Ulysses

A novel that takes place during a single day, but takes several months to read.

I finally opened Ulysses after a trip to Dublin in summer 2023. References to Joyce seemed to be everywhere: the Martello Tower still standing, video of a Fontaines D.C. performance at Kilmainham Gaol, the Museum of Literature Ireland on St. Stephen’s Green, Sweny’s pharmacy, the death mask replica at the Little Museum—all indications that the book yet resonates across time. Having read Dubliners and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man before and finally seeing the city firsthand made Ulysses less mysterious. I read the 1992 Modern Library Edition of the corrected and reset 1961 edition, based on the first American printing from 1934. (Next time show more around, I think I’ll give the Gabler edition a go).

I wanted to experience reading Ulysses with a fresh, open mind, without an intermediary, so I read each of the 18 episodes through before consulting secondary sources. (Alas, my curiosity and my ignorance got the best of me). I then listened to each episode of the Raidió Teilifís Éireann (Irish public media) performance recorded in 1982—Ulysses as a radio play, with over 30 actors, sound effects and street sounds, special effects for interior monologues, a beautiful, invigorating production. Hearing Ulysses read by Dubliners revealed more atmospheric and linguistic nuance than I could have picked up on my own. After each chapter, I also read the pertinent episodic analysis in Stuart Gilbert’s James Joyce’s Ulysses, which tracks the influence of Homer’s Odyssey and draws attention to phrases and symbols that recur across episodes.

The first thing that I noticed was that Ulysses is very funny. Many of the allusions and symbology went over my head, but there are passages of great beauty and deep feeling and dazzling intellect. Ulysses is a demanding read, but I think it rewards the work a reader puts into it. There are plenty of ways to appreciate Joyce’s astonishing achievement, what he was able to make words do and say. He left us a marvelous gift. Do with it as you will. show less

In fall 2012 I took a seminar class on James Joyce, and of course no class on Joyce would be complete without reading Ulysses. We spent the last half of the semester on Ulysses, and now that I've reviewed both Dubliners and Portrait of the Artist, I think it's finally time for me to talk about my experiences with Joyce's most famous/infamous novel.

Ulysses picks up approximately one year after Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man ends, and begins with our old friend Stephen Dedalus, who is navigating the world of Dublin, working as a teacher, and still trying to be an artist in a place that continuously leaves him feeling isolated, alone, and without a home. While the first three chapters focus on Stephen, the rest of the book focuses show more on a new character, the famous Leopold Bloom, a Dublin Jew who, after eating a breakfast of mutton kidney, leaves the house to go about his daily business, all-the-while knowing that his wife, Molly, is planning an affair later that afternoon. That knowledge, the isolation he feels from his fellow Dubliners, the death of his young son ten years ago, and many other things weigh on his mind as we follow him about the affairs of his day. His path crosses and recrosses that of Stephen, and eventually the two outcasts finally meet and have a real conversation. Taking place in slightly less than 24 hours, Ulysses is an epic of the ordinary, a single day that contains every conceivable high and low.

Now, if you've ever heard anything about Ulysses, I'm sure you've heard that it's nearly impossible to read. It has gained a nearly mythic status in the bookish world as an impenetrable wall of stylistic experimentation and dense allusion. The only hope for the intrepid reader is to consult many guides and source-books that will lead them through the labyrinth. To be honest with you, this is partially true. There were plenty of times when I didn't know what was happening, and I assure you that I missed most of the allusions and references to historical events. And yes, I did use a guide when I read it, which was a big help. More importantly, I also had a class full of people to discuss each chapter with and to keep me on schedule. (I do recommend reading this book with a friend. It's more fun that way.) But I want to make one thing very clear:

The myth is only partially true.

