If they could make a film out of the Lord of the Rings triology (and the 7 books of The Chronicles of Narnia), what’s so bleeding hard about condensing Joyce’s Ulysses into a 2-hour movie? I mean, it’s only all of life in one day. Well, apparently someone has. Behold Bloom.
Bloom opens in Belfast at the Queen’s Film Theatre this week to coincide with Bloomsday the 16 June anniversary of central character Leopold Bloom’s epic walk around Dublin.
The fictional anniversary is marked every year by fans who wander the Irish capital’s streets imitating the events which take place in the book.
Bloom reflects the adult themes which scandalised Joyce’s criticsBloom stars Stephen Rea and Angeline Ball as Leopold and Molly Bloom.
Their performances reflect the taboo subjects that shocked the censor first time around including fantasy sex, sado-masochism and transvestism.
Stephen Rea thinks the adult themes will attract audiences although he says there is more to the production than just the bawdiness: "I certainly am attracted to it though it’s very boring to do it."
"People still feel it (Ulysses) is a bit highbrow for them. It’s not, it’s a big emotional, warm story.
"If you want to get a taste of what is actually a great work of literature you should see this movie."
Bloomsday used to mean marathon readings in dusty poetry clubs (although that custom seems to have faded a bit lately), but now it means tourism:
To celebrate the centenary of Bloomsday, 10,000 tourists and local people—everyone is welcome—will breakfast on Dublin’s O’Connell Street in three sittings. Their breakfast is being sponsored by Denny, whose sausages (so the book says) nestled next to Bloom’s kidney on the butcher’s slab. The firm is to provide breakfast rolls filled with sausage, bacon, black pudding and hash browns. But no kidneys, of any variety; no drink either.
This mass devotion to James Joyce is a fine example of a spreading trend in tourism in which a dead author becomes a lure for living admirers and the merely curious. Laura Weldon, who runs “ReJoyce Dublin 2004”, the official organiser of a five-month-long celebration of Bloom’s busy day, says the idea is “to give the masterpiece back to the people in intelligent, but accessible ways.”
Anything that gets ’em to read the book, I say.
i tried. failed. a few times now. oh oh.
There was a Ulysses movie made in 1967. From Pauline Kael’s review, and from its relative obscurity since, I gather it wasn’t much good. Despite your (perhaps ironic?) opening, the project seems pretty self-evidently impossible.
I gave up (now that I think of it, I think I said that in the CAFTA post. How odd.) The difference between giving up on CAFTA and giving up on Ulysses was that it took me only about ten pages to give up on the idea of reading CAFTA. I was 500 pages into Ulysses before I thought: you know, I am never going to understand this, and while the words sound wonderful even without my understanding them, after 500 pages I think I’ve got that part too.
Undoubtedly a mistake, but oh well.
I think I remember this movie, “Ulysses.” It was in the same series as this one, right?
Despite your (perhaps ironic?) opening, the project seems pretty self-evidently impossible.
Actually, I see now that I should have written, “Well, apparently someone has tried.
I’ve given up as well, hilzoy and cleek. Three valiant efforts, always concluding in the end, that it’s the sort of book I’ll save for if I’m ever convicted of a white collar crime.
Ulysses
First, an easy link. Read probably a hundred pages so far today. It is a bedside book, I can’t even think about how much time I have spent inside it. It has a linear narrative of sorts, but I really think of it as a sphere you have to stand inside, reaching and connecting various elements, watching themes revolve collide merge.
Kinda like the next to last chapter, Leopold & Stephen are comets orbiting the still point of the universe,Molly…while coming to their momentous moral decisions. Stephen decides to abandon his large impoverished family and leave Ireland forever for the sake of his art. Leopold will accept Molly going on opera tour with Blazes Boylan, and trusts that their marriage will survive.
The guiding symbolisms are astronomy and impersonal catechism. Both might be said to be triumphs of Western Reason. These are not idiosyncratic flourishes. If I were to say that Joyce took all of Kant and all of Aquinas, retained the abstract substance yet made it earthily and hilariously concrete, you might laugh. Yet Joyce was a genius in their rank, if not better, with more erudition and full Jesuit training.
