible. Then Kidd produced a 174-page critique that filled an entire issue of the Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America, dated the same month. This 'Inquiry into Ulysses: The Corrected Text' was the next year published in book format and on floppy disk by Kidd's James Joyce Research Center at Boston University. Gabler and others rejected Kidd's critique, and the scholarly community remains divided.

Gabler edition dropped; publishers revert to 1960/61 editions[edit]

In 1990, Gabler's American publisher Random House, after consulting a committee of scholars,^[51] replaced the Gabler edition with its 1961 version, and in the United Kingdom the Bodley Head press revived its 1960 version. In both the UK and USA, Everyman's Library also republished the 1960 Ulysses. In 1992, Penguin dropped Gabler and reprinted the 1960 text. The Gabler version remained available from Vintage International. Reprints of the 1922 first edition have also become widely available since 1 January 2012, when this edition entered the public domain under U.S. copyright law.^[52]

While much ink has been spilt over the faults and theoretical underpinnings of the Gabler edition, the long-awaited Kidd edition has yet to be published, as of 2015. In 1992 W. W. Norton announced that a Kidd edition of Ulysses was to be published as part of a series called 'The Dublin Edition of the Works of James Joyce'. This book had to be withdrawn when the Joyce estate objected. The estate refused to authorise any further editions of Joyce's work for the immediate future, but signed a deal with Wordsworth Editions to bring out a bargain version of the novel in January 2010, ahead of copyright expiration in 2012.^[53][54]

Censorship[edit]

Written over a seven-year period from 1914 to 1921, the novel was serialised in the American journal The Little Review from 1918 to 1920,^[55] when the publication of the Nausicaä episode led to a prosecution for obscenity under the Comstock Act of 1873, which made it illegal to circulate materials deemed obscene in the U.S. mail.^[56] In 1919, sections of the novel also appeared in the London literary journal The Egoist, but the novel itself was banned in the United Kingdom until 1936.^[57] Joyce had resolved that the book would be published on his 40th birthday, 2 February 1922, and Sylvia Beach, Joyce's publisher in Paris, received the first three copies from the printer that morning.^[58][42]

The 1920 prosecution in the US was brought after The Little Review serialised a passage of the book dealing with characters masturbating. Three earlier chapters had been banned by the US Post Office, but it was John S. Sumner, Secretary of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice, who had instigated this legal action ^[59] The Post Office did partially suppress the “Naussicaa” edition of The Little Review.^[60] Legal historian Edward de Grazia has argued that few readers would have been fully aware of the orgasmic experience in the text, given the metaphoric language.^[61] Irene Gammel extends this argument to suggest that the obscenity allegations brought against The Little Review were influenced by the Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven's more explicit poetry, which had appeared alongside the serialization of Ulysses.^[62] At the trial in 1921 the magazine was declared obscene and, as a result, Ulysses was effectively banned in the United States. Throughout the 1920s, the United States Post Office Department burned copies of the novel.^[63]

In 1933, the publisher Random House and lawyer Morris Ernst arranged to import the French edition and have a copy seized by customs when the ship was unloaded. The publisher contested the seizure, and in United States v. One Book Called Ulysses, U.S. District Judge John M. Woolsey ruled that the book was not pornographic and therefore could not be obscene,^[64] a decision that was called 'epoch-making' by Stuart Gilbert.^[65] The Second Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed the ruling in 1934.^[66] The US therefore became the first English-speaking country where the book was freely available. Although Ulysses was never banned in Ireland by the Censorship of Publications Board, the government used a customs loophole which prevented it from being allowed into Ireland.^[67][42][68] It was first openly available in Ireland in the 1960s.^[69]

Literary significance and critical reception[edit]

In a review in The Dial, T. S. Eliot said of Ulysses: 'I hold this book to be the most important expression which the present age has found; it is a book to which we are all indebted, and from which none of us can escape.' He went on to assert that Joyce was not at fault if people after him did not understand it: 'The next generation is responsible for its own soul; a man of genius is responsible to his peers, not to a studio full of uneducated and undisciplined coxcombs.'^[70]

What is so staggering about Ulysses is the fact that behind a thousand veils nothing lies hidden; that it turns neither toward the mind nor toward the world, but, as cold as the moon looking on from cosmic space, allows the drama of growth, being, and decay to pursue its course.