Because while I did not catch many of the allusions and references, I mostly understood what was happening in terms of plot and location. While I may not have understood the meaning of every sentence, I did understand the meaning of most paragraphs. And while I didn't always see exactly how each stylistic invention connected thematically to Bloom's journey, I could certainly appreciate the beauty and craft of Joyce's writing. Reading Ulysses is like being at the ocean; you have to let the waves of text wash over you without trying to analyze every single piece of sand. Understanding every single allusion is not necessary to enjoy the novel as a whole. You might miss a few of the jokes, but I promise you will be ok. The guide I used and which I would highly recommend, James Joyce A to Z, had brief summaries of each chapter in terms of plot and any major thematic elements, and that is all I needed in order to thoroughly enjoy myself. I think that oftentimes we as readers get too caught-up in "getting" the book that we forget to really read it. Ulysses is, first and foremost, an experience. If you get too caught up in trying to "understand" it, you'll miss all the fun.

Fun? Yes, fun, because Ulysses is a deeply funny, witty, engaging, and beautiful book. First of all, Joyce is a phenomenal writer, and it would be a challenge to find a novel with more beautiful or more varied writing than this one. Some passages are just heart-stopping in their elegance. I literally stopped and reread some passages just so I could hear them again; they were that beautiful. Others were incredibly technically impressive, showing Joyce's amazing command of the English language (and others). Joyce's amazing skills as a writer mean that he is capable of making the wittiest puns and the funniest satires I have ever read. No, really. From the pub to the graveyard, from political arguments to prostitution, from the romantic novel to the epic catalog, there is nothing that Joyce can't laugh at. I never thought I would say this, but Ulysses literally made me laugh out loud. But of course this novel isn't all fun and games. There are tender, honest moments here more touching than nearly anything else put into print. There is heartbreak here, not of the cheesy faux-tragic kind that you find in a Nicholas Sparks novel, but honest emotion felt by ordinary people in situations that are all too real. Though Ulysses very often made me laugh, on a number of occasions it also made me cry. It touched me, because it spoke to that part of me (and, I think, of many of us) that knows what it's like to feel alone, regretful, and lost. That realism, that honesty of emotion and situation, is what sets Ulysses apart. The strange style, the encyclopedic allusions, the weird diversions, all of these serve to represent reality in all of its complexity, beauty, and sadness. Ulysses is funny, crafty, beautiful, and heartbreaking, but it is all of those things because it is real.

If you've ever read my reviews before, you'll notice that this one is rather different. This time I haven't talked very much about technique or writing style, though really this would be the perfect novel to do that. And part of me does want to pull out my analytical brain and tell you all about Joyce's tricks and techniques and themes. I would feel accomplished for breaking down such a complex novel, and you would maybe feel like you learned something. But I don't think I'm going to do that this time. This time I think I'm going to focus on other things.

Because despite all the intellectual enjoyment I got from untangling and discussing the themes and techniques, and despite the aesthetic enjoyment I found in Joyce's language, what struck me the most about Ulysses was its emotional honesty, especially in the characterization. For the first three chapters I felt nothing but empathy and pity for Stephen. I wanted to be his big sister, to comfort him, to let him know that he wasn't alone and that he could make it. And then I met Leopold Bloom, and slowly, cautiously, not without reservation, I fell for him, completely and utterly. Not in a romantic way, but as a human being, an all-too-real human being who had emotions and quirks that I could see and understand like those of an old friend. I fell in love with the way that he always tries to figure things out, to calculate, explain, and reason, even if his explanations are often incorrect, more pseudoscience than real science. I fell in love with his desire to please everyone, to make everyone happy, to avoid conflict wherever possible. I love that he maintains his optimism despite everything that happens to him. I love the way he always walks on the sunny side of the street, is conscientious about his money, and loves to eat good food. I wanted nothing more in the world than for him to actually meet Stephen, because I needed to see what would happen when these two characters whom I cared so much about finally met. And yes, sometimes Bloom creeped me out a little with his thoughts about sex or bodily functions. Sometimes I got annoyed with him for being so passive, and I yelled at him to stop being such a pushover already. But when he had the chance to finally show some courage, I cheered him on with all of my heart, and when he stood up for Stephen my heart nearly burst I was so proud of him. Leopold Bloom was so lonely, so hopeful, and so real, and in the end it was the force of his character (and, to a lesser extent, Stephen's) that really made Ulysses shine.