That the last chapter of Ulysses is precisely “The Starry Skies above and the Moral Law Within” is not a idle allegorical coincidence.
“Ithaca” is also home for the traveler after arduous journeys. Home at last. Science + Morality + Love.
“Anything that gets ’em to read the book, I say.”
“I’ve given up as well, hilzoy and cleek. Three valiant efforts, always concluding in the end, that it’s the sort of book I’ll save for if I’m ever convicted of a white collar crime.”
Wait a sec. You’re saying it’s a great thing to get people to read a book you haven’t read and can’t be bothered to finish?
Why? Is this like urging kids to eat vegetables one doesn’t like and won’t eat? But, you know, without any actual basis in nutrition?
I’ve never read Ulysses, but I don’t go around telling people they should, either. For all I know, it would be a terrible waste of time. And apparently you have no basis for disagreeing, other than perhaps hearsay. But perhaps I’m missing much, or at least something.
You’re saying it’s a great thing to get people to read a book you haven’t read and can’t be bothered to finish?
Gary,
What about enjoying the parts of Ulysses I have read disqualifies me from recommending it to others? It’s an awesome accomplishment, and I’m sure some day I will finish it…but there are certain texts it makes more sense to have lived a bit longer before attempting.
Example. I didn’t finish Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man the first time I tried it. It was hard.
Years later, however, after picking it up again, I breezed right though and absolutely loved it. I had matured and knew more about life.
One day, I expect I’ll respond to Ulysses much as Bob here does…I’m looking forward to it, actually.
“and while the words sound wonderful even without my understanding them”
You read the first time without understanding. You just absorb the thing, memorize a little bit, build the database. Then you check out the schemata, read some secondary stuff, and read it again.
It is a hologram. The Bloom children are simply passing thoughts at widely separated places, remembered by colors or feeding birds. Disconnected thoughts and images easily misapprehended. Incomprehensible isolated words. Until you are able to connect page 54 to page 227 to page 611.
Yet the death of Rudy and the independence of Millie are keys to the days events, keys to Leopold and Molly testing and renewing their love. What will be will be, we accept what we cannot change in order to hold on to what we can somewhat influence.
“Which domestic problem as much as, if not more than, any other frequently engaged his mind?
What to do with our wives.
What had been his hypothetical singular solutions?
Parlour games (dominos, halma, tiddledywinks, spilikins, cup and ball, nap, spoil five, bezique, twentyfive, beggar my neighbour, draughts, chess or backgammon): embroidery, darning or knitting for the policeaided clothing society: musical duets, mandoline and guitar, piano and flute, guitar and piano: legal scrivenery or envelope addressing: biweekly visits to variety entertainments: commercial activity as pleasantly commanding and pleasingly obeyed mistress proprietress in a cool dairy shop or warm cigar divan: the clandestine satisfaction of erotic irritation in masculine brothels, state inspected and medically controlled: social visits, at regular infrequent prevented intervals and with regular frequent preventive superintendence, to and from female acquaintances of recognised respectability in the vicinity: courses of evening instruction specially designed to render liberal instruction agreeable.
What instances of deficient mental development in his wife inclined him in favour of the lastmentioned (ninth) solution?
In disoccupied moments she had more than once covered a sheet of paper with signs and hieroglyphics which she stated were Greek and Irish and Hebrew characters. She had interrogated constantly at varying intervals as to the correct method of writing the capital initial of the name of a city in Canada, Quebec. She understood little of political complications, internal, or balance of power, external. In calculating the addenda of bills she frequently had recourse to digital aid. After completion of laconic epistolary compositions she abandoned the implement of calligraphy in the encaustic pigment, exposed to the corrosive action of copperas, green vitriol and nutgall. Unusual polysyllables of foreign origin she interpreted phonetically or by false analogy or by both: metempsychosis (met him pike hoses), ALIAS (a mendacious person mentioned in sacred scripture).