—Carl Jung[71]

Ulysses has been called 'the most prominent landmark in modernist literature', a work where life's complexities are depicted with 'unprecedented, and unequalled, linguistic and stylistic virtuosity'.^[72] That style has been stated to be the finest example of the use of stream-of-consciousness in modern fiction, with the author going deeper and farther than any other novelist in handling interior monologue and stream of consciousness.^[73] This technique has been praised for its faithful representation of the flow of thought, feeling, mental reflection, and shifts of mood.^[74]

Literary critic Edmund Wilson noted that Ulysses attempts to render 'as precisely and as directly as it is possible in words to do, what our participation in life is like—or rather, what it seems to us like as from moment to moment we live.'^[75]Stuart Gilbert said that the 'personages of Ulysses are not fictitious',^[76] but that 'these people are as they must be; they act, we see, according to some lex eterna, an ineluctable condition of their very existence'.^[77] Through these characters Joyce 'achieves a coherent and integral interpretation of life'.^[77]

Joyce uses 'metaphors, symbols, ambiguities, and overtones which gradually link themselves together so as to form a network of connections binding the whole' work.^[74] This system of connections gives the novel a wide, more universal significance, as 'Leopold Bloom becomes a modern Ulysses, an Everyman in a Dublin which becomes a microcosm of the world.'^[78] Eliot described this system as the 'mythic method': 'a way of controlling, of ordering, of giving a shape and a significance to the immense panorama of futility and anarchy which is contemporary history'.^[79] Novelist Vladimir Nabokov called Ulysses a 'divine work of art' and the greatest masterpiece of 20th century prose,^[80] and said that 'it towers above the rest of Joyce's writing' with 'noble originality, unique lucidity of thought and style'.^[81]

The book did have its critics, largely in response to its then-uncommon inclusion of sexual elements. Shane Leslie described Ulysses as 'literary Bolshevism ... experimental, anti-conventional, anti-Christian, chaotic, totally unmoral'.^[82]Karl Radek called Ulysses 'a heap of dung, crawling with worms, photographed by a cinema camera through a microscope'.^[83]Virginia Woolf stated, 'Ulysses was a memorable catastrophe—immense in daring, terrific in disaster.'^[84] One newspaper pundit stated it contained 'secret sewers of vice ... canalized in its flood of unimaginable thoughts, images, and pornographic words' and 'revolting blasphemies' which 'debases and perverts and degrades the noble gift of imagination and wit and lordship of language'.^[85]

Media adaptations[edit]

Theatre[edit]

Ulysses in Nighttown, based on Episode 15 ('Circe'), premiered off-Broadway in 1958, with Zero Mostel as Bloom; it debuted on Broadway in 1974.

In 2006, playwright Sheila Callaghan's Dead City, a contemporary stage adaptation of the book set in New York City, and featuring the male figures Bloom and Dedalus re-imagined as female characters Samantha Blossom and Jewel Jupiter, was produced in Manhattan by New Georges.^[86]

In 2012, an adaption was staged in Glasgow, written by Dermot Bolger and directed by Andy Arnold. The production first premiered at the Tron Theatre, and later toured in Dublin, Belfast, Cork, made an appearance at the Edinburgh Festival, and eventually performed in China.^[87][88] In 2017 a revised version of Bolger's adaption, directed and designed by Graham McLaren, was premiered at Ireland's National Theatre, The Abbey Theatre in Dublin, as part of the 2017 Dublin Theatre Festival.^[89] It was revived in June 2018,^[90] and the script was published by Oberon Books.^[91]

In 2013, a new stage adaptation of the novel, Gibraltar, was produced in New York by the Irish Repertory Theatre. It was written by and starred Patrick Fitzgerald and directed by Terry Kinney. This two-person play focused on the love story of Bloom and Molly, played by Cara Seymour.^[92]

Film[edit]

In 1967, a film version of the book was directed by Joseph Strick. Starring Milo O'Shea as Bloom, it was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay.