Ulysses is a novel that takes place in a single day, and yet somehow seems to encompass the whole world. It's strange and difficult and sometimes frustrating, and to be honest I wouldn't recommend it to those who don't like their books to be a puzzle or who get frustrated when they don't understand what is going on. But if you do like a challenge, then I think you'll find that every frustration in Ulysses is paid back a thousand times over in beauty and enjoyment. I promise that you won't catch everything on your first read-through; I know I didn't. But that did not take away from my enjoyment of the novel in the slightest. I know I'll come back to it some day, maybe a chapter at a time here or there, and that no matter when or how often I return it will always have something new to offer me.

Rating: 5+
Recommendations: Don't get too weighed down with guides. Just read it and enjoy it, and check chapter summaries or historical events if you get lost. Ulysses is an experience, so just dive in. show less

Did I like Ulysses? I tagged it "brilliant" and "amazing", so yes I liked it. At times it felt like slow torture until I slowly found myself becoming immersed in Joyce's mind, and I began to love it. I'm not sure where to begin about what it was about this novel that made it so wonderful. Was it the many layers of Stephen as Telemachus and Leopold as Odysseus while Stephen is also Hamlet and Leopold is almost a Hungarian-Irish-Jewish Christ. Was it the witty puns such as, "Where man hath a will, Anne hath-a-way," when Stephen explains his theory on Shakespeare? Was it the brilliance of the writing when the narrator gives birth to the English language at the same time as Mrs. Purefoy gives birth to her child? In the end, what I will take show more away from this novel is how Joyce made me love Leopold, laugh at Stephen, and even pity Molly a bit. The underlying novel and characterization beneath all of the brilliant writing is what will stick with me long after finishing the novel. I just finished it five minutes ago and can already say that I love this novel. show less

I loathe Ulysses the way that most sensible folks loathe the very existence of Bernie Madoff. It's an all encompassing and consuming loathing leaving no room for mercy. In fact, if I were The Blob or a Killer Tomato on the attack, I'd consume every volume of Ulysses extant (and Bernie Madoff) with my acidic, dissolving loathing. I wish the book were still banned and my access to it summarily and arbitrarily denied me by Big Brother, so that I wouldn't have wantonly wasted my precious, irreplaceable time and energy reading it, is how deep my Ulysses loathing goes.

Yes, it's true, reading Ulysses (even just half of this poo poo) feels like being disemboweled (or at least like having bad, painful gas; and that's bad, painful gas when show more you're stuck inside somewhere with other people and it would be too impolite and embarassing - even as painful as it is holding it in - to let it rip.) Oh yeah?! You think that's tacky and tasteless? Well, if the "genius," Joyce, can make fart jokes in Ulysses left and right, why can't anybody else do the same in describing his flatulent, nauseating tome?

Worse, reading Ulysses leaves one feeling like they've been had, scammed, rused, abused, conned, pawned, Ponzi'd, cheated, excreted, duped, nuked, swindled, swizzled, diddled, belittled, hustled, hoaxed, stiffed, tricked, taken to the cleaners or taken for a ride, ripped off royally of everything you've worked hard for your whole life and hold dear. Just like Madoff! How you like that list, Joyce, you MOTHERF%$#!R?

Less painful indeed, having your wisdom teeth extracted with pliers by an orang-utang...and without novocaine, than trying to read Ulysses first page to last.