What compensated in the false balance of her intelligence for these and such deficiencies of judgment regarding persons, places and things?
The false apparent parallelism of all perpendicular arms of all balances, proved true by construction. The counterbalance of her proficiency of judgment regarding one person, proved true by experiment.
How had he attempted to remedy this state of comparative ignorance?
Variously. By leaving in a conspicuous place a certain book open at a certain page: by assuming in her, when alluding explanatorily, latent knowledge: by open ridicule in her presence of some absent other’s ignorant lapse.
With what success had he attempted direct instruction?
She followed not all, a part of the whole, gave attention with interest comprehended with surprise, with care repeated, with greater difficulty remembered, forgot with ease, with misgiving reremembered, rerepeated with error.
What system had proved more effective?
Indirect suggestion implicating selfinterest.
Example?
She disliked umbrella with rain, he liked woman with umbrella, she disliked new hat with rain, he liked woman with new hat, he bought new hat with rain, she carried umbrella with new hat.”
Relax. Read it. “But what does it all mean, Mt Joyce?”
“It’s meant to make you laugh.”
“What about enjoying the parts of Ulysses I have read disqualifies me from recommending it to others?”
Obviously you have grounds for recommending any part you’ve read and enjoyed, just as you have grounds for recommending anything you’ve done and enjoyed. Myself, however, I would not tell other people how great something is that I’m not actually familiar with, despite having had all the opportunity in the world to make myself familiar with it. Not, at least, I hope, without saying something to the effect of “I’ve only read the first chapter, but that part was great!” But clearly mileage varies.
Luckily, I’m not a conservative, or I might make snarky remarks about how typical it is for a liberal to recommend others do as they won’t themselves do. But I don’t actually feel that that stereotype has more than a small amount of truth. Much though some liberals seem to unconsciously occasionally supply a basis for it. (Loveable as they might otherwise be!)
Bob, on the other hand, can recommend the book from his personal experience, and explain why.
My last infliction.
“Were they indefinitely inactive?
At Stephen’s suggestion, at Bloom’s instigation both, first Stephen, then Bloom, in penumbra urinated, their sides contiguous, their organs of micturition reciprocally rendered invisible by manual circumposition, their gazes, first Bloom’s, then Stephen’s, elevated to the projected luminous and semiluminous shadow. [Ed. Molly in the window above.]
Similarly?
The trajectories of their, first sequent, then simultaneous, urinations were dissimilar: Bloom’s longer, less irruent, in the incomplete form of the bifurcated penultimate alphabetical letter, who in his ultimate year at High School (1880) had been capable of attaining the point of greatest altitude against the whole concurrent strength of the institution, 210 scholars: Stephen’s higher, more sibilant, who in the ultimate hours of the previous day had augmented by diuretic consumption an insistent vesical pressure.
What different problems presented themselves to each concerning the invisible audible collateral organ of the other?
To Bloom: the problems of irritability, tumescence, rigidity, reactivity, dimension, sanitariness, pilosity.
To Stephen: the problem of the sacerdotal integrity of Jesus circumcised (I January, holiday of obligation to hear mass and abstain from unnecessary servile work) and the problem as to whether the divine prepuce, the carnal bridal ring of the holy Roman catholic apostolic church, conserved in Calcata, were deserving of simple hyperduly or of the fourth degree of latria accorded to the abscission of such divine excrescences as hair and toenails.
What celestial sign was by both simultaneously observed?
A star precipitated with great apparent velocity across the firmament from Vega in the Lyre above the zenith beyond the stargroup of the Tress of Berenice towards the zodiacal sign of Leo.”
My last infliction. If this doesn’t make you laugh at first glance, leave the book alone. If you don’t see the terrifying level of beauty here on second glance, the myth and science and all the important stuff of each of our daily lives, leave it alone.
Umm, Stephen and Leopold are comets orbiting Molly. Someone has done wordcounts on the varying sections of Ithaca and shown that Joyce used Newtonian physics to show why Stephen breaks free into interstellar space while Bloom has a decaying orbit spiralling closer and more erratically until he collides in sleep into Molly’s crotch.