In 2003, a movie version Bloom was released starring Stephen Rea and Angeline Ball.

Television[edit]

In 1988, a documentary, the episode 'James Joyce's Ulysses' in a series titled The Modern World: Ten Great Writers, was shown on Channel 4, where some of the most famous scenes from the novel were dramatised. David Suchet played Leopold Bloom.^[93]

Audio[edit]

On Bloomsday 1982, RTÉ, Ireland's national broadcaster, aired a full-cast, unabridged, dramatised radio production of Ulysses,^[94] that ran uninterrupted for 29 hours and 45 minutes.

The unabridged text of Ulysses has been performed by Jim Norton, with Marcella Riordan. This recording was released by Naxos Records on 22 audio CDs in 2004. It follows an earlier abridged recording with the same actors.^[95]

On Bloomsday 2010, author Frank Delaney launched a series of weekly podcasts called Re:Joyce which took listeners page-by-page through Ulysses, discussing its allusions, historical context and references.^[96] The podcast ran until Delaney's death in 2017, at which point it was on the 'Wandering Rocks' chapter.

BBC Radio 4 aired a new nine-part adaptation dramatised by Robin Brooks and produced/directed by Jeremy Mortimer, and starring Stephen Rea as the Narrator, Henry Goodman as Leopold Bloom, Niamh Cusack as Molly Bloom and Andrew Scott as Stephen Dedalus, for Bloomsday 2012, beginning on 16 June 2012.^[97]

Comedy/satire recording troupe The Firesign Theatre ends its 1969 album 'How Can You Be in Two Places at Once When You're Not Anywhere at All?' with a male voice reciting the final lines of Molly Bloom's soliloquy.^[98]

Music[edit]

The song 'Flower of the Mountain' by Kate Bush (originally the title track on The Sensual World) sets to music the end of Molly Bloom's soliloquy.^[99]

Thema (Omaggio a Joyce) is an electroacoustic composition by Luciano Berio, for voice and tape. Composed between 1958 and 1959, it is based on the interpretative reading of the poem 'Sirens' from chapter 11 of the novel. It is sung/voiced by Cathy Berberian, with technical elaboration on her recorded voice. Umberto Eco, a lifelong admirer of Joyce, also contributed to its realisation.^[100]

Rock band Jefferson Airplane's 1967 album 'After Bathing at Baxter's' includes a song titled 'Rejoyce' by singer-songwriter Grace Slick that consists of allusions to characters and themes in 'Ulysses.'

The instrumental track 'June 16th' on Minutemen’s 1984 album Double Nickels on the Dime makes reference to the date of the novel in its title.^[101]

Prose[edit]

Jacob Appel's novel, The Biology of Luck (2013), is a retelling of Ulysses set in New York City. The novel features an inept tour guide, Larry Bloom, whose adventures parallel those of Leopold Bloom through Dublin.

Notes[edit]

