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Readalonga Rosie - Ulysses: Day 9
Nov. 27th, 2007 12:35 pmThis is really day 8 but I didn't get to write up yesterday.
7. Aeolus
Aeolus: Keeper of the Winds, who gives Odysseus all the unhelpful winds in a bag to speed his passage to Ithaca. His crew, who think the bag contains treasure, steal it and let out the winds so that Odysseus's return home is delayed.
"RHYMES AND REASONS
Mouth, south. Is the mouth south someway? Or the south a mouth? Must be some. South, pout, out, shout, drouth. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, looking the same, two by two"
Leopold Bloom is going about his day job as an advertising canvasser. He visits the offices of the Evening Telegraph in order to place an ad on behalf of Mr Keyes. The printing presses are noisy; the editor's office is full of hacks, including Lenehan the racing tipster with a high-flown idea of his verbal skills, preoccupied with their own affairs and also noisy in their own way with linguistic swordplay. Bloom needs the artwork for the ad (no fax in 1904); tries to phone Mr Keyes from the editor's office; has to slip out to catch Keyes at the auction rooms. While he's gone, Stephen Dedalus arrives with Mr Deasy's letter. Dedalus leaves; Bloom returns; they fail to meet.
Here's the first sign of something out of the ordinary. Convential narrative is left behind and the episode, as befits one set in a newspaper office, is presented as a series of fragments each given a newspaper-like (at least, like a 1904 newspaper) headline. Because of this, and despite the verbal fireworks, the narrative pace cracks on at a fair old rate. To continue the Pennine Way analogy, it's now like walking on the dry, springy turf of the limestone country. In our voyage through the senses, it's hearing that gets its turn. The episode is full of sounds and rhythms: first the clanking of trams in O'Connell Street, then the regular clatter of the printing presses, in the offbeats of which Bloom must insert his words in counterpoint to be heard. There's a positive torrent of words, and it's noise in the sense of distraction too. Bloom comes and goes and comes again almost unnoticed, so does Dedalus, while the flamboyant Lenehan holds the stage. So many words, in fact, that although this is not a difficult episode to read, there's so much going on, and so much that is easily missed in the hubbub, that it's worth a second read. It's also rather funny, and reminds me of the rapid fire humour of a Cary Grant comedy - especially one of my absolute favourite films, in fact, His Girl Friday, which has its own chorus of hard-bitten and cynical hacks. There's no hurry to move on to the next bit, so nothing to be lost by looking again. That's an important point: you don't read Ulysses, you wallow in it.
7. Aeolus
Aeolus: Keeper of the Winds, who gives Odysseus all the unhelpful winds in a bag to speed his passage to Ithaca. His crew, who think the bag contains treasure, steal it and let out the winds so that Odysseus's return home is delayed.
"RHYMES AND REASONS
Mouth, south. Is the mouth south someway? Or the south a mouth? Must be some. South, pout, out, shout, drouth. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, looking the same, two by two"
Leopold Bloom is going about his day job as an advertising canvasser. He visits the offices of the Evening Telegraph in order to place an ad on behalf of Mr Keyes. The printing presses are noisy; the editor's office is full of hacks, including Lenehan the racing tipster with a high-flown idea of his verbal skills, preoccupied with their own affairs and also noisy in their own way with linguistic swordplay. Bloom needs the artwork for the ad (no fax in 1904); tries to phone Mr Keyes from the editor's office; has to slip out to catch Keyes at the auction rooms. While he's gone, Stephen Dedalus arrives with Mr Deasy's letter. Dedalus leaves; Bloom returns; they fail to meet.
Here's the first sign of something out of the ordinary. Convential narrative is left behind and the episode, as befits one set in a newspaper office, is presented as a series of fragments each given a newspaper-like (at least, like a 1904 newspaper) headline. Because of this, and despite the verbal fireworks, the narrative pace cracks on at a fair old rate. To continue the Pennine Way analogy, it's now like walking on the dry, springy turf of the limestone country. In our voyage through the senses, it's hearing that gets its turn. The episode is full of sounds and rhythms: first the clanking of trams in O'Connell Street, then the regular clatter of the printing presses, in the offbeats of which Bloom must insert his words in counterpoint to be heard. There's a positive torrent of words, and it's noise in the sense of distraction too. Bloom comes and goes and comes again almost unnoticed, so does Dedalus, while the flamboyant Lenehan holds the stage. So many words, in fact, that although this is not a difficult episode to read, there's so much going on, and so much that is easily missed in the hubbub, that it's worth a second read. It's also rather funny, and reminds me of the rapid fire humour of a Cary Grant comedy - especially one of my absolute favourite films, in fact, His Girl Friday, which has its own chorus of hard-bitten and cynical hacks. There's no hurry to move on to the next bit, so nothing to be lost by looking again. That's an important point: you don't read Ulysses, you wallow in it.