You don’t need to know that is what is going on with the “arty” style of Ithaca, but it adds not subtracts
to the emotional response.
Happy Bloomsday.
I know you have a point Gary, but, as my partner says, “sometimes I just want to smooosh your face….” no offense, mind you ;-ppp
bob, thanks for the insights!
“I know you have a point Gary, but, as my partner says, “sometimes I just want to smooosh your face….” no offense, mind you ;-ppp”
Myself, I am accusing you of a capital crime, a deadly and dastardly act, and, of course, being a complete moral failure. The evidence is clear! Your sentence is to read one more page of Ulysses, and in return, I won’t mention how old I was when I did read Portrait of The Artist (and Dubliners) with great enjoyment. I may not even use my time machine to create an example of how I talk about something I’ve only partially read just yesterday. (Isn’t it great the way I can always find something I wrote yesterday that’s relevant to a new discussion today? It’s called the “1000 Monkeys Named Gary Syndrome.”)
I shall manfully resist the urge to ask Bob if he guarantees the punctuation of his excerpts, and if so, according to what edition. That Would Be Wrong.
Posted by: bob mcmanus “It’s meant to make you laugh.”
Yes, yes, yes, yes yes!
My favorite line from Ulysses: Redheaded women buck like goats.
Happy Bloomsday.
Obviously you have grounds for recommending any part you’ve read and enjoyed, just as you have grounds for recommending anything you’ve done and enjoyed. Myself, however, I would not tell other people how great something is that I’m not actually familiar with, despite having had all the opportunity in the world to make myself familiar with it.
Hmmm. I can recommend sea kayaking wholeheartedly, even though I haven’t sea kayaked everywhere. Also, if I recommend sea kayaking and you are in a wheelchair, please don’t believe that my recommendation demands that you try it. I can recommend the Iliad even though everytime I read it, I find something that I missed. I can recommend the poetry of Lorca, even though my Spanish is shite, and I haven’t read all of a number of poets, but I am happy to recommend them. I’m still trying to get through Cryptonomicon, but I would recommend it to anyone here, if I didn’t feel like everyone but me has read the whole thing. If Edward had said ‘anything that gets people to exercise is a good thing’, why is he not guilty, but when he recommends a book, he is? Especially when being prompted by an article on Bloomsday? What makes a book such a singular entity that one has to be familiar with the whole thing before one encourages others to read it? It’s not like we can’t quiz Edward and ask ‘what part do you like best?’ and he can be more specific ‘Well, I’ve never gotten thru the whole book, but…’ What if it were the Bible?
It’s ironic that you are giving Edward a hard time about this when Joyce famously noted that if Dublin disappeared, this book would allow people to recreate it exactly as it was.
(lest I be accused of being grumpy with Gary, no, I’m not, I just have a general dislike of seizing on what I think is a tiny fact (though it is clear that Gary thinks it is important) whose truth is not all that apparent to me and making it the center of the discussion, though I am sure that I do it as well and far too often.)
I think that people’s failures are often more revelatory than their successes or certainly leads to more knowledge. For ex, I’ve always read Ulysses as if it were a funhouse mirror showing the Odyssey, and trying to find how the story links to the Odyssey. Bob’s response tells me I need to go back to it again, and it is hard to imagine that Bob would have written anything at all if Edward had constrained himself about praising a book that he hadn’t finished.
Having said that, I should pass on this link to an altogether more ‘gritty’ view of Bloomsday.
link
And an article about Roddy Doyle’s even harsher assessment of Ulysses.
If you like Joyce, (wholly or partially), I recommend that you pick up Flann O’Brian, also known as Myles na Gopaleen. Though I still cannot understand Irish, which means that I might be missing half of what he writes. But I’m sure that if I did, I would find it even more praiseworthy.