1. ^Harte, Tim (Summer 2003). 'Sarah Danius, The Senses of Modernism: Technology, Perception, and Aesthetics'. Bryn Mawr Review of Comparative Literature. 4 (1). Archived from the original on 5 November 2003. Retrieved 10 July 2001. (review of Danius book).
2. ^Beebe (1971), p. 176.
3. ^Kiberd, Declan (16 June 2009). 'Ulysses, modernism's most sociable masterpiece'. The Guardian. London. Retrieved 28 June 2011.
4. ^Keillor, Garrison, 'The Writer's Almanac', 2 February 2010.
5. ^Menand, Louis (2 July 2012). 'Silence, exile, punning'. The New Yorker. 16 June 2014 is the date of Joyce's first outing with his wife-to-be, Nora Barnacle; they walked to the Dublin suburb of Ringsend, where Nora masturbated him.
6. ^Gorman (1939), p. 45.
7. ^Jaurretche, Colleen (2005). Beckett, Joyce and the art of the negative. European Joyce studies. 16. Rodopi. p. 29. ISBN978-90-420-1617-0. Retrieved 1 February 2011.
8. ^Budgen (1972), p.
9. ^Borach (1954), p. 325.
10. ^Ellmann (1982), p. 265.
11. ^'ULYSSES Map of County Dublin - irlandaonline.com'(PDF).
12. ^'Photograph of 7 Eccles Street - Rosenbach Museum and Library'. Archived from the original on 27 September 2016. Retrieved 26 September 2016.
13. ^O'Connell, Mark (16 June 2014). 'The Tiny Shop That Ulysses Made Famous, and That May Soon Close Its Doors' – via Slate.
14. ^Larkin, Felix M. (4 March 2012). ''The Old Woman of Prince's Street': Ulysses and The Freeman's Journal'. Dublin James Joyce Journal. 4 (4): 14–30. doi:10.1353/djj.2011.0007 – via Project MUSE.
15. ^'Plan to demolish Ormond hotel for development refused'.
16. ^'The bookies' Booker...'The Observer. London. 5 November 2000. Retrieved 16 February 2002.
17. ^'Ulysses', The Oxford Companion to English Literature (1995), edited Margaret Drabble. Oxford UP, 1996, p. 1023
18. ^Bernard Knox, 'Introduction' to The Odyssey, translated by Robert Fagles. Penguin Books, 1995, p. 3.
19. ^The Oxford Companion to English Literature (1995), p. 1023.
20. ^'search for 'I.N.R.I.'- Ulysses by James Joyce' – via www.gutenberg.org.
21. ^Sen Moran, 'Cusack's creation is a blooming legacy', The Irish Times, 16 June 2004 – via HighBeam Research(subscription required).
22. ^ ^abcRainey, Lawrence (2005). Modernism: An Anthology. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. pp. 227–257.
23. ^Colangelo, Jeremy (28 March 2019). 'Punctuations of the Virtual: Spectating Sex and Disability in Joyce's 'Nausicaa''. MFS Modern Fiction Studies. 65 (1): 111–131. doi:10.1353/mfs.2019.0005. ISSN1080-658X.
24. ^Wales, Kathleen (1989). 'The 'Oxen of the Sun' in 'Ulysses': Joyce and Anglo- Saxon'. James Joyce Quarterly. 26. 3: 319–330.
25. ^Hefferman, James A. W. (2001) Joyce’s Ulysses. Chantilly, VA: The Teaching Company LP.
26. ^ ^abMcCarthy, Patrick A., 'Joyce's Unreliable Catechist: Mathematics and the Narrative of 'Ithaca', ELH, Vol. 51, No. 3 (Autumn 1984), pp. 605-606, quoting Joyce in Letters From James Joyce. A famous example is Joyce's apparent rendering of the year 1904 into the impossible Roman numeral MXMIV (p. 669 of the 1961 Modern Library edition)
27. ^Dalton, pp. 102, 113
28. ^'The Novel of the Century. James Joyce's Ulysses on the anniversary of Bloomsday. Ulysses -Early Editions'. Lilley Library, Indiana University. Retrieved 19 May 2018.
29. ^Gilbert, Stuart, ed. (1957). Letters of James Joyce. New York: The Viking Press. p. 189. LCCN57-5129.
30. ^Gilbert, Stuart, ed. (1957). Letters of James Joyce. New York: The Viking Press. p. 162. LCCN57-5129.
31. ^Slote, Sam (2004), Crispi, Luca; Fahy, Catherine (eds.), 'Ulysses in the Plural: The Variable Editions of Joyce's Novel', The National Library of Ireland Joyce Studies 2004, The National Library of Ireland, p. 47
32. ^'UWM Libraries Special Collections:Ulysses. Egoist Press, 1922'. University of Wisconsin Milwaukee library. Retrieved 19 May 2018.
33. ^Houston, Lloyd (1 June 2017). '(Il)legal Deposits: Ulysses and the Copyright Libraries'. The Library. 18: 131–151. doi:10.1093/library/18.2.131.
34. ^'On this day…12 October'. The James Joyce Centre, Dublin. Retrieved 19 September 2018.