I hated it. show less

I've been trying to read this book since I was 14. It is by turns tedious and delightfully absorbing. Some parts really are just silly. It manages to be simultaneously pretentious and down-to-earth. It is definitely vulgar in parts. It's re-readable and readable over and over in many ways, and the culture of readership, interpretation, and biography that has accrued around it is part of the fun. If you are in Dublin it's a great way to explore Dublin. I enjoy it and I might come back to it. I have now made it all the way to episode 15, Circe, and this time I know I will finish it. I recommend following along with a good audiobook, reading aloud, attending a Joycean/Bloomsday event. It's actually fun.

Thoughts made narrative; Odyssey-reflecting themes, coupled with a different narrative style for every episode and a boatload of rhetorical devices (did Joyce leave out any?); reversions to historical literary styles; obscure references to Catholic and Irish and Jewish tradition, Irish politics and history, and a wide scattering of other things ... 700 pages of this, and still we cover no more than eighteen hours of a rather ordinary day in Dublin: June 16th, 1904. An absolutely brilliant novel, but I needed help to understand it. I relied on the Wikipedia outline and Sparknotes chapter summaries, two among many references available.

Much of this novel is written in the language of the daydreamer, not restricted to interior thoughts show more that move a plot forward but open to capturing every thought that might pass through the consciousness of these characters as they go about their day. The sheer volume and range of this delivery turns a nothing-special morning and afternoon into an epic. Joyce is lambasted for writing over most people's heads, but he isn't doing it in a bullying or non-inclusive way - else why are there enough body function references to entertain a toddler? Some of his characters' thoughts, particularly Stephen's, can be learned in the extreme but are interspersed with the most casual, mundane passing fancies. Everything and nothing is important. All people are capable of every kind of thought up and down the scale of decorum, and all of us are riding that scale on a daily basis. These are the most realistic characters ever put to paper, and I'm ready to believe nobody will ever do it better.

What I don't believe is that Ulysses is worthwhile reading for anyone who doesn't come to it of their own volition. Forget the critics, it's only good reading if you think it is. Approach Joyce via Dubliners and Portrait first to see if you can enjoy him at all, and catch up on Homer's epics. If those are a hassle or boring (and whether you understand them is beside the point), don't trouble yourself any further because all you're going to miss here is an exercise in frustration with his madness (exactly why I'm not going to read the Wake). But if you liked all of that and what Joyce can do, his prior work pales next to the technical feats he pulled off with Ulysses. show less

Begad!, what a novel to have to write a review for!

Robert Anton Wilson got me interested in James Joyce.

Throughout "Ulysses" I had little notion as to the linear sequence of events, though as I progressed, I did become somewhat acclimated to the setting, characters, and their stories.

I was more fascinated by the seemingly subjective soliloquies; the potently magical meter; Joyce's amaranthine repertoire of words.

Like hallucinogens, truffles, and moon bathing, the experience of "Ulysses" is quite hard to put into words.

I argue that the story of Bloomsday—that so many annotations, critiques, study guides, etcetera, elaborate on—is not the most important thing to understand. It is the way in which the story is told that is show more important to experience, and that in itself is widely varied and extremely 'novel'.

During much of the novel I experienced a great number of synchronicities in waking life. This is likely, in part, due to the immense number of subjects divulged upon in "Ulysses".

"Ulysses" could easily be a novel in which one could study... quite a very long time. If you are one of such mind, I suggest picking up several foreign language dictionaries to aide you in your reading of "Ulysses". As I mentioned, there is a plethora of books to go along with "Ulysses". I own a few and may even read one one day, should I get bored.

In the end, I feel a bit saddened. Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus, consumed by their intellects, plagued by their desires. Molly, consumed by her desires and too stupid to be plagued by anything but hemorrhoids and old age...

Life is tragic. James Joyce died of a perforated ulcer, lapsing into a coma after surgery, to wake, and die at 2 a.m. on 13 January 1941. Why are we here? To evolve intellectually, sexually, spiritually? Yes.

Read this novel and be affected greatly in a mysterious way and an obvious way. show less