The other interesting point (and again, perhaps I am seizing on a tiny point, so apologies in advance), but everything mentioned that tries to understand Ulysses is trying to find a schema with which to understand Ulysses. Bloomsday ‘works’ because people trudge from place to place in Dublin and I think that the physical act of a journey is the most elemental schema that we can rely on. Unfortunately, the physicality of such a schema makes it susceptible to alteration and adulteration. We can’t climb Nelson’s Pillar (thanks to the IRA), so we miss out on the Aeolus reference, and climbing on a state of the art tram with a pay as you go card doesn’t really cut it. That’s why it always pays to have multiple schemas.
I liked Ulysses when I read it, but that was too long ago.
Finnegans Wake, on the other hand… that’s sort of like reading a compressed archive of an actual novel, which, when expanded, would be 50,000 pages long. I’ve never gotten through more than three or four pages at an attempt.
“O patience above its pouring out of me like the sea anyhow he didnt make me pregnant as big as he is I dont want to ruin the clean sheets I just put on I suppose the clean linen I wore brought it on too damn it damn it and they always want to see a stain on the bed to know youre a virgin for them all thats troubling them theyre such fools too you could be a widow or divorced 40 times over a daub of red ink would do or blackberry juice no thats too purply O Jamesy let me up out of this pooh sweets of sin”
I think that is pretty funny.
I’m with cleek on this, tried, failed. Joyce strikes me as a singularly pretentious writer, even if a genius, and I don’t really have the sort of patience involved in learning his language. I’d like to say I am glad that The Chronicles of Narnia is getting what looks to be the professional Hollywood treatment, it’s about time. Read them as a kid, loved em. Read em as an adult a few times, always something good there. Further up, further in!
I wonder if in the movie there will be a 4 hour long section where he wanders around with paper-wrapped kidneys in his pocket. seems like it might get a bit boring, really. I had the luck of forcing myself to read Ulysses when I was 17, and just kept on going out of bull-headed pretentiousness. then, later, it was much easier to read again. it really is hilarious. but Finnegan’s Wake is total bullshit.
It took me a while to remember — until, that is, about forty minutes ago — the completely idiotic, in context, fact that I actually read about 60% of Ulysses more than 20 years ago, and loved it, albeit in a fairly glossing fashion, whilst it was Youknowwho’s Wake that I didn’t go remotely far into, or find worth the investment of time v. return/research.
Loved a lot of U, but I’ve never claimed to have a photographic memory, or anything resembling such; quite the opposite; mostly I have a memory that I need to make sure has an external index. Which is why… the obvious should be obvious.
“but Finnegan’s Wake is total bullshit.”
Rest easy, who am I to argue with Belle Waring? Not a word, not even a hundred-letter thunderclap to frighten disbelievers into humility. Ok, just a word:
Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!
….wnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!!
Such a powerful word needed to be split into two comments, in order to avoid destroying the site. And because I knew Gary would count the letters.
Finnegans Wake
One day, I expect I’ll respond to Ulysses much as Bob here does…I’m looking forward to it, actually.
yup, me too.
i started reading the LOTR books when i was very young, and had a tough time with the Two Towers (all that stuff about the various kingdoms of Men, all the similar names, and the interminable speechifying). but, by high school, i’d made it through and understood all of it. and i’ve read it a few times since then, just to pick up little bits that i missed.
more recently, Gravity’s Rainbow. a tough one; the first time, i probably missed 2/3rds of it, but it did get me over the shock of Pynchon’s style and the crazy array of characters. it wasn’t until i went back a couple of years later that i was able to figure out WTF was going on, and to start to get below the surface a bit – from reading various critiques on the net, i know there are dozens of layers below what i figured out – but at least i got something. i think i’ll make another run at it in a few years to make sure i got it all.
even more recently, Infinite Jest. also very dense and difficult. i’m not sure i got everything it had to offer, either. i’ll hit it again in a bit.
Ulysses, on the other hand, makes Gravity’s Rainbow seem like a children’s story. i doubt i’ve never made it more than 40 pages. i will keep trying. maybe after a few more ‘difficult’ books, my reading muscles will be strong enough for Ulysses.
Why no kidneys? Don’t people eat that for breakfast any longer?