35. ^Slote, Sam (2004), Crispi, Luca; Fahy, Catherine (eds.), 'Ulysses in the Plural: The Variable Editions of Joyce's Novel', The National Library of Ireland Joyce Studies 2004, The National Library of Ireland, p. 47
36. ^Gilbert, Stuart, ed. (1957). Letters of James Joyce. New York: The Viking Press. p. 194. LCCN57-5129.
37. ^James, Joyce (1922). Ulysses. Egoist Press.
38. ^'A Centennial Bloomsday at Buffalo - Exhibition organised and compiled by Sam Slote, et al. in 2004'. Buffalo University. Retrieved 20 May 2018.
39. ^Brooker, Joseph (5 October 2014). 'Chapter 2: Reception History'. In Latham, Sean (ed.). The Cambridge Companion to Ulysses. Cambridge University Press. p. 20. ISBN9781107423909.
40. ^Slocum (1953), pp. 26-27.
41. ^Slote, Sam (2004), Crispi, Luca; Fahy, Catherine (eds.), 'Ulysses in the Plural: The Variable Editions of Joyce's Novel', The National Library of Ireland Joyce Studies 2004, The National Library of Ireland, p. 48
42. ^ ^abcd'75 years since first authorized American Ulysses!'. The James Joyce Centre. Retrieved 6 May 2019.
43. ^Slocum (1953), pp. 28-29.
44. ^'The James Joyce Collection: Archiving The Ephemeral An Exhibit in Occasion of NEMLA 2000 at Buffalo'. University of Buffalo Library. Retrieved 19 May 2018.
45. ^Slocum (1954), p. 29.
46. ^ ^ab'The Novel of the Century. James Joyce's Ulysses on the anniversary of Bloomsday. Ulysses - Later Editions'. Lilly Library, Indiana University. Retrieved 19 May 2018.
47. ^McCleery, Alistair. 'The Reputation of the 1932 Odyssey Press Edition of 'Ulysses''. The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Bibliographical Society of America. JSTOR24293831.
48. ^'The James Joyce Centre : ON THIS DAY...1 DECEMBER'. The James Joyce Centre. Retrieved 20 May 2018.
49. ^'The Novel of the Century. James Joyce's Ulysses on the anniversary of Bloomsday. Ulysses - Later Editions'. Lilly Library, Indiana University. Retrieved 19 May 2018.
50. ^ ^abcdKidd, John (June 1988). 'The Scandal of Ulysses'. New York Review of Books. Retrieved 13 July 2010.
51. ^McDowell, Edwin, 'Corrected 'Ulysses' Sparks Scholarly Attack', The New York Times, 15 June 1988
52. ^James Joyce enters the public domain, but the auteurs of 1955 must wait from The Verge
53. ^Max, D.T. (19 June 2006). 'The Injustice Collector'. The New Yorker. Retrieved 26 March 2009.
54. ^Battles, Jan (9 August 2009). 'Budget Ulysses to flood the market'. The Sunday Times. London. Retrieved 30 November 2009.
55. ^The Little Review at The Modernist Journals Project (Searchable digital edition of volumes 1–9: March 1914 – Winter 1922)
56. ^Ellmann, Richard (1982). James Joyce. New York: Oxford University Press. pp. 502–04. ISBN0-19-503103-2.
57. ^McCourt (2000); p. 98; British Library
58. ^Ellmann (1982), pp. 523–24
59. ^Claire A. Culleton, Joyce and the G-Men: J. Edgar Hoover’s Manipulation of Modernism. Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. p. 78
60. ^Paul Vanderham. James Joyce and censorship: the trials of Ulysses, New York U P, 1998, p. 2.
61. ^De Grazia, Edward. Girls Lean Back Everywhere: The Law of Obscenity and the Assault on Genius. New York: Vintage (1992); p. 10.
62. ^Gammel, Irene. Baroness Elsa: Gender, Dada and Everyday Modernity. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press (2002); pp. 252-53.
63. ^Lyons, Martyn. (2011). 'Books: A Living History.' Los Angeles, CA: Getty Publications; p. 200; ISBN978-1606060834.
64. ^United States v. One Book Called 'Ulysses',5 F.Supp. 182 (S.D.N.Y. 1933).
65. ^'Ulysses (first American edition)'. James Joyce, Ulysses: The Classic Text: Traditions and Interpretations. University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee. 2002. Archived from the original on 31 August 2000. Retrieved 18 August 2007.
66. ^United States v. One Book Entitled Ulysses by James Joyce, 72 F.2d 705 (2nd Cir. 1934)
67. ^'Censored' TheJournal.ie, 21 May, 2012
68. ^'Ireland set for festival of Joyce' BBC, 11 June 2004. Retrieved 9 August 2010.
69. ^'Overlong, overrated and unmoving: Roddy Doyle's verdict on James Joyce's Ulysses'. The Guardian 10 February 2004 </
70. ^Eliot, T. S. (1975). 'Ulysses', Order and Myth'. In Selected Prose of T.S. Eliot (London: Faber and Faber, 1975), 175.
71. ^Jung, Carl. Ulysses: A Monologue. Jung wrote:

