Joyce's Ulysses Feted in Dublin

When it comes to classics of literature that most have never read, James Joyce's Ulysses stands out as a book one really has been meaning to get to for quite some time -- honestly. Thursday was the 100th anniversary of Leopold Bloom's fictional wandering through Dublin, and the city had a wee celebration. That even includes gorgonzola sandwiches at the Davy Byrne's pub on Duke Street.

The book, released in 1922, itself is a largely inaccessible experiment the value of which was the stream of consciousness narration throughout. Bluntly, June 16, 1904 was a rather dull day in Dublin. The "obscenity" that got the book banned here and there is rather tame by 21st century standards. And the classical allusions and allegory make Dennis Miller's rants look positively literal. That said, Mr. Joyce's Dubliners is a better read for a civilization that needs its culture in quick doses, while Finnegan's Wake was likely not understood even by Mr. Joyce.

But the fans flock to Ulysses, and they were out in force for the Bloomsday party. So was Philip Joyce, who is a grand-nephew of the grand man, who walked 160 miles to Dublin to raise money for Guide Dogs for the Blind as part of the celebrations. And Chris, Nicole and Sabrina Joyce, grand-nieces as lovely as their great uncle's prose, mixed with 1,300 revelers at a €12 breakfast of "the inner organs of beasts and fowls." Helen Monaghan, another grand-niece who runs the James Joyce Center in Dublin, told the BBC, "We've found that mutton kidneys aren't terribly popular. We have some available, but they tend to end up in the bin." One's supply of surprise remains undepleted by this knowledge.

Would Paris have a Three Musketeer's day to rival this? Or Moscow a day for Anna Karenina, even after it made Oprah's bookclub? It is difficult to envision such. What stands out in the body of Joycean literature is the city of Dublin. His claim that, were Dublin razed to the ground, one could rebuild it from his descriptions is not far off the mark. It would be interesting to see what he made of Dublin today, with its Chinese restaurants and its mosque.

Perhaps, the entire work was not so much an experiment as a riddle without an answer. It is worth noting that, by following the protagonist's path through Dublin on a map, one sketches out a question mark. Truly a Joycean touch.


© Copyright 2004 by The Kensington Review, J. Myhre, Editor. No part of this publication may be reproduced without written consent.


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