    Das Erschütternde am »Ulysses« aber ist, daß hinter Abertausenden von Hüllen nichts steckt, daß er sich weder dem Geiste noch der Welt zuwendet, und daß er kalt wie der Mond, aus kosmischer Ferne schauend, die Komödie des Werdens, Seins und Vergehens sich abrollen läßt.

    Jung, 'Wirklichkeit der Seele', republished in Kritisches Erbe: Dokumente zur Rezeption von James Joyce im deutschen Sprachbereich zu Lebzeiten des Autors, (Rodopi: 2000), at p. 295. This translation by W. S. Dell was published in Nimbus, vol. 2, no. 1, June–August 1953.
72. ^The New York Times guide to essential knowledge, 3d ed. (2011), p. 126. ISBN978 0 312 643027.
73. ^Jayapalan, N., History of English literature (Atlantic Publishers & Distributors: 2001), p. 328.
74. ^ ^abBlamires, Henry, Short History of English literature, pp. 398–400.
75. ^Grey, Paul,'The Writer James Joyce'. Time magazine, June 8, 1998.
76. ^Gilbert (1930), p. 21.
77. ^ ^abGilbert (1930), p. 22.
78. ^Routledge History of Literature in English
79. ^Armstrong, Tim (2005). Modernism: A Cultural History, p. 35. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. ISBN978-0-7456-2982-7.
80. ^Nabokov, pp. 55, 57
81. ^Nabokov, p. 71
82. ^Leslie, Shane (October 1922). 'Review of Ulysses by James Joyce'. The Quarterly Review. 238: 219–234. quote p. 220
83. ^McSmith, Andy (2015). Fear and the Muse Kept Watch. New York: The New Press. p. 118. ISBN978-1-59558-056-6.
84. ^Woolf, Virginia (5 April 1923). 'How It Strikes a Contemporary'. The Times Literary Supplement. London. Retrieved 4 September 2018.
85. ^James Douglas of the Sunday Express, quoted in Bradshaw, David, 'Ulysses and Obscenity', Discovering Literature: 20th century. British Library. Retrieved on Bloomsday, 2016.
86. ^Robertson, Campbell (16 June 2006). 'Playwright of 'Dead City' Substitutes Manhattan for Dublin'. The New York Times. Retrieved 18 March 2010.
87. ^Brennan, Clare (20 October 2012). 'Ulysses – review'. The Guardian. ISSN0261-3077. Retrieved 8 August 2017.
88. ^'James Joyce Goes to China - BBC Two'. BBC. Retrieved 8 August 2017.
89. ^O'Rourke, Chris, 'Dublin Theatre Festival 2017: Ulysses', The Arts Review, October, 4, 2017.
90. ^'Ulysses', The Abbey Theatre, 2018.
91. ^Ulysses, adaption by Dermot Bolger. Oberon Books (2017). ISBN9781786825599
92. ^'Gibraltar', IrishRep.org, New York: Irish Repertory Theatre (2013). Retrieved on 2 January 2018 from the archived copy of the webpage for the play.
93. ^'The Modern World: Ten Great Writers: James Joyce's 'Ulysses''. IMDb. Retrieved 18 July 2012.
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References[edit]

• Beebe, Maurice (Fall 1972). 'Ulysses and the Age of Modernism'. James Joyce Quarterly. University of Tulsa. 10 (1): 172–88.
• Blamires, Harry. A Short History of English Literature, Routledge. 2d edition, 2013.
• Borach, Georges. Conversations with James Joyce, translated by Joseph Prescott, College English, 15 (March 1954)
• Burgess, Anthony. Here Comes Everybody: An Introduction to James Joyce for the Ordinary Reader (1965); also published as Re Joyce.
• Burgess, Anthony. Joysprick: An Introduction to the Language of James Joyce (1973).
• Budgen, Frank. James Joyce and the Making of Ulysses. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, (1960).
• Budgen, Frank (1972). James Joyce and the making of 'Ulysses', and other writings. Oxford University Press. ISBN0-19-211713-0.
• Dalton, Jack. The Text of Ulysses in Fritz Senn, ed. New Light on Joyce from the Dublin Symposium. Indiana University Press (1972).
• Ellmann, Richard. James Joyce. Oxford University Press, revised edition (1983).
• Ellmann, Richard, ed. Selected Letters of James Joyce. The Viking Press (1975).
• Gilbert, Stuart. James Joyce's Ulysses: A study, Faber and Faber (1930).
• Gorman, Herbert. James Joyce: A Definitive Biography (1939).
• Hardiman, Adrian (2017). Joyce in Court. London: Head of Zeus Press. ISBN9781786691583.
• Joseph M. Hassett The Ulysses Trials: Beauty and Truth Meet the Law. Dublin: The Lilliput Press (2016). ISBN978 1 84351 668 2.
• McCourt, John (2000). James Joyce: A Passionate Exile. London: Orion Books Ltd. ISBN0-7528-1829-5.
• Nabokov, Vladimir (1990). Strong Opinions. New York: Random House. ISBN0-679-72609-8.
• Slocum, John; Cahoon, Herbert (1953). A Bibliography of James Joyce [1882-1941]. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press.

Further reading[edit]

• Arnold, Bruce. The Scandal of Ulysses: The Life and Afterlife of a Twentieth Century Masterpiece. Rev. ed. Dublin: Liffey Press, 2004. ISBN1-904148-45-X.
• Attridge, Derek, ed. James Joyce's Ulysses: A Casebook. Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 2004. ISBN978-0-19-515830-4.
• Benstock, Bernard. Critical Essays on James Joyce's Ulysses. Boston: G. K. Hall, 1989. ISBN978-0-8161-8766-9.
• Birmingham, Kevin. The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle for James Joyce's Ulysses. London: Head of Zeus Ltd., 2014. ISBN9781101585641
• Duffy, Enda, The Subaltern Ulysses. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994. ISBN0-8166-2329-5.
• Ellmann, Richard. Ulysses on the Liffey. New York: Oxford UP, 1972. ISBN978-0-19-519665-8.
• French, Marilyn. The Book as World: James Joyce's Ulysses. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1976. ISBN978-0-674-07853-6.
• Gillespie, Michael Patrick and A. Nicholas Fargnoli, eds. Ulysses in Critical Perspective. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2006. ISBN978-0-8130-2932-0.
• Goldberg, Samuel Louis. The Classical Temper: A Study of James Joyce's Ulysses. New York: Barnes and Noble, 1961 and 1969.
• Henke, Suzette. Joyce's Moraculous Sindbook: A Study of Ulysses. Columbus: Ohio State UP, 1978. ISBN978-0-8142-0275-3.
• Kiberd, Declan. Ulysses and Us: The Art of Everyday Living. London: Faber and Faber, 2009 ISBN978-0-571-24254-2
• Killeen, Terence. Ulysses Unbound: A Reader's Companion to James Joyce's Ulysses. Bray, County Wicklow, Ireland: Wordwell, 2004. ISBN978-1-869857-72-1.
• McCarthy, Patrick A. Ulysses: Portals of Discovery. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1990. ISBN0-8057-7976-0.
• McKenna, Bernard. James Joyce's Ulysses: A Reference Guide. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2002. ISBN978-0-313-31625-8.
• Murphy, Niall. A Bloomsday Postcard. Dublin: Lilliput Press, 2004. ISBN978-1-84351-050-5.
• Norris, Margot. A Companion to James Joyce's Ulysses: Biographical and Historical Contexts, Critical History, and Essays From Five Contemporary Critical Perspectives. Boston: Bedford Books, 1998. ISBN978-0-312-21067-0.
• Norris, Margot. Virgin and Veteran Readings of Ulysses. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. ISBN9780230338715.
• Rickard, John S. Joyce's Book of Memory: The Mnemotechnic of Ulysses. Durham: Duke University Press, 1999. ISBN978-0822321583.
• Schutte, William M. James. Index of Recurrent Elements in James Joyce's Ulysses. Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 1982. ISBN978-0-8093-1067-8.
• Vanderham, Paul. James Joyce and Censorship: The Trials of Ulysses. New York: New York UP, 1997. ISBN978-0-8147-8790-8.
• Weldon, Thornton. Allusions in Ulysses: An Annotated List. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1968 and 1973. ISBN978-0-8078-4089-4.

List of editions in print[edit]

Facsimile texts of the manuscript[edit]

• Ulysses, A three volume, hardcover, with slip-case, facsimile copy of the only complete, handwritten manuscript of James Joyce's Ulysses. Three volumes. Quarto. Critical introduction by Harry Levin. Bibliographical preface by Clive Driver. The first two volumes comprise the facsimile manuscript, while the third contains a comparison of the manuscript and the first printings, annotated by Clive Driver. These volumes were published in association with the Philip H. &. A.S.W. Rosenbach Foundation (now known as the Rosenbach Museum & Library), Philadelphia. New York: Octagon Books (1975).

Serial text published in the Little Review, 1918-1920

• The Little Review Ulysses, edited by Mark Gaipa, Sean Latham and Robert Scholes, Yale University Press, 2015. ISBN978-0-300-18177-7

Facsimile texts of the 1922 first edition[edit]

• Ulysses, The 1922 Text, with an introduction and notes by Jeri Johnson, Oxford University Press (1993). A World Classics paperback edition with full critical apparatus. ISBN0-19-282866-5
• Ulysses: A Facsimile of the First Edition Published in Paris in 1922, Orchises Press (1998). This hardback edition closely mimics the first edition in binding and cover design. ISBN978-0-914061-70-0
• Ulysses: With a new Introduction by Enda Duffy - An unabridged republication of the original Shakespeare and Company edition, published in Paris by Sylvia Beach, 1922, Dover Publications (2009). Paperback. ISBN978-0-486-47470-0

Based on the 1932 Odyssey Press edition[edit]

• Ulysses, Wordsworth Classics (2010). Paperback. Introduction by Cedric Watts. ISBN978-1-840-22635-5

Based on the 1939 Odyssey Press edition[edit]

• Ulysses, Alma Classics (2012), with an introduction and notes by Sam Slote, Trinity College, Dublin. Paperback. ISBN978-1-84749-399-6

Based on the 1960 Bodley Head/1961 Random House editions[edit]

• Ulysses, Vintage International (1990). Paperback. ISBN978-0-679-72276-2
• Ulysses: Annotated Student's Edition, with an introduction and notes by Declan Kiberd, Penguin Twentieth Century Classics (1992). Paperback. ISBN978-0-141-18443-2
• Ulysses: The 1934 Text, As Corrected and Reset in 1961, Modern Library (1992). Hardback. With a foreword by Morris L. Ernst. ISBN978-0-679-60011-4
• Ulysses, Everyman's Library (1997). Hardback. ISBN978-1-85715-100-8
• Ulysses, Penguin Modern Classics (2000). Paperback. With an introduction by Declan Kiberd. ISBN978-0-14118-280-3

Based on the 1984 Gabler edition[edit]

• Ulysses: The corrected text, Edited by Hans Walter Gabler with Wolfhard Steppe and Claus Melchior, and a new preface by Richard Ellmann, Vintage International (1986). This follows the disputed Garland Edition. ISBN978-0-39474-312-7

External links[edit]

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• Ulysses at the British Library
• The Little Review at The Modernist Journals Project includes all 23 serialised instalments of Ulysses

Electronic versions[edit]

• Ulysses at Project Gutenberg
• Ulysses at Faded Page (Canada)
• Ulysses online audiobook.
• Ulysses public domain audiobook at LibriVox